Valley of Bones

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. None living, anyway.

For millions of years, the bones of these gargantuan creatures stood, littering the Valley with their petrified, crystalline remains. Varying in size from that of a large tree, to some rivaling small mountains, there in the Valley they once gathered, as a great Calamity wiped out all known life on the planet.

Though many of these skeletal giants were since robbed of their jewel-like eyes and crystal scales, their gazes still remained, unmoving and unblinking, staring with open maws at the great Wyrm Tiamat, Her snake-like body coiled around a towering stone pillar in the center of the Valley. Her dozens of wings stretched outwards to form what some might describe as branches of a giant tree. In fact, some early civilizations once worshipped this great Wonder as Yggdrasil, legendary tree of life – so mesmerizing and dazzling were the sun’s rays reflecting off those crystal bones that they nearly blinded those early explorers.

Back then, it was only in the dark that one could see Her true form – a great creature covered in adamantine scales, Her arms pushing off the very summit of the pillar, and Her petrified skull stretched towards the heavens with eyes of anger and sadness.

Though it took a rather embarrassingly long time for early humans to realize Tiamat was not in fact a tree, to this day Her worshippers have held to the belief that Yggdrassil-now-known-as-Tiamat is the source of all known life. Indeed, after much study and debate, the most agreed-upon theory among religious and scientific experts alike is that, in the wake of that great Calamity, the planet might indeed have remained barren for all eternity, had it not been for the final Three Acts of the Last Dragon-King.

First She screamed, that all might hear and gather before Her.

“Keep your eyes peeled for anything,” Captain Herrera barked. “The Fog is getting thicker by the minute.” His heavy boots crushed the remains of a small dragon skull.

“Aye, sir” Clyde said, tightening his grip on the chains in his hands. “But who’s going to keep their eyes on them?” He glanced behind him, only for a second, to look at the seven shambling Dragon Priests shambling towards him.

“For the last time, those things are harmless. Barely more than mindless, blind old men. Ignore them, just make sure they don’t fall in a ditch or something.” The Captain waved a torch in front of him to scare off a stray bat. “Sooner we get them to their King the better.”

“Yeah…”

Clyde Vambrace was no stranger to the Dragon Priests, having been raised in one of the Draconic Order's orphanages – but until this particular pilgrimage, he had never once been in the presence of an actual, scaled-out Priest. There was a time when he might have been excited to meet one. Now, he only hoped he’d never need to see one again.

Not much is known about the Order of the Dragon Priests, despite being figureheads of one of the most prominent religions in the world. It is said in Draconic scripture that the Priests live to be hundreds of years old, thanks to the Ritual of Becoming: an ancient practice of infusing would-be priests with preserved dragon blood. A process which is not only extremely painful and dangerous, but also causes hardened scales to grow across the face, eyes and ears, leaving them with naught but decrepit old mouths to signify that they might have once been human – and even then, the Priests are mute, apart from the occasional guttural growl or chant.

Only those with particular genealogies were selected to take part in the Ritual of Becoming; that is not to say that the Church was particularly classist, however – every few generations or so, there came an Order of Particularly Liberal Priests who would attempt to open the ritual up to the public. Unfortunately, the public always seemed to forget the fact that only .001% of the human population is able to survive the transfusion process.

Some of the more conspiracy-addled folks back home believed that the Priests only allowed the public to take part in the Ritual so they could cull a population that was growing too big to control. Clyde had to admit that, seeing the Priests in the flesh, they might have been on to something.

A sudden forceful tug of the chains behind him caused Clyde to lose his footing. He turned around. The Fog was so that he could only see three of the Priests behind him. The chains tying the third Priest were still tied taught, but disappeared into the forest behind it. Clyde pulled on the chains, but the Priests would not budge.

“Hang on, sir, I think one of em’s stuck.”

