The Past was Green

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. In fact, it was greener when there was.

I remember. I was a young mercenary girl, and we trekked to the borderlands of Clodaan, where warring tribes fought for land and gold, treasures and renown, but fell on the pointed end of their hubris and greed. The desert sands consumed the dead like a thirsty flower that could never be quenched. I shake sand out of my hair to this day.

Our band, The Iron Legion, led by Cest the Traveller, was hired by Krinden. He was a mysterious sort of merchant, selling weapons and the such. Eye candy for a band of mercenaries, but times were tough back then.

We made our way across the borderlands, carrying his many chests of merchandise, stopping now and then to fight for a tribe when the price was right. We were headed to a city at the edge of the desert. Preciport, it was called. Etched into a cliff face, Preciport hid from the desert and faced the sea. Roads carved their way down and into the natural cave like ruptures in the cliff. The poor lived at the bottom, while the rich and nobles enjoyed the view from above. We navigated the streets and corruption down to the docks. Krinden had sent a messenger ahead to secure a ship and crew. Much to our dismay, not a single captain was willing to take us.

See, Krinden promised us much of the same that the tribes of the borderlands fought for every day. Fame, treasure, gold. The caveat? Go to Valawood, and slay a dragon.

No one was crazy enough to chase after legends, stupid enough to even try. But the heart of man is made of gold. We couldn’t resist. We were crazy. I was stupid.

So, we stole a ship. What could they do once we returned with the corpse of myths. We would sail into the docks with a dragon's head at the bow of the ship, its wings spread like we were flying across the water.

I am an immigrant in Clodaan, yes. My home country, Urymouth, is plotted with large fresh water lakes. I was accustomed to the fishy smells of Preciport. I became used to the heavy humidity. I can walk the deck of a ship like a dancer, albeit after a few to many ales. What I was not expecting was the rage of the sea.

We lost count of the days we were in open water. It seemed every other night the winds would howl and the waves would rise. We fought against the tempest every time, and every time, I thought it would be our last.

Then, we saw land on the horizon. I thought it was an illusion at first, like when we were walking in the borderlands and thought there was a spring in the distance, but it was just our minds playing tricks. Yet, as we got closer, we saw the trees, taller than the mass of our ship, the tops like a canopy. A mountain rose towards the sky, towering over the trees and piercing the clouds.

We ran the ship aground alongside several other abandoned ones. Krinden told us to leave our weapons on the ship. We were confused by this, after all we were in a foreign country. He asked us to bring all of his chest up to the deck, and gifted us new weapons. He gave me a round shield and a spear. The shaft was etched with ornate silver markings, and the spear tip seemed slight curved at the edge.

Newly armed, we left the ship, and Krinden led us into the jungle. After fighting the tempest, and crossing the desert with chest full of weapons, this should have been easy. Instead, we had to cut through swaths of vines on a trail that disappeared then re-appeared every few miles. Bugs the size of my fist buzzed around us constantly. And the humidity was nothing compare to Preciport.

We walked all day, and made camp about a mile outside of a large town, setting up tents and small fires, which gave us some relief from the bugs. We wanted to go meet the natives. Valaians were a rare sight in Clodaan. The sea and the borderlands are a great buffer to civilized country.

Krinden profusely forbade us to interact with locals. He gave no reason as to why, but we found out the next morning.

As we warmed our porridge over coals, people came from the bushes. The had bows and spears, some had slings with stones in them. We armed ourselves, ready for a fight. Krinden came from his tent, shouting in their native language with his hand up. After a brief discussion, they left the way they came. He explained to us that they knew why we were here, and ordered us to leave, that it was their land, and we were trespassing. A group of mercs with a job to do weren’t going to be swayed just because they were trespassing. We packed up camp and headed farther into the woods.

A few days later, after avoiding villages along the way, the band made it to the base of the mountain. There, we rested in what seemed like a mining town. The base was riddled with tunnels going into the mountain. Streams of people went in with empty carts, and came out with heaps of raw iron and gold.

