Race: Stone Golem
Position: Mostly unaffiliated with any court, though he mostly dwells in the lands of spring.
Age: 18,251. While quite ancient among a great deal of Fae, Orðabók would still be likely referred to as 'young-un' by many of the Ents.
Personality: Orðabók's mainstay is his nature of philosophy. Often almost to a fault asking the simple yet entirely nebulous question of 'why?' It is in his mind that all knowledge is sacred, even things of the most minute detail or consequence. He is far too often lost in thought and ponderings of life's meaning. While such a craggy exterior may sway you, the warm and generous heart of Orðabók is pure gold (literally) While the great golem is glad to dole out the vast knowledge of his hermitage, he is incredibly protective of it, for much information can do great harm falling into the wrong hands. Often to the fault of many, Orðabók will sacrifice far too much to learn even the least bit more, placing knowledge before the lives of his fellows and even that of his own.
Appearance: No stones about it, this amalgam of rock and ore is quite the massive fellow, vastly out sizing and out weighing a great majority of Fae, while still not quite as large as other great ancients, such as the mighty Ents and other natural spirits. His entire body is composed of pebbles and boulders of slate loosely fitting together to form a roughly humanoid shape. His right arm far outsizes his left to an almost mace like ending. Thickly coated in vibrant green mosses and vines give Orðabók quite an aged look, as well as numerous runes of eldritch power engraved upon his stony hide. With gemstone eyes does the ponderous golem watch and wait for yet more to learn.
Background:There are many who say that the most powerful force of all is nature in and of itself. Through and through this is seen to all, gushing water erodes upon all ceaselessly through every waking moment, great windstorms lead unstoppable paths of destruction in their wake, immense calderas of flame remake the world in their design. And of course, the very earth for which all creatures, fae or otherwise owe their life. From wide mountain ranges to majestic planes. The very key to life is below the feet of all creatures, rock, soil, mud. From which all things are made, and finally unmade.
The first memories of the arcane lord of stone are as vivid as the waking world. A serene plain, with gardens of rock and trees of stone. For but an abrupt and seemingly causeless second life had sprung into uncountable rocks and stones. First where the simply senses, such as sight and touch. Eventually into these new beings flooded a vast array of emotion and thought. Innumerable herds of these constructs had simply wondered off of their own volition and many more simply stayed in some infantile attempt to learn of their origin. And most of all, question what would come next.
Orðabók was of no special consequence compared to these beings, other than the simple fact that as the then young golem of stone began laboriously setting one foot after another, others began to follow. Until the point at which a hoard of these stone creatures ceaselessly began trudging onward. Traveling without purpose, without destination for years known only to the most savvy of the quarry. Over time, these travels had brought beings more complex advances in their emotions, and understanding of the world around them, even learning of speech from the younger races.
Over great mountains, vast desserts, and dark oceans, the people of rock had purposelessly traveled. Until at last only he had arrived back at his arcane birthplace. A metaphor for the impossible questions that plagued Orðabók's mind; an endless cycle to which more knowledge only brings you further from the truth, a cycle which many who asked break apart from, until those that remain finally arrive exactly where they began.
It was here that the lore master had etched laboriously to create the stone halls that he calls home, a place detached from many court dealings, yet one of learning. Long before the courts of Fae had wrested power for themselves, Orðabók had begun searching for enlightenment, to amass knowledge, and answer that impossible question, why?
In order to survive in his relatively neutral state, the elder golem would have to welcome those of the court to his solemn halls in search of answers to their questions. But such relations were shaky at best, and it wouldn't be long before he would be given the choice, 'join or perish.'
Within his golden core, Orðabók senses that he is close to unlocking the true meaning of life after eons of searching, and with that comes a sinister feeling that such an answer could reek havoc upon the world at large.