“Damn it, what did I...just...say?” He turned to look at Clyde, then at the Fog encroaching behind him. Clyde shrugged. The Captain sighed. “Give me that.” He snatched the chains from Clyde and put a lit torch in their place. “You’re going back there,” the Captain ordered, “see what those things are stuck on, and bring them up front." He began wrapping the ends of the chains around his forearm. "Fog’s too thick to keep them in a straight line.”

“Yes…yes, sir.” Clyde realized fairly early on that there was no point in talking back to the Captain. He turned and walked slowly past the first few Priests, keeping the torch high and as far in front of him as he could. As he passed the third Priest, he glanced briefly back at the Captain, already obscured by the Fog except for a newly-lit torch and hazy silhouette. A brief flash of light signified that the Captain had just lit a cigarette.

Clyde continued meticulously on, checking each of the Priests and their chains for any snags or obstacles. It seemed the further along the line he went, the thicker the Fog became; by time he was halfway down the line, he could no longer see more than two feet in front of him, despite the light of his torch. He had to keep his other hand on the chains just to keep from losing his way - and just so, as he passed the sixth and penultimate Priest, the chains took a noticeable detour from the path, piercing on ahead into the dark and encroaching Fog. Clyde hesitated for a moment, then reasoned that the Priest must not be far; the Priests were kept to a close distance of roughly six and a half feet. Keeping a firm grip on the chains, he took his first step off the path, and then another.

The ground was uneven, but not particularly dangerous. Still, Clyde took each step carefully and, after several such steps, he could see the shape of something ahead, just in front of him – a person, at first glance, but it grew in size and shifted in shape as Clyde inched ever closer. His mind played through a full gamut of worst-case scenarios to explain the mysterious shape before him – including, inexplicably, his dead ex-wife bent on revenge for leaving her and their children (if only she knew he was doing this for them, damn it) – until finally he realized it was nothing more than a large tree, ancient and foreboding, but harmless. The chains which were binding the final Priest were pulled tied around the back of the large trunk – surely the Priest was on the other side.

“Think I found it, sir!” Clyde called back. The Captain didn’t answer, or perhaps he didn’t hear. Clyde took a deep breath and moved around the tree, using his torch to try and peer around the corner for some hidden predator. Fortunately, he found only the Priest, standing stoically and motionless, his back turned towards Clyde.

“There you are,” Clyde said, despite knowing that the Priest couldn’t hear him. He looked down at the Priest’s feet to see if they were caught in anything, but all appeared clear. “Alright, time to come back.” Clyde tried to pull at the chains to get the Priest to turn around, but he wouldn't budge. He briefly touched the priest's shoulder. A low moan formed from somewhere deep within the Priest’s throat, but it did not appear to be in response to Clyde. Indeed, it didn’t seem phased by Clyde’s presence whatsoever.

Suddenly a chill ran down the back of Clyde's neck as he realized something ahead was drawing the Priest’s attention.

Clyde raised and extended his torch arm forward, gently waving it back and forth in an effort to displace some of the Fog (it didn’t work). Suddenly, a faint glimmer caught his eye, and as he strained to focus on it, a sinister and cold wind crept through the forest. Branches of old, dead trees cracked and whistled. The Fog grew both thicker and lighter all at once, as if the very air of the Valley was shifting and buckling under a great weight. And as the wind grew, so too did the cold, and so too did the Priest growl, and so too did the others join as if in a chorus, and thus did a terrible cacophony rise in Clyde’s mind.

He yelled in pain and blindly tossed the torch as if it had just burned him. It hollowly bounced off a structure just in front of the Priest, before falling down to the ground. The noise was so loud it was deafening. Blinding. He covered his ears and stumbled backwards, falling to the ground. He writhed there, in the dirt and the mud, as the will of a thousand voices filled his ears and pierced through his mind.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the noise and the wind halted, and the Valley fell silent once again. Slowly, Clyde uncovered his ears and opened his eyes. As the scene before him came into focus, he could see that the Fog had lifted, however slightly. A few feet ahead of him: the Dragon Priest, now turned and staring - if you can even call it that - with scaled eyes directly down at Clyde. And just behind the Priest, illuminated in the faint light of a carelessly discarded torch, towering above both man and tree: the remains of a great dragon. And Clyde saw the glimmer from before for what it truly was – the only remaining eye of this great beast.

