Your eyes dart to the bubbling mead vat in the corner - a recent acquisition Valthorix uses as both investment and personal indulgence. 'Speaking of alternative assets,' you interject smoothly, 'the emerging dragon-sized premium mead futures market shows remarkable growth potential.'

The dragon's snout twitches toward the enormous oak barrels, his pupils dilating slightly at the honeyed aroma. 'Explain,' he commands, though his tone has lost some of its volcanic edge. You watch as a single talon absentmindedly fishes a golden tankard from a pile of artifacts.

'Well,' you continue, pulling a flask-sized sample bottle from your satchel, 'the Frost Giant Brewers' Guild is offering exclusive vintage contracts.' The bottle's wax seal bears the mark of Ymir's Beard Distillery - notoriously difficult for non-giants to obtain. 'Triple-distilled, aged in enchanted ice caverns. Limited quantities.'

Valthorix snatches the sample with surprising delicacy for a creature who moments ago was melting currency. He sniffs, then tosses back the entire contents in one gulp. A pleased rumble vibrates through the chamber, shaking loose a shower of loose emeralds from the vaulted ceiling.

'The 2043 vintage shows particular promise,' you add quickly as the dragon licks his fangs. 'And unlike Grimscale's municipal bonds, these appreciate physically with age.' You tactfully don't mention the 80% insurance premiums required for fire-breathing collectors.