The edge of the earth is home for the weary. Here the crashing of water is ceaseless against stone, and the bitter taste of salt lies fresh upon a parched tongue. The flat surface above the cliffs is littered with patches of mud and grass, and it is impossible to distinguish where the dry grass dampens. The barrier between life and death, however, is not. The rocks embedded in the cliffside have eroded away with time, violent waters pilfering it away mineral by mineral. Their ends have sharpened to a point. The ridge runs for several miles, as far as the eye can see.

To fall from the summit would mean certain death. Such a view is both breathtaking and terrifying. After all, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.

At the foot of the falls one may be fortunate enough to find a lonely cave carved into the stone. Great monsters are said to lurk there, and even reaching the cave is a perilous feat at best. None inhabit the cave... and for good reason. Here and there prey animals scurry about, scavenging small insects and shards of cartilage from the pebbles. Scattered pools of water accumulate at the bottom, varying in depth. The ground is unsteady and covered in bones. It is a graveyard for those who chose to take their own life, rather than suffer the fate bestowed upon them by the volcanic lands.

Some say that should someone disturb the graves of these poor lost souls, you would perish as well.