The Dragon Priest raised a slender arm and extended a frail, sickly finger towards him. And the Priest screamed. And thus, so too did that eye - red with bloodlust - turn and set its gaze upon Clyde. A wave of dread and terror washed over him. Scenes of war, and bloodshed, and flame and death flashed through Clyde’s mind, and in that brief moment he felt enough grief and sadness to fill a thousand lifetimes.

***

While it is not yet known exactly why the dragons gathered there in the Valley all those millions of years ago, scientists now believe they at least know how – thanks in no small part to the 37th Order making the bold decision to open their knowledge vaults to the scientific community in the year 854. Of course, any self-respecting scholar will tell you that the theory was first posited several centuries prior by Dr. Ysablle Rambeau during her research into the Priests themselves – specifically their means of communication.

According to the theory – now posthumously named The Rambeau Theory of Gathering – The Last Dragon-King Tiamat, after positioning Herself there in the center of the Valley, screamed so loudly that every living being on the planet could hear Her. To most anything that wasn’t a dragon, it would have simply sounded like the death-knell of a doomed and dying planet – and so they likely paid it no mind, considering that the sky was already very much on fire and most living things had accepted their fate by that point.

But for the Dragons – they would have heard something very different. A cry for help. A promise. A final hope. And so there they gathered, under the auspices of their great King, at the end of the world.

Indeed, it is now believed that the Dragons had an incredibly complex and intelligent means of communication – rivaling that of human speech, and perhaps even surpassing it. After spending just six months with the Priests of the 32nd Order, Dr. Rambeau hypothesized that the strange growls, moans, and other inhuman sounds reverberating from deep within the Priests’ throats were, in fact, the same ancient language of the Dragons and the primary means of communication for those mysterious religious figures and beasts alike.

Unfortunately, while Dr. Rambeau was allowed full purview of the Draconic Temple to study their ways – a feat which some consider unprecedented even today – the Priests did not take very kindly to being made into research subjects themselves, and they especially didn't like the idea of other people being able to understand their conversations.

Soon after she published The Ancient Language of the Dragons - her first and only scientific paper - Dr. Ysabelle Rambeau was accused of entering the Draconic Temple under false pretense, imprisoned, and swiftly executed.

Second, She cried, that all might know Her pain.

Clyde awoke to a swift smack in the face.

“The hell did you do, hit your head or something?”

Clyde opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, with no recollection of how he got there. The Captain stood over him, annoyance and exhaustion plastered across his face. Ahead of Clyde stood the Dragon Priest, once more standing with his back turned to him.

“Get up, return to your post, and wait there” the Captain growled, “I’ll bring this shambling corpse back, since you seem incapable of doing so.”

Clyde might have argued if not for his pounding headache and overall disorientation. He pulled himself up, struggling to gain his footing as blood rushed up to his head. Briefly, the dragon’s eye flashed again in his mind and, suddenly remembering what he’d seen, he looked wildly around him. But it was no use – the Fog had returned, thicker than ever. There were no dragons to be seen.

Upon returning to his post, following the line of “shambling corpses,” as Herrera so cleverly put it, Clyde determined that he would not ever leave the path again – no matter what the Captain ordered.

After several moments, as well as several obscenities from the Captain, the seven Priests were gathered once more onto the path, this time in rows of two. The Priest which had caused the most recent delay was placed at the front, alone but for Clyde to guide him and the rest of the Order. Clyde wondered briefly if there was any sort of hierarchy to them. If there was, the scriptures didn’t mention one.

