A Letter Found

There weren't always Dragons in the Valley.

Dragons, you’ve probably surmised by this point, are those winged, glinting giants circling above Sprawl. I presume Rutherford has gone on at least one peace parade by now, claiming he’s responsible for their arrival. He’s no doubt mounting his stag at this very moment, draped in bright oranges and yellows that put townspeople’s minds at ease. He’s likely spouting vows to harness the power of the Dragons because he alone can be trusted to wield it. It is, after all, he and his shepherds that shield the citizens of Sprawl from the monsters that prowl outside the city walls. He has, of course, reminded you that those who go wandering without his protection meet all manner of slashed, gnashed, and mangled ends.

You’re here. You know better than I do what tactics he’s tried since the Dragons materialized. Technically I’m here too. Sort of. I apologize for pulling you into this cryptic, tangled mess, but this spell is unstable. I don’t have much control over when or where I pop in right now, so I guess you’re-

Apologies for the scribbles on your table there as well. Spontaneous vanishing is an unfortunate side effect of the spell drain, which makes it incredibly difficult to write in a straight line. Before I go on, I need you to understand that you are in danger. You and everybody else in Sprawl. Unless you’re part of Rutherford’s crew, that is, in which case you can burn in-

Right. To the point. Dragons aren’t native to the Valley. Or to the River. Or to any known part of our world. They’re native to the Mountain on which my physical self is stuck now. The breeze here is crisp and smells like it was soaked in rose water. The amethyst sky is punctured with aqua starlight from star constellations I’ve never seen before. I woke up here at the edge of a city, though it’s difficult to discern any features in the glow of the moons. Along the path leading to the city gates are thousands of people clumped together in groups, each in the midst of frenzied chatter. Now I know why-

You see, Dragons fuel this Mountain. Rather, they did before they disappeared. They exude exothermic energy that was channeled into homes, workshops, and transport lines over and through the Mountain. When the Dragons left, that power went with them. Travel lurched to a halt. Heat and light blinked out in an instant. Countless communities were suddenly swallowed by a cold, dark quiet. From Peak to Base, cities are now torn between sounding alert bells and standing together in shocked silence. Every candlelit structure and cavern echoes with murmured prayers and shouted accusations. A Mountain once thrumming with veins of unimaginable energy has collapsed into confused chaos, and these people demand to know who, or what, is responsible. It’s important that you know it’s me. I’m responsible. Lord Walter ‘Stabbed My Own Brother’ Rutherford isn’t capable of awakening or summoning Dragons. At least I hope not-

I’ve learned there are no monsters outside the city walls, only monstrous humans obeying corrupt command. Emerick didn’t abandon Sprawl. He was ripped away from it by his own brother who then, with a Valley’s worth of condolences in his pocket, slid easily into the slot of leadership. Each vicious creature we hear about is Rutherford’s creation. He’ll do whatever he feels necessary to maintain control-

He doesn’t kill everyone who declines his escort though. Some who choose to travel on their own simply disappear. I don’t know where they’re taken or what’s done to them once they get there. I was caught trying to find out. Rutherford’s shepherds must have been watching me while I was watching them, perched in the branches while I-

The spell was designed for banishment. It wasn’t ready, that much is clear now, but I had a choice. My final moments would be spent with my knees in the mud, gazing up at a dented helm until a sword slid through me, or they would be spent ridding the Valley of its greatest threat. I dug sigils into the ground with my fingertips. I incantated clearly as always-

It began like a typical energy transfer. The breeze picked up into a gust. Twigs cracked, snapped, and blew around like dust. Water pooled in the sigils and bubbled into a steady boil. A promising sign. Birds crowed and cawed in a frenzy before falling quiet. My hands radiated warmth. Then the buzzing started. It grew and bloomed like swarming wasps. A wall of pressure slammed into me and crushed my ribs. My inner ears collapsed. The world was muffled and blurred. Every part of me contorted until I was crumpled, hands clasped around my head. No scream would come out, so I curled soundlessly into as tight a ball as my bones would allow. The buzzing vibrated into and out of my pores. It tore over every inch of me until I was dissolved, hovering between worlds. I passed out-

Now I’m here, on a Mountain powered by missing entities, with a shattered spell and no way to correct the imbalance. I don’t know what went wrong, but I need your help. I need you to acknowledge the clenching of your jaw when you see the shepherds parade by, flashing smiles at clustered families vying for a glimpse of their heroes in the street. I need you to have faith in the pangs of distrust that flood your gut when Rutherford reads the Blessed Falling for another soul taken by monsters in the woods. I need you to heed the quickening of your heartbeat as you walk by guards posted outside of doors that were never once locked before-

I need you to find Ellie Annora and tell her I was right. Tell her what happened when I cast the spell-

Find our lost people and put an end to this madness. Get to the Dragons before Rutherford-

Which reminds me, and this is important-

When speaking to-

Dragons, do not-