Welcome to The Valley

There weren’t always dragons in The Valley.

They arrived much later, like phantoms from the shadows. Once the reeds had grown tall, the mountains had been carved down, and the trees had tangled themselves up like lovers. The dragons came with the last wave of changes. The Valley needed impact. Guardians to lure in adventurers with their jewel colored scales and legends of riches. So, the dragons came into existence.

I can see one shift across the canopy of redwoods below. Its royal blue flesh akin to water breaking free of a dam through the treetops, branches break and snap beneath its weight. The slender body snakes through the cluster of green as it runs its course, circling a crystal clear lake where a well-sought sword is said to have been hiding.

I can’t help but watch it move with a hint of print swelling in my chest from the precipice of the basin. The view seemingly stretches on for an eternity below me. The Valley rests at the bottom of the steep Ellure Mountains, curved in an embrace as the rocky formation protects all that lies within the expanse. The dragons and goblins, the small village and caravaner groups that settle to the east, the fairies that sleep within the poppy fields. All protected by a landscape so carefully, painstakingly crafted.

A horde of stone golems shuffle onward below me. Their tall, limestone bodies move with painstaking slowness. A beautiful choreography worthy of their monolithic size and weight. Even from up here, from so far away, they look monstrous. Their stone bodies creak, their heavy footfalls send birds flying skyward.

My basilisk skin boots and wolf pelt cloak are wet from the powdery snow that melts around me. If it were possible for me to truly feel the cold my body would have shut down by now. It’s frigid. The path across the snowcapped landscape is always shrouded in a grey haze. The Ellure Mountains are meant for the bravest of adventurers, the final stretch before you step foot into the ecosystem below. A true test of might and skill. Few have gotten this far.

I’ve walked a long way to get here, crafted better gear and slain many creatures through my travels. The Ellure Mountains’ flat surface shifts from a tundra-soaked environment behind me to fresh, springtime grass before me. I can hear the sharp wind whistling as the sun rises on the horizon. The far off Kellan Sea shimmers like lapis lazuli and, off in the distance, a frigate rolls across the steady waves.

The Valley calls to all adventurers. The mages who seek powerful gems to hone their dark magiks. The dungeon-crawlers who yearn for the labyrinths hidden beneath obsidian obelisks. The hunters who strive for the biggest kill. Ye who enter need be prepared, for The Valley seldom lets those who wander in leave alive.

This is perfection. Every small detail was handcrafted to move precisely as it should, to shift with the flow of the wind in a manner that felt natural. To be organic. To sell the lie. I should know. This is my design. Each minute piece of it came from a lifelong love of fantasy, of epic adventures and wild beasts. Of countless years of D&D, of reading Tolkien, and filling sketchbooks with powerful warriors.

Damn my hubris. Fate almost dictated that I’d end up swallowed by the maw of my own creation.

I’ve been trapped here for four hundred and thirty two minutes. Each day in The Valley is only seventy two minutes long. There’s no telling how much longer I’ll be here, I'm on an extended vacation and it isn't uncommon for me to vanish for long stretches of time. No one will come looking for me if I don't respond to their calls.

I pull up my inventory screen, scroll through the potions and broken weaponry. My data unfurls before me:

Player: Dagger, Occupation - Assassin, lvl.56

Health - 35/200

Stamina - 20/100

Status Effects - Exhaustion, Starvation, Critical Temperature

My health is running low. My stamina is even lower. My body is dying, chilled and weary. The golems below me would overpower my stats in an instant but I have to move. It’s too cold even if I can’t register it properly. The Valley is designed for this, my avatar is designed for this. This is the endgame and those ships, so far off from where I stand, may be my only hope of getting out of this mess.

Something happened when I plugged in my VR headset. I can’t log out. I can’t escape. Now dragons, golems, marauders and danger stand before me, along with a pop-up notification welcoming me to The Valley, into the serene and dangerous landscape that took years of my life to craft. The delicate, curled font shimmers with the mightiest of golden hues.

I fix the strap of my heavy, over-encumbered pack and pull the hood from my head. My avatar’s silver hair catches the light of the morning sun as a new day breaks over the digital masterpiece I sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears for. This is my design.

My name is Michael Tatum, I’m a game dev and I have found myself stuck inside of my creation, inside of the lithe and nimble body of my avatar. He’s better than I am, in every aspect. He was created that way, to move in a manner my real body can no longer. He has allowed me an escape from the confines of my weakened human form. Allowed me to escape from reality. Allowed me to soar free. So, I let him soar and step off of the precipice of the basin headfirst into my beautiful world.

This is The Valley, and I severely regret adding those dragons.