L.T. File: 090: Chåzùl-Boneyard
The place of darkness and death nestled deep in the mountain valleys of Zevemlya. It is no mere location, but a spiritual-psychic hazard. According to legend, even before Galvander's time in the north, there were dragons that ruled over the realm. They were cruel rulers, though there is some dispute about how cruel they were by comparison to the Iron Fist of Galvander. These dragons, when they passed from this world were brought to the Boneyard.
The Boneyard was once a place of solitude and somberness among dragons, when they ruled. It was once a cemetary, but after Galvander wiped the dragons down to a near extinct level, it became a dumping ground, and a place of resources. When the capital was built, the bones stirred. thiss is why it has become so rare for more dragonbone structures to be born.
The bones live. Anyone who walks through the boneyard hears the stirring of bone on bone, and the wind sounds of ancient tongues. Whispers on the wind worm themself into the listener's mind, and red eyes glow in far off sockets, and deep within the mounds of bones from long-dead skulls. The weak-minded among those who would seek the materials find an even worse fate.
They are displaced. Their souls are shunted out of their bodies and devoured by the hungry ghosts of the draconic dead. Their body is filled to bursting with the souls of the vengeful dragon. Even from the beginning, the powers of the dragons begin to destroy the bodies, burning, melting, charring, and freezing solid the flesh, often before the infused flesh finds its way to a Zevemlyan city. The ghostmists fear the bodies filled with the draconic spirits, and spread so as to be far away from the angry hosted corpse.
Those few bodies that don't completely fall apart, and make it to cities, typically cause great danger to those cities. The full power of the dragon is unleashed, which is why the use of dragon bones and travel to the Boneyard has been forbidden. Still, the occasional traveler thinks it is a good idea to traverse the misty hills, even past the charred, frozen or melted remnants of prior adventurous souls now devoured.
Threat level Sphere 4: Thè due to danger to groups and area corruption.
History
I. Field Report: Operative Tallow
Filed under Restricted — Site: Boneyard
Location: Outer ridge of the Boneyard
Objective: Confirm rumor of new bone-stirrings
Status: Operative alive but mentally compromised for 36 hours post-extraction.
Transcript recorded 11 hours after recovery from site:
I’ve walked the Ghostmists.
I’ve stared at Galvander’s corpse-cathedral.
I’ve stepped in places sane souls don’t go.
But the Boneyard?The Boneyard is wrong in a way the body understands before the brain does. The moment I crossed the ridge, the air changed. Too still. Too heavy. Like the mountain was holding its breath.
The First sound I heard was bones shifting — not cracking, not tumbling, but sliding, like ribs politely making room for something unseen. Then the whispering started. Ancient tongues. Not draconic as scholars record it. These voices were hotter, sharper. They were angry.
I kept to the path. I thought that mattered. It doesn’t. The skull mounds watch you. Their eyes glow faint. Not bright — just enough to catch the light of your terror. You look away, and their gaze shifts. You look back, and they have not moved, and somehow have moved.
It wasn’t until the fourth mound that I felt the pull.
A cold drag behind my breastbone. Then a heat, rising. Then something like a hand made of smoke reaching into me. I dropped my gear. Tried breathing techniques. Primal grounding. Nothing worked. The Boneyard wants you hollow. Wants you ready.
I saw — for a moment — my own hands burn black at the fingertips. Frost creep down my wrists. Bones glowing under my skin like lanterns. Like something else was trying me on to see if I fit. I don’t remember getting back to the ridge. Operative Slate says I walked backward the whole way, whispering “not yet, not yet, not yet.”Recommend no further approach without soul-anchoring talismans. Personal wards barely protected this senior agent.
The Boneyard is waking.
— Tallow
-Addendum- Damage done to spirit was temporary, damage done to body is recomended long-term physical recovery. Long-term leave recommended for no less than five years.
II. Recovered Diary Fragment: “Joral Vask, Bone-Scrapper”
Found near a melted crater at the south entrance of the Boneyard. Paper fused at edges.
Entry (date unknown):
Didn’t come for trouble. Came for coin. Bones fetch high price, even scraps. Plenty just lying around. And those old stories—people love telling them, but they’re stories. Big beasts die. Bones don’t move on their own. Except they do.
Was halfway down the first slope when I heard the hissing. Thought it was the wind in the ribs. But wind doesn’t speak. Wind doesn’t know your name. I swear on my mother's grave I heard a voice say: “Inside.”
Bones shifting like teeth grinding. Heat under my skin, like fever. Then cold in my lungs, like drowning in ice. Saw lights in the skull mounds.
Red. Hungry.
Something came out of the pile. Not a body — just a shape of bones moving like water. Couldn’t run. Legs shook. My breath wouldn’t go right. Felt like something was tugging at my soul with a hook. I think it wants my body. I think it misses having one.
I’m leaving now. No more bones. No more coin. No more—
—Fragment ends. Lower half of page burned to cinder.
Note attached: No body recovered. Only melted boots.
“The Hollow Man Walks Home”
(common Zevemlyan children's rhyme)
1.
In the hills, where cold winds moan,
Dragons whisper, “Bring us home.”
They take your breath, they take your name—
Wear your skin like a little frame.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man's gone.
2.
Up you climb the ashen ridge,
Past a melted broken bridge.
Ghosts loom close with hungry eyes—
Looking for a soul to prize.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
3.
Hear them scrape and hear them click,
Bones that shift and bones that stick.
Once they find you all alone,
They pack your body to the bone.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
4.
First comes fire, bright and wild,
Burns the grown-up, burns the child.
Then comes frost to split the skin—
Cold enough to drag you in.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
5.
When your heart forgets to beat,
Dragons shuffle, Dragons eat.
They drink your soul in tiny sips,
Seal your fate on frozen lips.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
6.
Now your hands aren’t hands at all—
Just brittle claws and cloth too small.
Now your voice is smoke and sand,
Blowing where the spirits stand.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
7.
Step by step you stagger down,
Toward the lights of Zevem' town.
Folks all hide and shut their doors—
No one helps the thing that roars.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
8.
Every footprint, every track,
Drips with shadows, leaking black.
What comes home is not the same—
Just borrowed bone and dragon flame.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
9.
Bodies crumble, bodies break,
Dragons choose what parts to take.
Eyes fall out and fingers drop—
Still the hollow man won’t stop.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
10.
So children, heed the valley’s call,
Never climb the bone-white wall.
For if the dragons smell you roam,
You’ll be the hollow walking home.
Hollow man, hollow man,
Walking home the best he can—
Charred or frozen, cracked or torn,
Nobody knows where real man’s gone.
Comments