Strategic solutions... Roasted Boots

The dragon, Ashjaw, was an ancient beast, an embodiment of destruction that had long since carved his legacy into the forgotten annals of time. He had claimed this ruined elf kingdom for himself, slaughtering those who once lived here and taking their treasures as his own.

For centuries, warriors, knights, and mages had come, seeking to reclaim the lost kingdom, to slay the dragon and take back what was stolen. Yet, none had prevailed. Their bones, turned to dust, lay scattered beneath the very gold they had hoped to claim.

In time, people stopped coming. The legend of the kingdom faded, and Ashjaw—having no worthy challengers left—fell into a deep, eternal slumber. A sleep that was supposed to last forever… until he heard the word.

"Dragon."

The moment that cursed word reached his ears, his long-dormant senses flared awake. His massive, ancient eyes creaked open, and for the first time in a thousand years, he felt the excitement of the hunt.