Granite

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. The first sight of them came when a meteor crashed through the sky and landed deep into the Needwood. Many of us remember that night. King Rhykhan and queen Vilda had given birth to their firstborn, prince Borodrin. Preparations for the birth were started months before, and a great celebration was in place. Excitement gathered for weeks until finally it was announced that the boy was born healthy and well. Food and ale was distributed endlessly. Many tents had been set up for games and oddities. More than anything else, we danced and we sang.

The sun had been set for hours, and a great rumbling could be heard and felt through the crowd in the Valley. An anxiety enveloped the world for a moment as we felt the blue stripe scratch across the stars and sky. Mouths opened as the beauty of it all became too terrible to bear. A great fire burst forth and headed straight for the Needwood. The collision lifted our feet and a great gasp filled the village.

Fire.

Many men volunteered to set forth into the wood. They had been waiting for a moment such as this. Men in the valley worked a humble life; craftsmen, farmers, and brewers. Secretly, between beads of sweat and the pounding of an iron will, they all did yearn for a moment that was truly brave. Bags were packed, goodbyes were long and melting, and then 33 men rode horses into that deep dark night. I, among them, am Tillman.

The road to Needwood was short in comparison to other stretches of the realm. Fifteen miles. I hadn’t packed more than bread and jam. When we arrived at the wood, in the distance we could see a blackness, a faint pit in the ground where the meteor had struck and carved it’s way into the earth. Limbs of the trees above had turned to ember, lighting our path through the forest. Crows could be heard nearby, sharply cawing as if to warn us of the dreaded path ahead.

The concern of the forest fire had been drowned as the lush green of Needwood swelled around the scorched earth and only the pitted stone remained. We approached the smoldering stone with squinting eyes. Encased in steaming rock were four ovoid structures. Scaly and covered by a thin sheet of rock. A mysterious ore. A loud hiss followed by even louder popping had spooked the horses. The thick stench of sulfur filled the air. With no fire to put out, and the night already too long to justify our presence so far from home, we turned around and headed back up the road to the Valley.

If only we had known. It could have ended that night; instead it began.

I felt relief when I arrived home to be with my wife, Thalena. Traveling, even to the Needwood could prove dangerous. Thieves from Gaelt, the salt mines to the east, are always watching the roads. Even in the Valley. Danger was always closer than it appeared and men have been slaughtered for less than bread and jam.

I slept well that night as I imagine the other 32 men in the party did. We thought we risked something, traveling so far and so late at night. We thought ourselves brave; keepers of the wood. We thought many good things. We dreamt many good things.

…What we didn’t know, and what would soon come to be the end for many of us, was that deep inside the Needwood, a festering darkness was blooming. Cracking and breaking their way from a scaly confinement, the first dragons laid eyes on the realms of men.