The Obsidian Throne

The massive iron fire bowl on the patio sat dead and frigid under the night sky—an absolute insult to a connoisseur of roaring flames! If the pit wouldn't blaze, then it was going to serve as my private stonework arena. I vaulted over the cold metal rim, my boots crunching heavily into the bed of jagged volcanic rocks. Seizing the coarse, porous black stones with both gloved hands, I began hauling and stacking them with ruthless precision. Rock by jagged rock, I erected a lopsided, menacing pyramid right in the center of the iron basin. With one last dramatic thrust, I wedged the sharpest slab onto the peak. A dead pit no longer—behold my miniature dark citadel!