Fallen Wings

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Dragons are creatures of light and sky, and this sunken landscape extinguishes the brightest flames no matter how fervently they fight to flicker and fly for the heavens. This is a place of shadow and secrets, a mecca for every formed and formless individual who no longer has anything to lose but the whisper of spirit that remains twisted and tattered within their core. Only those who have no other option come to this place to wither away, and these mighty beings are no exception. There are thousands of them in the valley now, and as each day passes the heavy wind beneath their wings drags them down further, until they can no longer leave the barren ground at all. More will come. As the last of them are hunted and driven from their homes, those who survive will make their way here,

to the throne of the damned.

Not so long ago the Dragons were revered, their power and might out-shined all others but it was not this, their blinding beauty, or their sharpened intellect that won over the ancient Domhaan dwellers. It was their courage, honor and open hearts. They were warriors and protectors of the people of Domhaan, and it is this that became their downfall.

For as long as history remembers dragon scales have been the most precious form of currency to the Domhians. The scales were never harvested from the dragon’s themselves, but from the blessed ground that held them after their 10 year shedding. If you were lucky enough to traipse upon a dragon scale of any kind you never had to fear hunger again. If you found yourself amidst a cluster of them and you were savvy enough to keep them out of the slippery palms of thieves and pickpockets then you would be rich beyond measure.

67 years ago a man named Tynan Morai changed the course of history. He killed a dragon, a feat that was thought to be impossible, and completely de-scaled her. He became the wealthiest person to ever walk these lands. At first Domhians were horrified, unable to understand how someone could destroy a creature so exalted in the name of greed and wealth. But as Tynan continued to shed serpentine blood and amass his treasure of scales others began to submit their hearts to the same dark desires. People of every form sought him out and begged him to relinquish his secrets, to show them how a dragon could be killed. Most did not learn his methods, this was information he would not even concede to his own children unless they were proven worthy of the knowledge; But he paid well enough for information on nest location and their travel routes. Through his self-serving generosity he amassed an army of spies and informants.

There were, eventually, a select few chosen to be put through a series of demanding, torturous trials. Those that made it through were brutally trained in the deadly art of Dragon slaying, many did not survive this process. The ones that made it through became known as Lightslayers, and they are feared universally across Domhaan.

From above me a dragon releases a mournful wail, and the sound echoes through the valley for far too long as if it clings to every jutting rock and curls into every hollow cave in this lifeless place. The sound is not a foreign one, not anymore. It has become an almost constant melody; A beautiful, terrible song and it is the only thing that I can still feel my heart move to anymore. We are all empty here. But the song of the dragons, heartbreaking though it may be, fills our spirits just a little.

I place a token on the roughly hewn stone countertop and Ailpen the Barkeep grunts in approval before he sweeps it into his battered coffer and oozes away to serve another lone patron. I stand from my seat in the tar-covered, dilapidated tavern that has become my only reprieve and step into the eternal gray of this lowland. My eyes turn skywards. I take in the sight of glorious wings, and elegant bodies swarming through the air. I cannot see the shine of their scales, or the shifting colors of these serpents through the haze. I can see, however, that many of the dragons are fighting to stay air bound. They know that if they touch the ground they will not return to the sky again. Taking flight will be too exhausting.

I cannot help but feel a crushing sense of guilt as I draw my eyes back down towards the rock. I am the reason they are here. I take one more hesitant glance at the dragons dancing between the impossibly high rock walls, and then I begin to make my way home.

As I wind my way through the haphazardly constructed shelters, down the foot worn paths that have become our streets, I continue to listen and mourn with the winged ones. So absorbed am I in these sounds that It feels like no time has passed by the time I arrive at my own dwelling. My home is a shallow cavern set into the blackened rock on the east side of the valley. The opening is covered by the large branches of dead trees that fall into this vale from the forest above during powerful storms. It is not well protected, but very few will attempt to steal from me. They know my history.

I shift one of the branches aside and enter the cramped, dark cave. I light a fire in the space and from the corner of my eye I catch sight of a muted glimmer, shifting and dancing in the firelight. The shimmer of dragon scales cascading off of my most valuable possession and, until recently, my most prized. My armor rests on a natural rock surface protruding from the back wall of the cavern, it is a garment comprised wholly of dragon scales. When worn It covers the entirety of my body except for my hands and my face. It is at once a form of protection and a signal to all that I am someone to avoid. That I am dangerous.

That I have killed a dragon.

My name is Fiadh Morai and my title is Lightslayer. I am the Granddaughter of Tynan Morai, and my hands have shed more dragon blood than any other Lightslayer's to date, including Grandfather Tynan’s. This is my story, but it is equally theirs.

Welcome to Fallen Peak.