In the depths of a frosted cavern, hidden beneath glaciers older than the stars, Ignacius the White slumbered. His immense, wingless form coiled around a trove of treasures forgotten by time. His alabaster scales shimmered faintly, like moonlight on snow, and his deep, rhythmic breaths sent tiny flurries of frost swirling through the air. For centuries, he had remained undisturbed, but today, the silence was broken. A band of adventurers, driven by greed and whispered legends, descended into his icy sanctum. Their voices echoed as they spoke of eternal life, invincible armour, and unyielding weapons—all promised by the spoils of the dragon's demise.
The sound of a pick-axe striking ice reached Ignacius's keen ears, jolting him from his ancient slumber. His icy blue eyes snapped open, piercing the darkness like twin stars. Slowly, he rose, his massive frame casting a shadow over the intruders. “Who dares disturb my peace?” his voice rumbled, carrying the weight of centuries. The adventurers, undeterred, raised their weapons, shouting challenges as they charged. Rage flared within Ignacius, and he opened his maw to release a wave of searing blue flames. The fire roared through the cavern, freezing and incinerating all in its path, an unearthly paradox of destruction.
The adventurers fought fiercely, their enchanted blades sparking against the dragon's impenetrable scales. Ignacius lashed out, his colossal tail striking the ground with enough force to crack the icy floor beneath them. His claws, sharper than the coldest winter wind, slashed through shields and armour alike. Despite their bravery, the intruders fell one by one, their dreams of immortality extinguished in the face of the dragon’s wrath. When the last of them had perished, Ignacius let out a low, guttural growl. His rage subsided, he returned to his treasure, his alabaster form blending once more with the icy cavern. "Greed," he murmured to the silence, "will always meet its end."