"When I was a young ink, Grandmother Gloom told me that far to the north there lies a fire island, though it's fire is long quiet. The walls of this island are sheer rock a thousand feet tall, rising from the sea, unclimbable, unbreachable. But for one who knows, there is a shallow beach and above that beach a cave. And through that cave, lava tunnels lead through the rock wall and open out into a lush bowl miles wide, the center of that island.
And in the center of that valley is a lake. And in the center of that lake, is an island. And on that island lived a dragonborn druid, old as the mountain itself.
He was a strange man, solitary and eccentric. Surrounded and guarded by a tribe of kobolds, he also made friends and servants of all the plants and animals that lived in that island. However he was never satisfied with their capabilities, always striving to improve upon them. Never satisfied with the state of things he made the trees walk and the rocks fly.
After many years of such experiments, the island was overrun with strange creations, twisted plants and animals, magically deformed and improved upon.
The key to his magic was a mighty oak staff that he carried with him at all times, a staff that could awaken plants and animals and give them the intelligence of men, among many other powers.
Eventually, my grandmother told me, one of his creations turned upon him and destroyed him in a mighty battle that shook the foundations of the island. And there his bones lie to this day, his skeletal hand still grasping his mighty staff. A lesson to all who would twist the power of nature in unnatural ways."