(Originally written: March 10, 2019)

There is a mountain that lies to the west. Nary a tree nor a plant have taken root upon the ragged rock. Its granite surface is laid bare to the elements, polished by wind, cracked by ice, bleached by sun, and cleaned by rain. Boulder Trolls call the mountain home as well as dinner for they eat the very rock they live on. Every now and then their stone palates are surprised with a mouthful of rocksalt and their little Troll toes do a jig that breaks the rock under them into gravel. But for the most part they must dine on bland pebbles, boring rocks, and uninspired stones. The Trolls, who have a healthy respect for life, are very careful each time they grab a handful of mountain, as worms and other manner of bugs have also made the mountain their home. They dig and they squirm and they wriggle deep into the dirt. What are they looking for? Nothing at all. They are mountain bugs. And burrow is what they do. 

If we travel higher up, after politely turning down the Trolls’ offer to share their meal, we’d meet the Oread, the thick-skinned cousins of the river nymphs. Their thick-skinned nature is only physical. The Oread, especially of this mountain, are extremely sensitive to criticism. Even a compliment, if worded poorly, will cause them to let out a screech that will make you fertilize the ground you stand on. As there isn’t any vegetation on the mountain, it would be useless on top of being noxiously embarrassing. To get past them, it is best to keep quiet and smile at their frighteningly pretty faces while walking as calmly as possible. Be careful to not trip. They will take it as an act of aggression. 

At the very top we will see that the peak is in fact split into two, forming a valley for us to walk through. If we were to look up at the twin peaks we would see that they are extremely jagged. Each boulder has been sharpened by some unknown force to make them look like teeth. Anyone that makes that imaginative observation immediately becomes uncomfortable. What if the peaks decide to move closely together like a starving maw? After all. Even celestial bodies cannot satiate this mountain’s hunger.

If you were to look at it from a distance, you would be able to witness its daily meal. At the end of every day, the mountain swallows the sun as it sets. Its twin peaks remain wide open as the sun slowly descends down its gullet. Poets of a crass nature posit that there is a hole in the east that the sun emerges from at dawn. I believe that the mountain deserves more respect than that.

The name of this mighty titan? Godslayer.