Long ago Yieldrune was a typical old fashioned dragon, plundering without care he was the dread of his domain! A proper dragon of the old ways, fire and fury, terror made flesh. Demanding tribute from villages and cities throughout his realm and promising annihilation to those who refused. He hoarded treasure with the traditional avarice of his ancestors but it was never enough. So when a clever dwarf proposed a way to get more, Yieldrune listened. With a riddle, a promise and a contract the dwarf played the worst trick on him.
 The mountain was deep and full of gold and gems in the tiny cracks too small for Yieldrune to reach. With an initial investment and a promise of safe passage the dwarf and his companions set up a mine and the investment paid off. It paid off so well in fact that Yieldrune’s appetites began to evolve. He set up another mine and then another. He became obsessed with dividends instead of destruction and the lands around his mountain grew more peaceful. He purchased mining rights from neighboring kingdoms using a solid legal footing to grow his conglomerate to ever higher profit margins. His empire spread not by flame but by ink.

 Success however turned out to be a terrible thing for Yieldrune. His inner flame burned low, buried under bureaucracy and paperwork. His body and posture suffered from all manner of sedimentary afflictions. Taking flight produced alarming cracks from his bones and the fire he breathed was not nearly so hot as it once was. The world no longer feared him. So here he sits day dreaming of taking wing and alighting a village in flames for old times sake, just to feel something. No he decides with a sip, the cost, liabilities, the damage to reputation, the reactions from the shareholders… it simply was not profitable. Nowadays the only burn in his throat was from a strong drink, and the only smoke nostrils blew from a cigar. The curls float away and dissipate like Yieldrune’s youth.