They continued in silence for what seemed like hours, following the path which only the Priests and their Guardians were permitted to walk for thousands of years – and thus, very hard to navigate, especially in the Fog. And so they continued on, meticulously, making their way slowly to the center of the Valley, and the King who awaited them.

***

Perhaps the main interest of many in the scientific community – i.e. those who care about making quite a lot of money – is in the giant crystals left in the wake of Tiamat’s Second Act. At one time covering the entirety of the Valley in seemingly endless abundance, these crystals granted humankind vast sources of energy and countless other scientific advancements; and, thanks to millennia-old pacts, secret arrangements, and trade deals, the Draconic Order have maintained control over this powerful – and indeed, dangerous – resource since the dawn of written history.

Still, even they could not prevent the occasional war from breaking out or heist from being planned, and thus inevitably – little by little – the once endless resource began to dwindle, leaving nothing but rot and decay throughout the Valley’s hills.

It is said that the crystals can only be found in the Valley specifically because they were created by Tiamat Herself. After Tiamat's Scream united all Her children and all their broods to the Valley, there She stood upon the pillar, looking to the heavens.

And there, she wept.

Though the exact nature of this phenomenon is widely unknown, recent scientific tests have confirmed what the Order has taught since inception: Tiamat, in all Her glory, wept for Her children for 40 days and 40 nights, and Her tears covered that Valley, casting all who remained within a Her crystalline and loving embrace. Amen.

Meanwhile, the actual reasoning behind Tiamat's Second Act is still heavily debated, even among the Order itself. Some of the more traditionalist among them believe that Tiamat’s Tears were meant to protect every living creature in the Valley, so that they may one day return to reclaim the earth; others believe that Tiamat’s Tears were instead a gift for Those Who Came After – to provide warmth and energy and power to mankind.

Of the two philosophies, unfortunately only the latter is particularly lucrative – and so, as humankind grew more powerful, and thus more greedy, the more they took of Tiamat’s Tears – leaving only King Tiamat and five of Her Twelve Children fully intact. The rest were nothing but petrified bones – if they still stood at all.

Indeed, many believe that the planet’s current climate is due to mankind’s wonton mining of the Valley – as the remains of dragons and other ancient creatures became unearthed, so too did a number of primordial gasses, as well as several diseases, causing no small manner of natural disasters and illness. Not the least of which being the most recent Fog, which began forming from somewhere in the Valley and, as of 76 hours ago, reached the shores of Altaria, bringing with it no small manner of mysterious deaths, mass paranoia, and an alarming number of dragon sightings.

Finally, She breathed, that We may live.

“We’re here.”

Clyde came to stop just before running into the Captain. Before them stood a large wooden door – old, yet immaculately preserved. The Captain placed his torch on a sconce next to the door. The Priests began to growl behind them.

Captain Herrera pulled at the door’s handle, using both arms to force it open, as it creaked and moaned in a manner not unlike the Priests themselves.

“Wait here ‘til I say it’s clear," The Captain spoke, low but firm.

Without allowing time for Clyde to respond, the Captain took his torch and disappeared into the room behind the door. After several moments, multiple sources of light formed as the Captain made his way around the chamber and lit its many lanterns and candles. After several long moments, the Captain motioned for Clyde and the Priests to enter.

The chamber was small and circular, allowing for barely more than seven Draconic Priests and two or maybe three guardians at any one time. In the center, small steps descended into a circular pool of water. In the torchlight, the pool glittered brilliantly. It was the purest water Clyde had ever seen.

To his surprise, Clyde felt tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes.

“Alright, so,” the Captain said as he pulled a piece of parchment from a pouch in his pack. “According to this, the Priests should just…know what to do. How helpful.” He stuffed the piece of paper back into his bag. “Well, first thing is getting these chains off ‘em I suppose. You do the honors.” The Captain tossed a heavy set of keys at Clyde. He caught them just before they could hit the side of his head.

