Briestead

Fantasy short story, lore of my novel in the works for backstory and world-building lore.

In the early days, Briestead was but a simple meadow, sprawling with lush grass and dotted liberally with lilies of the valley along with a medley of wildflowers. It lay quietly at the edge of the Verdanthold Forest, a realm whispered about in bardic tales for its subtle magics and the mysterious creatures it sheltered. Yet, the meadow itself was ordinary, untouched by the arcane energies that fluttered through the leaves of its neighboring woodland.

As the ages wore on, the meadow's fate intertwined with that of a magnificent but tragic creature. A dragon, known in lore as Sylathis the Sky Weaver, gravely wounded from a celestial battle, sought sanctuary from its relentless pursuers. With scales that shimmered like starlight and eyes as deep as the cosmos, Sylathis chose Briestead as its final haven, not for the meadow's beauty, but for its tranquility and isolation.

In the dragon's last days, the meadow bore witness to the quiet majesty of Sylathis's dwindling moments. As the great beast's life ebbed, its blood seeped into the soil�"blood infused with the ancient magic of its lineage. This powerful essence did not simply dissipate; it transformed the very nature of Briestead. The flowers absorbed the magical ichor, blooming with an ethereal vibrance unseen anywhere in the known world. Even more wondrous, the ground where Sylathis had lain sprouted clusters of pure magic crystals, radiating with an arcane light and pulsating with raw magical power.

This miraculous transformation did not go unnoticed. The news of a meadow surpassing the magic of Verdanthold Forest spread far and wide, attracting settlers, wizards, scholars, and the curious. A village slowly rose around the site of Sylathis's last breath, built from the very stones and woods whispered with residual magic. These settlers named their new home Briestead, honoring the meadow that had cradled a dragon in its final moments.

Over time, Briestead thrived, shaped by the magic that had seeped into its land. The magic crystals became a source of power, prosperity, and study. The village grew wise and strong, guarded by the magic of the forest and the deeper, ancient magic gifted by Sylathis. Yet, with great power came great responsibility and danger, for not all who are drawn to power have pure intentions.

Thus, after years of conflict and betrayals, the village was left in ruin save for a few farmers, choosing to keep their home a secret. They isolated themselves from the world the best they could; after many centuries, the village seemed to have lost its place in the world. Yet nothing can stay hidden forever, and soon an ambitious young man found an old tome describing the existence of a village filled with magic and riches. Pursuing such a story, he found his way to the village. He convinced the residents to form a guild there that would not only protect them but would protect the region as well. This is the story of Briestead, this is the story of my home, of our home. 

“What does a dragon look like?” I look down at the confused child, her puzzled expression making me chuckle softly as I think for a moment.  

“Well, they come in many shapes and sizes but a general rule is they have four strong legs and wings. The scales of dragons vary depending on their ancestral dragon. The children of Vathros have black scales and the lost children of Sylathis have aquamarine scales.” 

Before I could finish going into detail about other types of dragons, another one of the children curiously blurts out, “Why are they called the lost children of Sylathis?” 

Pausing, I look at the eager faces around me, their eyes wide with anticipation. “That, my young friend, is a tale woven with both wonder and sadness, although these tales are only myths from a time lost,” I begin, my voice softening. 

“You see, Sylathis the Sky Weaver was not only a magnificent dragon but also a nurturing mother. She had a brood of dragonlings, each a spark of her boundless magic and love. They lived in harmony with the other dragons of Chlo where they alone lived on the peaks, a cooler, freeing place that allowed them to stretch their wings, invoke the wind, and explore the clouds."

I pause, noticing the children’s rapt attention. One of them fiddles with a small, crystal shard, its glow reflecting in his wide eyes. The others lean closer, their faces illuminated by the soft light of the magic crystals dotting the village square.

"However," I continue, "after a battle of celestial magnitudes against a fellow dragon, she fled her home with no other options. Without their mother's guidance and protection, they became scattered across the land, overtaken by loss between losing their mother as well as their home."

I take a moment to adjust my cloak, feeling the weight of the story I’m about to share. The children’s eyes follow my every move, their curiosity palpable.

"As they traveled looking for new homes to call their own, some were hunted for their scales and magical essence, while others found peaceful lives in remote corners of the world. Generations passed, and the children of Sylathis became mere whispers in the annals of dragon lore, their aquamarine scales a rare and precious sight."

One of the children gasps, clutching the crystal shard closer. I smile softly and kneel down, meeting their eyes at their level.

"They are called ‘lost’ because they are no longer united, and their legacy is fragmented. Yet, in every corner of our world, they carry the ancient magic of their mother, waiting for the day they might reclaim their true heritage.”

The children’s eyes widen, and a hush falls over the group. “So, do you think they will ever come back?” asks the first child, her voice tinged with hope.

“Perhaps,” I say, smiling gently. “The world is full of surprises, and magic has a way of bringing lost things home.”

“But…” began the second child tilting his head slightly as he stares down to the floor.

“Yes? What is it, little one?” 

He shifts slightly before blurting out. “How do we know that is the dragon that helped make the village how it is and how do we know about her kids at all?”

Staring at the crystals around the village, I sigh softly. “So many questions, I love how curious you youth are, reminds me of my childhood.” I laugh softly before continuing. “You see, when they first found the meadow, the dragon had not fully been covered and buried. Between her immense size and her aquamarine scales that were still visible and gleaming even under all the undergrowth, the scholars of old recognized her."

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of history in my words. One of the children tugs at the hem of my cloak, their eyes filled with curiosity. I kneel down, pick up a small stone, and trace the outline of a dragon in the dirt, capturing their attention even more.

"As far as her children, well," I continue, "we have been researching dragons and their kind peacefully for centuries. A lucky scholar saw the gleaming Ceriean scales of her children and followed it. After weeks of traveling, she finally tracked the dragon and was able to gain its trust and research it. That’s where we got most of the information about their kind and what happened to them.”

I stand up, dusting off my hands, and smile as the children lean closer to inspect the drawing, their curiosity now fully piqued. They glance around at the village with newfound wonder.

“So, this village… it’s like a big memory of Sylathis?” one of them asks, their voice filled with awe.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice filled with pride. “Briestead is not just our home. It’s a testament to the resilience and magic of Sylathis and her children. And as long as we remember and honor their legacy, they are never truly lost. In fact, each one of us here today carries a part of that ancient magic within us, keeping the spirit of Sylathis alive.”

As the children nod solemnly, understanding the gravity of their heritage, I look around at the village of Briestead. The sun sets, casting a warm glow over the magic crystals that dot the landscape, and I feel a sense of hope. The story of Briestead continues, carried forward by the new generation, bound by the timeless magic of the Sky Weaver.