The Fabulous Emerald
It's never illogical to be fabulous
Overlooking the world, seen by all but conquered by few, sits a huge mountain whose peak pierces the clouds, and seemingly the heavens themselves. This mountain is known by some as Mt. Primo, or the First Mountain, as most scholars agree that this mountain in particular is the oldest of all known mountains by far, predating the second most oldest by eons.
What most scholars are not able to work out, however, is the origin of a singular black spire atop the mountain. The tower of granite seems like it was always there and even merges with the mountain in some places, and has been an enigma to professors and students alike. The climb of the mountain was always difficult, yet most who tried to climb it took a special shortcut. Underneath the mountain, or rather in it, a network of dwarven tunnels reach out to the sides like the web of a spider. With the mountain all but hollowed out, however, and the earth beneath it in a similar state, the dwarves have long since left the mountain and its spire in peace. Even with these tunnels providing quick access to the granite spire, simply known as Granite Spire for ease of writing, none have ever been able to open its doors or crack its black granite walls.
Within those walls, however, sits a man in a stone chair. Except - this isn't a man. Instead of the normal two arms, he has four; and they are no flesh arms. One is made of an unknown grey/silver metal, while another of wood. A third, made of stone and the fourth made of soil. All aspects of earth. As the man drums his metallic fingers against the cold stone of his throne, he lets out a loud sigh. He was bored. He had all the time in the world, yet nothing to waste it on. He can't even play around with the tectonic plates like he used to - ever since the dwarves forgot about his mountain, he has been weakened without the presence of daily prayer and worship. Oh, how he missed those days.
He decides to open the doors to his balcony, and looks out on all that he owns. He wishes something interesting would happen.
What most scholars are not able to work out, however, is the origin of a singular black spire atop the mountain. The tower of granite seems like it was always there and even merges with the mountain in some places, and has been an enigma to professors and students alike. The climb of the mountain was always difficult, yet most who tried to climb it took a special shortcut. Underneath the mountain, or rather in it, a network of dwarven tunnels reach out to the sides like the web of a spider. With the mountain all but hollowed out, however, and the earth beneath it in a similar state, the dwarves have long since left the mountain and its spire in peace. Even with these tunnels providing quick access to the granite spire, simply known as Granite Spire for ease of writing, none have ever been able to open its doors or crack its black granite walls.
Within those walls, however, sits a man in a stone chair. Except - this isn't a man. Instead of the normal two arms, he has four; and they are no flesh arms. One is made of an unknown grey/silver metal, while another of wood. A third, made of stone and the fourth made of soil. All aspects of earth. As the man drums his metallic fingers against the cold stone of his throne, he lets out a loud sigh. He was bored. He had all the time in the world, yet nothing to waste it on. He can't even play around with the tectonic plates like he used to - ever since the dwarves forgot about his mountain, he has been weakened without the presence of daily prayer and worship. Oh, how he missed those days.
He decides to open the doors to his balcony, and looks out on all that he owns. He wishes something interesting would happen.