As Clyde began to unshackle the Priests – starting with the one that had just screamed at him a few hours ago – the Priests became noticeably more agitated and vocal. One by one, as the chains came undone, they each shambled towards the central pool, each standing in a seemingly predetermined space at the edge.

The Priests' chanting became louder with each subsequent unshackling, as they slowly joined the chorus in the central pool. It sounded eerily similar to what Clyde heard emanating through the forest earlier, though much less terrifying this time. He unlocked the final shackle, and watched as the seven Priests gathered there in the pool, their chorus now amassing to a low roar, reverberating through the chamber. Clyde felt the song vibrating through the bones in his chest.

Captain Herrera joined Clyde at the chamber entrance. “So I guess we wait and see what happens. Hope it isn’t too weird.” Clyde didn't speak.

The song continued – a single, unending and unchanging note – until slowly the Priests' voices faded out, one by one. Finally, the chamber was silent once again. Clyde and the Captain made an unspoken agreement then to also stay silent for whatever would come next.

A gentle breeze crept through the cave and into the chamber, quiet and hardly noticeable at first, but growing steadily stronger with each passing second. The Priests began their heads wildly, violently. The two men looked at each other, just before the wind grew to a great gale, passing into and through and around the chamber, snuffing out all light and slamming the large door shut with a thundering bang.

Darkness.

Not even the glittering pool could be seen in that place. The air was cold – much colder than before – and Clyde trembled. He walked backwards, hoping to find the door behind him – yet try as he might, his hands could find nothing but stone walls in the dark. Just as panic began to sweep over him, a faint light returned the chamber: a soft blue glow shining from the central pool – barely enough light for Clyde to see the pool again. However, the Dragon Priests were nowhere to be seen.

“The hell – where did they go?” Clyde saw the shape of Captain Herrera hurry towards the pool. As he peered inside, the light bounced off the aged features and wrinkles on his face. He examined the water for a second, only to find that the pool was barely three inches deep. “Damn. Coulda sworn it looked deeper with them standing in it…Vambrace – you with me?”

“Yeah,” Clyde coughed. His throat was parched. He moved closer to Herrera by the central pool.

“The Priests will know what to do, huh? Well what are we supposed to do when the Priests up and disappear?”

Clyde said nothing. He peered down at the pool next to Herrera, and watched as his reflection blurred and shifted in the rippling pool. A great sadness came over him then, and he wept; but he did not know why.

As tears fell down Clyde’s cheeks, his eyes began to itch, and then, burn. He rubbed his eyes to placate them, but to little avail.

“Vambrace, you uh, crying on me? Look I get you're scared but I do not handle tears well, you hear that? Save it for the trip home." The captain turned his gaze from the pool and began looking around the still-dark chamber. "If we even get out of here."

“Sorry, sir, I just got something in my – ah!” Clyde bent over, as the burning in his eyes turned to a piercing pain. He rubbed and scratched at the skin around his eyes, harder and harder, until it felt like he might tear his skin. Something was in his eyes, and it was growing – it felt like his head might burst at any second.

“Vambrace! Talk to me,” The Captain yelled, grabbing Clyde’s shoulders, and suddenly the pain began to subside. But Clyde knew that had nothing to do with the Captain’s poor excuse at medical attention. Clyde held his head in his hands, feeling the area around his eyes – or where they should be – but he felt nothing. It was as if his skin had been pulled over his eyes.

“Sir?” Clyde called out. “I…I can’t see.”

“Come on, move your hands, let me take a look.”

The Captain became uncharacteristically silent.

“Bloody hell…”

“Sir? Clyde once again felt his face for the presence of anything resembling an eye, or even an eye socket, and found nothing.

“It’s like you’re…I don’t know, you’re one of them. The Priests.”

“No, that can’t…no.” Clyde didn’t know what he was hearing. He started to laugh.

