The Striking of the Collapsing Heights

His forge producing much run-off, Ahmjir made the Heights.

Summary

Clang! Smash! Clang!
From above, the sound of Maxwell, Ahmjir's long-handle hammer strikes upon his anvil. With each strike, a new feature of the world is born. The land is struck out and cooled in the ocean. The mountains in the east are bent by Ahmijr's silver hands, glowing red-hot with the fire of the forge. And legendary blades are pounded out, buried in the earth and gifted to heroes of old.
It is when Erlos and Terrus enter the forge, that Ahmijr's attention is taken from the forge.
"Hail to thee, Mastress of the Arcane and Master of Combat! What brings thee to the forge?!"
Erlos spake thus: "Hammer, we must speak of your forge."
Terrus spake thus: "The ashes of your fire have not been cleaned, and have fallen to Athena, darkening the skies."
Ahmijr thought. With each coal burned for the forge, ash would build up. "And you would have me slow the forge?"
Erlos stopped him. "The gifts we have bestowed up the people are but nothing in the ash."
Ahmijr thought. "Very well." And with three strikes, built the Collapsing Heights.
One to sunder the earth, tearing the land in twain.
One to fire up the rocks, setting a core of fire inside the valley.
And with a third, he stuck his hammer on the fire, and the ash was called in. It fell in great mountains and hills, black and grey as soot.
And with that, the Collapsing Heights were forged of the soot of the forge.

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