Apparently there's a dragon in the area, and it's been terrorizing some townsfolk. Joy of endless joys. While technically it's not Veron's problem, realistically there's no one else nearby that can handle an adult white dragon, so.... it's kind of his problem. He's not going to abandon people to get eaten by a dragon.
So this is why he's stomping through the mountains, looking for a dragon. Vaguely, he remembers the last time he did this. Last time, he'd been terrified, shivering down to his boots and desperately trying to talk the dragon out of eating him, praying to Tymora and to whichever god dealt with preventing horrible awful freezing dragon breath. Lathander, maybe. Or maybe it was a series of them. He doesn't quite recall. It was a while ago. This time, he's... maybe a bit peckish? And annoyed. A bit annoyed.
He finds the dragon. He introduces himself. He politely asks the dragon to knock off its shit. This goes predictably. The resulting fight is not the most harrowing one Veron's ever had, but he does end up carefully picking frigid dragon teeth out of a bloodied arm, so he's got that going for him. That's nice, except in all of the ways it's not nice.
"Why did you think that was a smart move?" he asks, not sure if he's asking himself or the dragon's corpse. Maybe he could flip a coin for it.
Right, well. No use letting a spare dragon's hoard go to waste. Some of it will go to the various people the dragon menaced, to help fix things. Some of it will go to the adventurer that the dragon menaced, to help outfit him with Even Nicer Things. He begins ransacking accordingly.
He's checking for traps, but maybe he's slipping, because something twists in the air and he has just long enough to swear before he's somewhere else entirely.