The tip of the mountain catches the light, and flashes near dawn and sunset - for the top is covered in black volcanic glass.
This is Uthgar's Rest, and the legendary place where the last Phoenix died.
The Phoenix, among the sages of Malivar, has long been a symbol of the kingdom's hope and perseverance. They once used the image of this legendary bird as their royal symbol, but for a thousand years this has not been so. For the last Phoenix died in Malivar, and she never came back.
The legend says the Phoenix met a man, a proud noble of Malivar, and fell in love with him. But the man was foolish and vain, and though he preened under the Phoenix's attention and paid her high compliments, he turned from her and accepted the hand of a wealthy man's daughter, the better to gain power and wealth for himself. He threw away the Phoenix's tokens and scorned her love.

At last the man reached the top of the mountain. Exhausted, bedraggled, and yet still furious and vengeful, he found the Phoenix as she languished at the top of the mountain. She had gathered incense and precious woods, to light her own pyre and perish in flames - such is the way of a Phoenix ready to die. She was ready to burn herself and thus be reborn, clean and fresh and unable to remember the man who had hurt her so.
But the man fell upon her where she lay, choking her gorgeously feathered neck. Like mad things they struggled and fought. The nest of incense was broken and scattered, and the Phoenix in desperation summoned her holy fire upon them both, incinerating them together. Lightning and fire lashed the mountain top, in a storm unlike any ever seen, before or since. The people trembled and the mountain moaned under the whip of the Phoenix's grief and fury and desolation. The smoke and the fire did not fade until a night and a day later, when rain began to fall all across Malivar.
The priests came then, in rain and smoke, trembling with fear of what they might find.
But what they found was nothing.
The glass topped mountain was empty, bathed in rain like tears. Ashes washed over the feet of the priests, and the wind moaned like a woman in the depths of grief, but there was nothing left of the Phoenix or the man. Not even a stick of incense or the tiniest feather remained...and though the priests prayed and propitiated, the Phoenix did not appear.
Five generations of priests faithfully tended the site of the Phoenix's fall. At long last, one tiny shred of hope appeared - a stone was found that resembled an egg. The last priest to tend the holy site enshrined the egg and swore his life to watching over it. He died a hermit, five hundred years ago. Now the only thing left is a small shrine, and an alter, and a carefully gathered stack of dry wood stored inside the shrine.
And one other thing: an inscription.
"The key is three."
[Note: image used with permission of http://iribel.deviantart.com/; Thank you Iribel!]
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