The peak that gave Old Tolaria its name rises at the region's heart — the highest fixed point in a landscape that is otherwise unreliable. Before the cataclysm, the Tolarian mage-kings built their primary observatory and ritual citadel on its summit, choosing the altitude for both its clear sight lines and its proximity to the leylines that converged beneath the mountain's roots. From here the dynasty charted the seam-work that would become the Apparatus of Severance, and watched the sky for the alignments their great machine was timed against.
That citadel is gone now, sheared away when the Apparatus failed beneath Elderran and unmade the empire that built it. What remains on the summit is a flat expanse of fused stone — the rock itself glassified by heat or magic or both — ringed by the stubs of foundation walls. The leylines still converge here, but they no longer carry structured power. They pulse erratically, discharging arcs of wild magic visible from the surrounding forest on dark nights.
Climbers who reach the summit report that the air near the ruins carries voices — fragments of incantations spoken so many times they've worn grooves into the place itself. Whether this is genuine memory or something stranger is debated by those who study Old Tolaria from a safe distance.