Scrounge Witch

The ditch of dragons. It's a place beneath a large mountain bearing gargantuan machines. However, do to its other name we know not to fear it. Mountain of Corpses.
It's is here that we seek the scraps of a once golden age. There was a time in which the mountain would hum from the workers inside. Almost alive it would feel and the smoke would fill your lungs if you dared get too close. But all that's left is scraps.
As scavengers of what once was we search for treasure. We hope that in our search we will find happiness and freedom. Happiness taken from our leaders. Freedom from ourselves. We seek and sift through these piles of sorrowful hope.
"How did we get here," I exasperate. "How could we fall so far?" There once was a time where we were happy and free to do as we please. Within reason of course and upon the rules of our gods. But, here we are, broken down among the broken down marvels.
These great machines once spread across the lands. It's power would help us and in return we'd do anything. For as long as our crops grew and our bellies full, how could we be unhappy? What could be wrong?
That's just it. No one knew what was wrong but when the new leader came it was as though everything was wrong. Suddenly more and more people came up and spoke of their anger and struggles. We heard them. We felt for them. However, why did we let them rule us? Sure things weren't perfect but there was no cause to being rash and hateful. We had room to grow and prosper. But still here we are. Here I am, sifting.
Treasure. That's all that matters. Money. It's all that I need. Power. What else could shackle these chains and what else could break them?