“Alright, listen to me kid, you’re gonna be okay, alright? We just need to get you out of here and we’ll get you checked out. Just, ah…here, I’ll guide you.” The Captain grabbed Clyde’s arm.

Suddenly, in Clyde’s blindness, images filled his mind as if in a dream.

He stands in front of a beautiful woman. She places a hand on his cheek. She tells him she loves him. He says he loves her too.

Her hand drops from his cheek. The smile fades from her lips. He’s holding something. His hands feel warm.

He looks down. In his hands is a dagger, covered in blood. He cries. She falls.

“Vambrace?" The Captain coughed. Something wet splashed Clyde's face where his eyes should be. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The dream was gone. In its place, blackness. Yet the familiar warm sensation in his hands remained.

Something was in his hands.

A terrible splash filled the room as something heavy fell into the pool. Clyde let go of the object in his hands. When he heard the metal hit the floor, he knew what he’d done.

“Captain? Captain!”

Silence.

"Captain, I swear, I don’t know what just happened, please, answer me.” Clyde reached his hands out, but grasped nothing but air.

Then, a faint yet familiar glimmer appeared in the blackness.

“Who’s there?”

The tiny light grew slowly, changing shape and color before Clyde. It appeared first as an egg, then a tree, and then a massive dragon, before once more shifting into a humanoid form. Much like his reflection in the pool, the image shifted and changed constantly, until a final shape formed – that of a woman, of a dragon. That of a King.

The figure walked towards Clyde – whether in his mind or in the physical realm, only he could guess – until finally She appeared fully before him, and Clyde gazed upon Her face. With outstretched arm, She pressed a hand against the side of his face.

“Young child, I am Tiamat, Dragon King. And you have been blind for far too long.”

As Tiamat’s hand left Clyde’s face, the cracks appeared in the darkness, and the scales fell from his eyes. He was back in the chamber, once again fully lit in warm, natural light. In front of him She stood there in Her human form, ebony horns forming the shape of a crown upon Her head. Firelight danced off Her magenta scales and violet, reptilian eyes. Behind Her, Captain Herrera’s lifeless body lay in the central pool, now filled with blood.

Tiamat, to Clyde’s surprise, embraced him in that moment.

“I am sorry, child. I know that you must have questions. And they will be answered, if that is your wish. But first,” She stepped back, and bowed her head before Clyde. “I understand that I have you to thank for my resurrection, and I would reward you. What is it you seek?”

Clyde could barely process what was happening. He looked at the blood-soaked pool and the lifeless body of his Captain. He looked back at Tiamat, ancient Dragon King, bowing before him, Clyde, human adult. She stood there, patient and unmoving, waiting for an answer.

He thought then about his life, of the war that left him an orphan in a world that doesn’t care for orphans. He thought about the madness of the world. He took a breath, and he answered Her.

“I have nothing, and I want for nothing. Allow me to follow You.”

Tiamat rose and smiled at him.

“Then, henceforth, your name is forgotten. You are my General, and your will is mine.”

***

In Tiamat’s Final Act, it is said that She breathed a great fire into the atmosphere for seven days and seven nights. The fire filled the sky and covered the world in a thick black smoke, choking out all life. Even the seas and oceans boiled, until there was naught left but cracked, dry earth.

For a long time, the general purpose of scorching a planet that was already doomed to oblivion was one of the greatest mysteries of the Draconic Order – but thanks to modern science it is now believed that Tiamat’s final breath – long thought to be an act of anger and destruction – may have been the very thing that allowed life to flourish once more, millions of years later.

Indeed, over time, the smoke and ash cleared and sunlight once again washed over the planet, shining especially over the Valley of Dragons, encased there in crystal. The prevailing theory is that the sunlight, reflecting off those crystals and mixing with the atmosphere, allowed for water droplets to form once more on the barren planet. Where life once ended, so too did it begin there in the Valley of Dragons.

Just as the Last Dragon-King planned.