"Take it all, pack everything up!"
For the first time since his birth, Caesar had laid eyes on such an immense trove of treasure.
During his early years, he was forbidden by a malicious female Red Dragon from nearing her hoard. Each dragon, notoriously avaricious and miserly, would not offer even a single coin without cause, let alone to a fledgling under their provisional care.
Even as he sought merely to borrow, to touch those gleaming treasures.
Each request was met with stern and unforgiving refusal.
Dragons place great value on their treasures.
Second only to life itself.
Soon enough, Caesar had gathered the twinkling gold and magical gems.
Many races failed to grasp the dragons' obsession with treasure, an inherent trait born of draconic blood that revered power, of which riches were a form.
The more wealth amassed,
the mightier the dragon was presumed.
For the haughty creatures, it was a means to exhibit strength; satisfying both their monetary greed and fostering their growth cycles, albeit slowly.
Occasionally, human kingdoms would hire members of the chromatic dragonflights for their wars, offering substantial remuneration.
Despised as the dragons were by humans - who craved their services out of necessity - the continent was rife with strife, where mere riches could secure the transient alliance of a chromatic dragon, a task Metal Dragons, aloof by nature, scorned to stoop to. Thus was the balance oddly met.
Dragons made no pretense.
Might equated purity.
None bothered with duplicity, with petty rules or laws; thus dragons epitomized might.
Easily, Caesar lifted the coins.
Then stashed them beneath his scales, the layered structures akin to a man's shirts, both under and outer. Dragons managed their exterior scales, sometimes bristling them to stash valuables in hidden crevices.
Hence,
some dragons sans spatial gear would carry treasure close, a practice not inconvenient but joyous; armored in wealth, their martial might was bolstered. Dragons fighting for treasure typically unleashed unparalleled power.
Certain unique dragon families,
when courting, would melt coins to coat their scales, sparkling to allure.
...
Amidst Caesar's revelry with the hoard,
his vassals continued their hunting rituals. Beyond providing ample game for their master, they sustained the human matriarch and her maids.
Less critical,
yet paramount, was feeding the three fiery Blazebulls, aiming for Caesar to feast upon succulent beef. Loyal Cyrion, the Jackalman chief, expanded the hunting grounds.
With summer's end nigh,
Karl Mountains' magickal creatures stirred, prepping for winter, presenting prime quarry to Caesar's kin.
Within the week,
Cyrion, the Dragonblooded Jackalmen, and Gnolls bagged two middling magickal beasts, and a large one, all stunned and laid at the dormant volcano's base for Caesar's awakening feast.
Though losses were incurred,
the Dragonblooded survived unscathed.
Lacking the Dragonblood transformation, Jackalmen and Gnolls, mere mobs, would huddle for warmth, bottom-rung on the food chain.
The Trolls,
opting out of the hunt, mustered greater might but lacked numbers. Caesar assigned them nest expansion, renovating the fire-drake predecessor's lair for his burgeoning bulk.
While they toiled,
Cyrion prepared another sortie, until a panicked Gnoll blurted alarmingly: "Lord Cyrion, humans... humans spotted..."
Gnolls, dim yet keen-nosed, excelled as scouts in monster ranks.
Cyrion chastised the charged Gnoll, whipped him to composure, and gleaned grim tidings:
A vast human force, approximately three thousand strong, glimmered with awe-inspiring elemental auras.
"The human army... Could it be from Silvermoon Kingdom?"
Cyrion pondered, his post-transformation intellect rivalling some humans, cunning and shrewd from mere scraps of dialogue.
A foreboding faculty suggested ill-intentioned arrivals.
Perhaps for them.
Silvermoon Kingdom rumors hinted their captured princess reposed with them, her status divined by Cyrion from captive maidservants.
Unaware of the kingdom's change in power,
dragon misdeeds, infamous, often drew mankind's vengeance – a tale as old as time.
Seeking truth,
Cyrion led his magick-inclined minions to the fateful place.
Just north of the lair, three hundred leagues yonder, lay a sea of armored men, their marches methodical, armors aglow, repelling even great beasts, who snarled helplessly.
Furthermore,
Griffin Knights patrolled overhead, their stern discipline palpable, clad not in Silvermoon's crescents but in emblems of Cassius.
This force sought stealth,
likely harboring an ulterior motive.