These lands have known the taste of blood. Droplets of wine once drenched the tall grasses and stained the poppies with their flavor, favoring the victor during times of celebration. This place is one where man and deity alike fed their grievances with bloodletting; brother fought brother, their scarlet mark the mark of sin.

And here, the rivals grew envious of man, for they had never known the heat of their tongue against a mortal enemy’s throat. The rivals raged against one another in combat fit to shake the heavens.

Oh, the rivals were petty despite their divinity. They picked favorites among the mortals and pit families against one another. Heaven’s Valkyrie sharpened their swords, and mortals witnessed firsthand the devastation borne from god’s fury. The earth shook. Lightning sparked the sky in two, the lands split and quaked. The grass ran red with a poppy's ink.

The damage was so great that Rivals promised to never again allow their anger to affect the wolves on earth. The red poppies are a symbol of that promise. These fields are revered as holy land – no battles are to be fought here, otherwise one runs the risk of being cast out.

It is said that wherever a poppy blooms, its petals are the heralds of tragedy.

The current runs with red. Here the tides pull strongly against the earth, leaving behind soft, fertile soil. The grass is lush, bending quite pliably beneath the press of a pawprint. It is a valley pure and beautiful, the vegetation lush and the prey plentiful. The perfection of the floodplains is wholesome, with woodchucks scurrying among the purple weeds and dandelions.

As all good things do, beauty fades. The beauty is to be cherished, for it is beautiful – lest it not last forever.

Unfortunately, this area becomes particularly treacherous during the late autumn, when the rain falls steadily and the slow-moving valley streams burst along the banks. The grasses of the plains eventually die, and in their place mud rises and swamplands would flourish. At sight the shore appears to be welcoming rather than treacherous; but one ill-fated step along the banks will leave you a victim of the tide. Rare plateaus and hidden caves along the hillside provide shelter from the rain and water, rocky outcroppings slick with dew.

Even so, the floodplains hold potential to be one of the lovelier places in Cyrileth. When spring comes once again, an odd couple may settle on the hills far from the water. The sun filters down from the sky, unhindered. Here and there ferns lay scattered through the valley, unyielding against the raining season. The winds roll affluently along the grasses; one may find an arc of color in the sky on an overcast day.

Navigate the pass at your own peril.

A mysterious fog has swept over the rocky shores of the coastline. The winds that carry over from the open ocean bear the taste of brine, and the waves crash vehemently against stone. Despite the movement of water, a sense of stillness has distended upon the shores. The rocks are jagged and uneven - some will waver upon the slightest touch, others are firmly embedded amongst other stones.

On most days the ocean is overcast, but when the skies are clear, they are filled with vivid colors. There are no seabirds or other sea-bound creatures nesting upon the shore. However, rock beach makes for an excellent fishing spot, for those so inclined. The waves toss them against the edge of the water, making them easy targets for the well-practiced.

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.