Many years ago, before men trod 'pon the sand and rock of Jalara, 'fore trees rooted in the jungles or birds learned to fly, the great serpent god, Naga, perched upon the eastern mountains—those which, in ancient times, rose higher than any dune and stretched from coast to coast. These mountains are called Jabal Al-Jaleed, the mountains of ice, as they are the only place on Jalara's surface where snow falls without magic.
It was here that he made his throne, his place of rest, as he had just created the continent upon which he laid. The other gods had claimed their domains. Shar the shadows. Selûne the moonlight. Mystryl the weave. Ao, all of creation. But here, in his rocky peaks, the black sheep Naga had staked his own, humble domain. And it was good.
Then, he caught sight of it.
The iridescent glow— sun reflecting in manifold colors. At that moment he knew what he wanted was not the gray stone and white ice of his nest. No, Naga needed that which sparkled like a heap of gems, brighter than any pile of gold. No dragon's hoard could have seduced him in that moment—if he could have, he would have sacrificed all of existence to claim this prize.
He moved at once, his body gripped as much as his mind. Down the ridge he did slither, his scales sundering the stone like an executioner's blade upon his creation. The luminous mass moved in parallel, its close edge curling around the corner of a high peak. Naga sped up, his head smashing through the mountain just to get to his mark. Stones rained for many miles as he crashed through the innumerable chains, the rock forever changed as he chased this mysterious treasure. For many miles did he rampage in search of his sole love, until he found it. Close it was, stuck as it untangled itself from between two mountains. The mass was quick but Naga was quicker, catching it by the end of his fangs. It thrashed, oh it did thrash, but his jaws had cut through stars and flung them across the cosmos.
No prey would escape Naga, for he was a god—a piece of fate.
He wrestled his victim for miles endless, rampaging to the west and towards the continent's center. Granite shattered like glass and marble was mashed like nuts. The shiny thing pulled with ineluctable force, but Naga's fangs were an inexorable prison. No recourse could be had once Naga locked his eyes and snout upon a prize, and this is what his prey learned. So long did the two fight that their bodies ground down the mountains central to Jalara, reducing the Jabal Al-Jaleed to a small chain on the east coast as its abundant peaks were shaved down to sand. Dunes did the sand form, high as the mountains that had birthed them, and these formations continued to bear Naga and the ferocity of his battle for many years. Soon, though, the sand was carved so finely that it could no longer hold the god's weight. His serpentine form ringed the Kathban, the dunes, and dug into them. But Naga paid no attention to his slow sinking—in fact, he never noticed. All of his attention was locked upon this small piece of Ao's creation, that which radiated rainbow bliss. It would be his. It had to be his.
Soon Naga was consumed by the dunes, but still did he struggle. Through the limitless caverns of the underground he cut his path, so deeply that he soon touched the Underdark. To the bottom he fell, but Naga did not stop. He would hunt his treasure forever. Until it ceased its resistance, or until the world came to an end. It didn't matter to the enchanted Naga.
But little did he know that this irresistible charm was the end of his own tail.
Naga's body was so long that, for the thousand years of his freedom, he had never seen the end of it. But the mountain peaks were a tall and treacherous maze, one which even Naga, their creator, navigated with much difficulty. It was there that he spotted himself, there that he failed to recognize, and there that a madness unlike anything the gods had seen had sunk its edge into him. If nothing else, Naga is persistent. It is said that he is set upon his own tail, even now, resisting himself without realizing. In the deepest depths of the Material Plane he continues his battle, his deadly fangs breaking upon his impenetrable scales.
It is said that, if Naga recognized his own tail, he would cease his mania at once—and look up. He would not curse his foolishness. No. Instead, he would turn his head to greater rewards. If his own tail could charm him for all these millennia, imagine with what tenacity he would pursue something greater. Perhaps all of creation would then fall under the mad god's thrall.
This event is what Jalarans call the Unlatching. For, when Naga pauses and thinks upon his obsession, all of creation will be threatened by his bottomless greed. Perhaps not even Ao could maintain balance in the face of his forgotten and most compulsive child. Then, when Naga makes war with all the gods, it could be that the world will end, and a new one will begin.
But Naga has yet to wake.
And so, the symbol of Jalara is Naga biting his own tail, a model for all to follow. For Jalara is the land of fire…passion…ambition…and greed. Those forces which form the repressed but nonetheless foundational underbelly of human nature are embraced paw and fang in the great sand dunes, and travelers find that Jalarans hand out charity as readily as they do poison, for compassion and aggression are both seen as noble delicacies in the sandstone halls of Karakh. A sanguine cycle of mercy and murder cuts down the seam of Jalaran history, and many will ask the age old question—'why?'
But a true Jalaran needs no reason. They are caught up in their foolish little infatuations, and that is their sage wisdom. They love like a newborn puppy, and bite like a king cobra. There is no greater pleasure than extending one's paw—especially when it involves a nick of the claws.
Be wary among us Jalarans, for our happiness is a capricious one. Wine is sweet—often too sweet—and we enjoy spicing it with poison.
Signed,
Daedalus Reeve