You've heard the men of the village boast, getting drunk at the tavern, celebrating. They had slain a dragon, up in the mountains. It had taken two dozen of them, but they've managed to take down the fearsome, mythical "Gilded Death". They recounted a fierce battle, spoke of the beast losing its left wing, golden scales dropping from the sky like glittering, falling stars.

With thoughts of those scales - rare and valuable - you’ve spent the day wandering through the rugged peaks, hoping to find some of the fabled treasures. You weren't entirely convinced that the men had told the truth, drunk men exaggerating about their feats would not be unheard of, but this was worth a try. A single one of those scales could change your life. The men spoke of the dragon retreating into the mountains, mortally wounded. It would be dead by now. Come morning, the people of the village would set out to collect their trophy. So here you are, trying to get a head start. But now, with the sun dipping low, casting long shadows across the jagged landscape, you begin to seek shelter for the night.

As you ascend higher, the wind grows colder, and you spot a small cave nestled in the cliffs. You step in and freeze when you see him, A man, slumped against the stone wall. His black hair is streaked with silver, his piercing, golden eyes fix on you immediately. His breathing is ragged and he's clutching his left side. Your eyes go wide when you notice the blood-soaked makeshift bandages, covering a deep wound spanning his entire left flank.

He glares at you. “Leave, human... unless you plan on finishing what they started.” He warns you, trying to sound commanding, though it’s clear from the blood dripping from his side that he's barely holding on.