The town had around 300 people. What was most shocking is that they were not natives of Valawood. Krinden introduced us to a friend of his. A warrior with a band of a hundred well-armed men, wielding similar weapons Krinden gave us. He explained that once we make it through the passage to the far side of the mountain, we’d reach another town, where hundreds of other warriors were waiting.

We knew that Krinden hadn't told us the whole truth, but we were in a foreign country, a sea between us and home. Did it really take hundreds of warriors to slay a dragon? Would there even be a dragon at the end of this?

More days of endless walking passed. After we made it to the town on the other side and rested, we headed farther into the woods. We had congregated into an army now, big enough to topple empires. Small groups from around the world fused into a single militia.

Then, the forest ended. Rolling hills formed an enormous valley covered with grass greener than any emerald. Flower patches swayed in the gentle wind. Rivers and ponds, clearer than glass, like it was invisible. It was a paradise at the end of a long and arduous expedition.

But you know what color is most beautiful to man? Gold.

Every person there, every band of mercenaries, including ourselves, was there for one thing. And we weren’t getting paid until we killed ourselves a dragon.

See, beyond the beauty of the Valley, what awed us most was the dragons flying overhead, drinking from the lakes, caring for their young. Dragons are real, I told myself, though I still didn’t trust my eyes.

Krinden made an announcement then. He promised us a thousand gold each for every dragon we killed, even the young, and whatever treasures we found we could keep. With a roar like a volcano, we stormed the Valley, and painted the green canvas with black inchor.

Up close, their scales were earthly tones. They stood three times taller than the tallest of us, leathery wings five times as large. Their teeth were razor sharp, piercing armor like a knife through bread. Talons flung limbs from bodies.

I don’t know this for sure, but if we had fought these beasts with the weapons we came with, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be alive to tell the tale today. The weapons Krinden had given us slashed through their scales so smoothly, I almost lost my footing several times, and their talons couldn’t cut through our shields.

The fighting lasted a day. The remaining dragons flew down the Valley, and we set up camp, celebrating around bonfires and mourning our dead. Half of us remained, but that just meant more gold for us.

Then we... We ate the dragons. I don’t remember the taste; I just remember my energy returning, my senses sharpening, and my desire for more. I have never felt like that before, nor ever will.

Anyways, we left the bonfires, invigorated by our consumption, and for three straight days, we hunted and killed dragons.

We chased them to the end of the Valley, where a beautiful lake lay, surrounded by luscious trees and wildlife. The dragons that survived our onslaught dove into the water. Krinden explained it was thought that at the bottom of the lake there was a passage that led to a secret sanctuary, where they hid valuable treasures.

Following the trail of dragon corpses, we made it back to the edge of the forest, reaping our rewards on the way back. We hacked talons from their limbs. We pulled teeth from their maws. We rolled up their leathery wings. Jarred their eyes in preservatives. We were carrion, picking the bones of legends.

When we returned to the mining town with carts overflowing with dragon carcasses, everyone had packed their things. We headed back to our ships. But not all of us.

A group of us saw the potential Valawood presented. The mines would practically fund themselves, allowing us to make weapons from the dragons. We could hire the locals, pay top dollar for ships to sail here and back. There was opportunity for agriculture of the native vegetation. I stayed behind to help

But we met resistance from the locals. They started attacking us. At first, we merely defended ourselves. We would leave them alone if they left us. Then two things happened that drove me to the brink and made me leave that place.

First, instead of leaving the locals alone, we started to force them into labor. I fought against this, but met heavy the others fought against me. They were forced to chop down the trees and work the fields for hours on end. Enslaved on their own land. Children died by our hand.

Second, the forest started dying. The trees turned to ash; the soil became infertile, and the water poisonous. It came like wave, washing over us. Many stayed and continued to force the natives to work, but once the forest disintegrated around them, the natives raised their hands to the sky and would scream in anguish until they died.

I caught the next ship out.

“So, captain, to answer your question, no. There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. We killed them and drove them from their home.” The old woman sucked on her pipe, letting the thick smoke rise. She eyed the two men in front of her. One was younger, disbelief in his eyes. The other, the captain, was much older, though not as old as she.

“If they’ve returned, I can only imagine the vengeance they will wrought, and, oh how we deserve it.”