For him, the mountain did not appear as one entity, one form defined in space; Instead what he gazed upon was a multitude of formations imposed upon one another in another place, at another time. He saw the combined representation of all that the mountain was, is and could be, witnessed the simultaneous growth and stagnation of the earth. He viewed the uncountable worlds in that mountain, one world superimposed against another, which in itself is superimposed upon a different world, and so on for uncountable numbers.
Such a sight was not to be taken lightly, ever. Unless ofcourse, you were the current viewer of todays natural shift, hence the particular beings heavy handed view of beauty infront of him

Nemarien. In all it’s entirety it remains a land visited seldom. 
The Archyan forest dominates most of it’s mass; legion upon legion of tree, hoards of woodland creatures stalking beneath the canopy. The forest itself is a myriad of colours: dull copper brown, fine crisp yellow, stunning red, remarkable purple and evergreen mint alongside countless others offering subtle alternatives. 
In places, the tree canopy is dense enough to exile the rich sunlight of high summer from the forest floor. 
Legends across Nemarien often revolve around such places; tree glades which operate in twilight and utter darkness, allowing pitiful but gruesome creatures to thrive unbeknownst to any.
Druidic temples adoring faceless gods from ages past may remain hidden to all but the more fervoured disciples.
Such darkness could also mask the covert movements of the god-forsaken wood elfs. 
On rare occasions, sounds or calls from bird and beast could penetrate through the thickly boughed forest, or through the heavy set canopy.
Although the sound is often muffled from the attempt, casting an eerie texture to the nature of the origin sound.  
At the outskirts of the forest, plumes of smoke taint the golden summer sky as columns of black, sooty smoke rise.
Even in the near-soundproof forest, the noise of war is hard to ignore.