Atop his mountainous lair on the edge of what used to be a thriving little hamlet, Smokthar the Magnificent, Lord of the Flame, Keeper of the Golden Hoard, Scourge of the Southern Peaks, and Terror of the Fiery Winds, surveyed the smouldering ruins of his most recent raid. Smoke rose in wispy curls above the scorched ruins of the poor village below. Villagers scurried around like ants on a tray, hoping to scrounge together the pithy remains of their meagre belongings. Smokthar sighed, a long, slow exhale that sent sparks dancing into the air.
"It's just not the same anymore," he muttered, narrowing his crimson eyes as he watched a wagon wheel roll down the street, chased by its desperate owner. Spitting a quick final flame to char the poor bastard, Smokthar sighed again.
The excitement had vanished. The terrorised screams, the cowering villagers, the smoky scent of charred wood—all of it had once sent his heart leaping for joy. Now it just felt...same-y. Boring.
Smokthar shifted his huge bulk, disturbing a clutter of glittering golden coins. They clinked musically down the treasure pile, vanishing into the mountain's dark cavern. He paid them no mind. What use was more gold when it no longer brought him happiness?
His large claws tapped restlessly against the stone floor. "Why bother burning another settlement when they all just rebuild the same way? Crooked fences, leaky wells, and not a single decent trap." He sighed. "Standards have fallen so far now."
A pitchy voice echoed from behind a pile of precious rubies and sapphires. "Perhaps, fiery Smokthar, you need a hobby."
The dragon twisted his neck to glare at the small, annoying little cretin that dared to speak to him.
Garnet, his ever-bugging gem-sprite, hovered with a cheeky grin, her small rapidly fluttering wings a shining blur. Floating to a nearby silver goblet, she sat and folded her tiny arms. "Maybe you could put those paws to good use and take up crocheting? My nana used to do that and word on the mountain is magical crochets are all the rage these days."
Smokthar grumbled deeply, his growl shaking the cavern walls. "Careful, bugface," he said. "Or you'll find yourself keeping company with the mountain's molten core."
Garnet stared at the dragon, clearly unimpressed. "I'm fireproof, scales-for-brains," she said, shrugging. "But really, when was the last time you did something new? Something fun? Burning villages and scaring peasants can only entertain for so long before getting stale."
"Fun?" Smokthar wrinkled his broad snout. "This world has no fun, nor challenge anymore. No more valiant knights remain. No more witty wizards. Just puny fools with sticks for swords and mush for brains."
Garnet rolled her golden eyes. "Maybe it's not the world that needs to change. Maybe it's you that's the problem."
The dragon's nostrils flared. A long, tense moment passed before he spoke again. He sighed, dimming the anger in his throat. "You...may be right," he begrudgingly admitted.
"I'm always right," she said, fluttering around lazily in midair. "So, what's next? Gonna reinvent yourself? Open a bakery? Write a memoir?"
Smokthar turned away from Garnet and sat up straighter, sending another waterfall of coins down the cavern's gaping maw. His deep-red scales caught the sunlight, shining on the stone walls around his lair. An idea began to form in his mind. He'd heard of new modern human concepts, learning from captive prisoners desperately looking for ways to be released rather than roasted. According to these prisoners, there were ways to keep the gold flowing without doing any work.
"Not a bakery or a memoir," he said thoughtfully. "But perhaps...a venture of a different kind." He turned back to look at his hoard-sprite. "Commerce. A business to make my Golden Hoard grow itself."
Garnet clapped her hands, laughter spilling from her lips. "Now that's something fun. The great and terrifying Smokthar the Malevolent, entrepreneurial venture capitalist? This I have to see."
The dragon's smile was sharp enough to cut the many diamonds he had stashed in his piles. "Oh you will. The age of fire and devastation may be past, but the age of stocks and profits begins."