The Dragon's Stone

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley. They inhabited the surrounding mountains, enjoying the cold climates, digging caves into the summits. Their control of the skies was unrivaled, until…” brother Sylvan stops and looks at those surrounding the courtyard. As he inhales to press on with his story he spies a little hand waving in the air. He steps across the makeshift stage, raising an eyebrow and says, “it looks like we have a question. What is your name and question, young one?”

“My name is Anastasia,” the little voice squeaks, “why aren’t there any heroes in this story of yours?” The crowd chuckles at her question and waits for the brother to reply.

“Well,” he says as he strokes his red beard, “that’s because no tragedy has befallen the world. There isn’t a need for heroes if there is no tragedy. The state of the world before the dragons entered the valley is just as important as what follows. Is it not important to the retelling of history to relay all the events as they happened?”

“I guess. It just makes for a boring story.”

“Ha ha! That is a fair point, so where should this story start?”

“With Brugdar meeting Avalon and smithing копье дракона, that’s where nana always starts the story,” she replies in a sing-song way.

“Ok, but that takes place two hundred years after the great Volsk enters the valley hunting for food as the mountaintops are becoming depleted by a boom in the dragon birth rate. It is this single event that brings about the conflict between humankind and dragonkind.”

“Who is Volsk? I have never heard this name in the stories that Nana tells me,” Anastasia asks timidly. The audience mumbles in affirmation of never hearing the name Volsk.

“Volsk was the first dragon to make contact with the Valushens. He taught them about rune magick and how to use the runes to help in everyday life in exchange for safe hunting grounds in the valley for him and his kin.”

“How do you know this information?” An elderly man asks above the din of the crowd.

“I found Volsk’s dragon stone in an ice cave at the summit of Mount Vekth”, brother Sylvan remarks while pulling out a gemstone the size of a human’s head with a purplish red color that pulsates like the beating of a heart. “It was an arduous journey and many people died climbing up the mountain. Once we found the cave brother Volkur was possessed by the spirit of Aldre’ Panu, a descendant of knight Vekth whom is the namesake of the mountain.”

“Sorcerer!” yells Argund, the blacksmith, as he stoops down and picks up a fist sized rock. He hurls the rock at Sylvan glancing off his left shoulder, the arm holding the dragon’s stone. Sylvan drops the stone as pain rockets down his left arm forcing his hand to spasm.

As the dragon’s stone hits the wood planking of the stage, time stops. Frozen in motion is everyone in the crowd, some people are picking up rocks of their own while others start to turn away and run. A voice booms from the dragon’s stone, “ Dragons will return to their former glory on this day and a cataclysmic war will start between the humans in the valley of bones and the dragons still living in the mountains surrounding the valley.”

As the final word fades from the air, the stone shatters upon the stage and time returns to normal. The crowd halts in their actions and look around the space in amazement. Sylvan kneels down by the shattered remains of the dragon’s stone and offers a prayer to Alundri, the creator, “Woe to the world that in ignorance has destroyed knowledge and may peace be sought by alo who remain. Amen.”