A legend tells of a kingdom with a throne made of gold. A benevolent king sat in this throne and watched over his land. The world flourished, the people prospered. The king sat and ruled until he could no more. The legend says he died in his golden seat and was pried from it even in death. The throne sat cold and untouched for years, forgotten even to the kingdom that left it in respect for its late ruler.
A new body took seat in the throne. Around him the kingdom morphed and cracked until it lifted from the rolling hills and lush forests to a sharp precipice, said to touch the clouds and further. The landscape shifted, welcoming different flora, fauna, and forecasts, kingdom scattered or destroyed. At the very peak the golden throne stands, now as pale and hard as the stone beneath its supports.
It is only a legend, but its reach has spanned as far as the peak into the clouds, all while the land’s new ruler sits and looks down on his world beneath him for as long as he fancies. As long as he’s not bored.
“Let’s play king of the mountain.”
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People are going to think this tourny is dead otherwise. XP