Gods Among Us

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. My Ma would say it were dwarves that brought the wyrms down on us, but I tend to think us Men didn’t help none. Dwarves dug for metals and fashioned beautiful things, treasures that could be gifted to a dragon; Man went to the Mountains empty-handed, and stole the scales off the dragon’s back.

I remember the day they came for us. Crawling down from their mountains high, they looked like Vengeance herself. I wept for what we’d done. We’d turned them crazed, and in their fury they flattened everything under their great, writhing bodies. It was impudence that cost us our homes and our fields.

We used to worship them, back in the day. When the First Clans set out on the open seas they did so in ships carved in glorious benefaction to Yuhle, the Firstborn. Legend had it their fire had breathed life into the Sun itself, and to them we prayed for gentle winters and plentiful harvests.

With the passing of time, Man grew stronger in number and soon, factions split amongst us. Chiefs vied for power, and to scrape together some kind of vantage they went to the Mountains to curry favor with the dragons. They didn't much like involving themselves in human affairs, but for novelty items they chose to humor us.

Tor, then chief of Lowy Sounds, quickly sought to ingratiate himself to the dragons. His lands ran the length of the coast, and copped the brunt of the easterly squalls. They had no farms, and no trees; just bare earth.

His people had for generations been forced to trade with the clans further inland. It was for this reason that they first ventured across the waters, in search of goods to exchange.

Tor was a snake of a man. He’d grown up the first son to a heartless wretch, and his formative years were spent mired in misfortune. His younger brother had been killed as a child by their uncle’s men after he was mistaken for Tor.

Tor’s mother was devastated. She had made it no secret to the boys who her favorite son had been, and after his death she sought to take her life and that of Tor. Tor survived, but sadly his mother could not be saved. All of this death marked him like the pox, but he was not want to cast aside his infamy. There was power in being feared.

When Tor came to be chief of Lowy Sounds, he went to the clans to broker a new trade deal. He no longer wished to be the little chief, the woe begotten heir to a thankless chiefdom.

“Surely,” he said, “you people of the plains and hills could spare some more of your grain?” They laughed.

“What do you offer in exchange, little chief? More shellfish?” Toned Fyff, chief of the Hills. He sat large in his chair, distended belly aquiver before him. His were the lands closest to the Mountains, and always had his people been the quickest to lend service to the dragons.

“No, no more shellfish, my lord. No, I offer you something of extreme beauty. Something my people of course have no need for, being victim as we are to such horrible and trying lands.”

He pulled from beneath his robe a small bundle, and undid its ties.

“We call it Sky Cloak.”

There were gasps as all beheld Tor's gift.

"Where did you find this, Witch?" Chief Holbrum was taken by the small shard. In it, colors swirled like clouds in a storm. It was hard for the eye to look away.

"That you needn't ask, my dear chief of the Plains. All you need ask is what my asking price be. I imagine it would make a lovely gift for one's sweet, or indeed a nice bargaining chip in dealings with a wyrm..."

Fyff piffled. "And a most convenient power you would have over the fool who chose to agree. Take it away, little chief. We have no need for your little games."

Tor scraped a bow, and all chortled as he walked away. All, save one.

***

The story goes that when Chief Holbrum of the Plains went to the dragons with a rare, new treasure, they were instantly overawed by its beauty.

“What is this material?” They demanded to know, clasping it in their coils.

It is a metal found in seams under the rich lands of the Plains, he proclaimed.

“We call it Sky Cloak, and nowhere else have we seen similar. But, tell me if you do like it, and I shall ensure you a steady supply.”

The dragons readily agreed, and in exchange they promised Holbrum anything he should desire.

Fyff of the Hills was angry when he could not call upon the dragons. His offers of trinkets no longer interested them, and he was sent away packing. He suspected that Holbrum was to blame; his neighbor had always been jealous of his good standing with the wyrms, and it surprised him little should he have finally found a way to unseat him.

He approached Tor.

"My Chief of the Hills, welcome!" Tor stood from his throne, extending a hand and inviting him to sit. He offered a drink, but Fyff waved him away.

"I am sure you know why I am here, Witch. I am forced to play your game."

"Ah, indeed. And what part would you play? Do you finally accept my humble offering?"

"Holbrum was a fool to have taken your offering. No, I choose to watch whatever unfolding you have planned. I am no incipient."

"Mmm. No, that you are not. And besides, I cannot keep my secret any longer. I must tell you." He placed down his drink, and stared into Fyff's eyes.

"Do you know where wyrms go to bury their dead?"

***

Tor had watched the squabbling for too long. Hillspeople, Plainspeople, they all desired the same base things, and he was want for some excitement. A chance find on the bottom of the ocean had given him the means to enter their circles, and had allowed him to stir up some mischief. Now he had feed for his people, and moneys for trade, but he was not yet satisfied.

He went to the Mountains.

He went disguised as an old woman, and alongside him a mule pulled a covered cart. Up the loose paths he wound his way, till finally he arrived at the mouth of the dragons' nest and there begged an audience.

"Why come you to us, little Witch?" They asked, crowding about him. They hosted him in a great hall, and truly was it more cavernous than dare be described. The ceiling resembled the midnight sky, save for the stars that here could not blink. Jewels and metals lay strewn about the floor, and in amongst the flashing surfaces shifted the swirling colors of the great snakes' bodies.

Tor bowed to them. "My most respected and magnanimous wyrms, I thank you for this audience."

He switched back the covering on the cart. The wyrms let out a mass keening.

"But I do come bearing a most upsetting revelation about the metal known as Sky Cloak."