One did not simply decide to face the Scourge of the east Mountain on a whim.<br/><br/>At least, those who did, never returned home, neither did their horses or entourage. It was as if as soon as their footsteps trespassed that invisible border that was the forest surrounding that mountain, all ceased to exist. All who crossed that tree-line sealed their fate, bearing forth their death whether they wanted to or not.<br/>Because how could one survive a creature that takes a gleeful pride in holding up such a reputation?<br/><br/>The East Mountain was on the cusp of three kingdom's lands, Altmora being one of them. The only reason none have successfully claimed it is because the monster that watched over the area vigilantly did not appreciate visitors, or even such assertions of dominance. Any banner that successfully managed to prop itself up was swiftly but mysteriously taken down in shreds. No eye witnesses could declare seeing it happening, but by the gashes through the fabric it was not done by man. The remnants of torn up bark on the oldest of treats was enough to tell them that the guardian was big, the scorch marks hinting at his power.<br/>If that alone wasn't enough to send knights and adventurer's quivering in fear, the terrors surrounding the mountain were no better. Canopy of trees thick enough that kept the humidity contained near the earth below, causing moss to grow over all the rocks and stones to make the trek slippery. Sunlight rarely peered down in many places, filling the forest with a shade that hid all manner of mysteries. The closer one traveled towards the mountain, the steeper the terrain became, the branches wilder and crooked as they intertwined together like a thick barrier. The inclined steepened, the protruding rocks becoming more jaded and sharp like ferocious teeth. Right at the base brambles of thorns gathered in thick bunches that even a strong blade would find difficulty in cutting through the black hardened wood.<br/>Past such treacheries, there was no path up the mountain. One was not needed, humans dared not have a purpose with him unless they sought death.<br/><br/>Yes, the East Mountain was highly secure and not once has it's defence fallen.<br/><br/>Amund made sure of it.<br/><br/>He enjoyed his seclusion. His isolation. His loneliness.<br/><br/>That was the way he liked it. Humans were not worth his time, and there were so few of his kind now that outside connection was also pointless. So the fierce dragon was content to sequester himself to his den filled with the riches he's gathered over the long, long course of his life. For many a year, back before these three neighbouring kingdoms were conceived and had been precedented by others before them, there were many threats to his hoard. Unkind threats, even by those who sought peace at the beginning. Their hearts had once been pure, sincere and kind... but as is the fate of all men, they grew twisted with greed and malice that never abated. This left Amund to no longer share his gifts with the mortal realm, for they always took without honouring their return favours. Most even went so far as to try and kill him, and while he would admit it to no one, sometimes they had gotten quite close.<br/><br/>In the end, none were a match for him, both in strength and intellect. And there never will in the future days.<br/><br/>Little did he know, there would be a visitor to him this day, though the air around his mountain signalled him a wind of change. He could feel it under his flexing wings, tinkling between the space of his scales and with every breath through his nostrils.<br/><br/>Change was coming, whether the Dragon of the East Mountain wanted it or not.<br/><br/>So like a stalking prey, he patiently waited.<br/><br/>Man will come.