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Something I based on song and some art.

It's the end of the journey. Through pain and death and loss our heroine endured.

The last leg up the mountain is always the hardest. It's just in reach. Almost there. Her friends were dead, her dear father dead. Killed fighting dragons and wulves and swampers. There was nothing to now but find complete their journey alone. She'd been walking for days. The last of scraps of food gone four days ago. The last of the clean water dried up two days ago. She was alone in darkness, with nowhere to go except up. She new Wren was following her, and would probably catch up in a few hours.

Inside the mountain, the only source of light came from small holes in the walls, offering showing her how far she had come. She climbed the square caverns, back and forth and back and forth, higher and higher, until she was so high up the air had become thin. She found herself in a large cavern with more light then usual. Here she stopped to rest. It was cold, she needed to light a fire. Removing her pack, she got what she needed and lit a fire. Not to large, just something small but hot enough to keep her warm for a few hours. She needed to rest, sitting with her back against the wall, she closed her eyes.

Suddenly, an explosion of pain. She'd been shot. BANG BANG. Twice more. The gun shots were so loud, her ears were ringing and everything she heard was muffled. She was blind too.

The pain made her gasp for air but it didn't matter there was very little breathable air. She fell over, grasping at the wounds. Her shoulder, her ribs, and her the inside of her leg were bleeding profusely. There was something wet beneath where she fell. Blood. She was not ready to die, but the blood said otherwise.

As the ringing in her ears went away, and her sight came back, she looked around for her pack. There was some adrenaline in it. There! She tried standing up, but it was no use. Her leg was broken, and the blood loss was too great. So, she crawled towards her pack, crying in pain with every movement.

Then something found its way into her mind: Where was Wren? It's not like she'd shoot someone three times and fuck off. She ignored the thought despite how scared she was now. Wren could be anywhere in this cavernous hall. The mazes of the ancients could hide anything. Why was her pack so far away? She kept crawling. Finally, she got close enough to grab it, and took out the adrenaline shot, and a temporary splint for her leg. She patched up the bullet holes, and tried to stand up. It was the most painful trying and had ever endured, but she managed it somehow. Using her rifle as a walking stick, she drew her pistol, and began walking.

Before she walked more than ten feet, she heard footsteps. She increased her pace, the adrenaline rush would not last as long as she wanted.

BOOM! She screamed and collapsed to her knees, cutting off her scream and turning it into a choked gasp from her leg. She fell on her wounded arm, letting out a short pained screech. She was broken. Wren had won. Defeated, she started sobbing. Partly from the physical pain, and party from the fear. But these paled in comparison to her failure. She was going to fail.

"I can't do this without you," she yelled at her father's memory. "I can't survive without your help."

"You don't need my help. You never did."

"How am I supposed to go on?" she asked. "I left my pack."

"Forget the pack. You have my memory. That is all you have."

"I'm scared, father," she said through choked sobs. "I don't want to die."

"Neither did I. But I gave my life so you might find yours. Find the strength within yourself."

"I don't think you know how bullet wounds work," she said.

"I'll see you at the top of the mountain."

"Wait!" But he was gone.

Father is at the peak?

Finding the strength to move was hard, but she found it. It helped knowing Wren was likely toying with her. As horrifying as it was.

Now is not the time to die.

She moved toward the stairs in the distance. Limping one step at a time. When she finally got there, she felt a breeze on her blood and dirt and tear covered face. The peak! Almost there! She climbed the steps, by just before she rounded the corner halfway up, another shot was fired. This time the bullet found its way into her lung through her back.

As she fell to the ground, she turned. She finally saw the one who has been a thorn in her side for so long. Crying and crawling be way up thy stairs, determined to reach the peak, she was shot again. This time her arm was blown apart. Her good arm. She looked up and saw Death. "I'm not ready to die! Not yet!" The heroine screamed in defiance. The Thorn was waiting, gun holstered. Her mission nearly complete, now only waiting for the heroine to die. Turning around, she and looking down towards her adversary, she realized she had was at the peak of the mountain.

She tried laughing, but only blood can't out of her mouth. Still holding her pistol, she fired. Missing Wren by a quite a lot. She fired a few more times. Miss miss miss. Wren had not moved at all.

She realized she would need to pick up her gun to even have a chance. So, with sheer force of will and rage she found the strength to raise her gun, and fired. One shot was all it took, and Wren collapsed. Shot in the head.

Our heroine dropped the gun and walked away, Climbing triumphantly to the peak.

She gasped. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Silver capped mountains, a golden sun, a field of emeralds and jade. In the distance, a man. Her father.

"Home," she whispered.

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The Corpse God.

Despite the morbid name, the Corpse God is among the most helpful of the Gods. He searches for the most downtrodden individual and helps them rise high. It matters not what got that person in their rocky prison of darkness and misery, and the Lord of Corpses cares not how they leave. It is entirely up to help in anyway he can. He exists to help those in need. In the end, the downtrodden will be better than they ever have been in their entire life. Once they cross a threshold, they will not fall until the day they die. They will continue to rise even after the Corpse leaves, nothing will stop them. Nothing can stop them. Almost nothing.

Only Death can stop them. And she takes all in the end. She cares not who you are. Only that you are. Unfortunately for her, the Corpse God keeps his clients alive no matter what. At least until they have risen so far that Death is far behind. Under no circumstances can Death be allowed to grab the Corpse God's client. Even though death may try time and time again. Despite her failures she is always optimistic about one day succeeding over her rival.

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Jade Forest

West of the Ruby Desert and Emerald Ocean lies the Jade Forest. It is a land rich with life.

Elk, moose, deer, and caribou number in the tens of thousands.

Mirrored cats stalk the forest floor and the tree tops, always on the search for food, anything from the smallest critters to largest beasts.

Cats are not the only hunters within the Forest, there are the stone wolves, the goblins found only in the deep reaches, dwarves with their sharp claws, blind faces, and mouths lined with hundreds or even thousands of teeth all around, ogres who hide beneath trees whenever a leviathan slithers past, waiting for the perfect opportunity, armoured leviathans strong enough to crush iron, trolls who do more harm than good with little to no effort, gnawing, breaking, burning, destroyers and bringers of death.

While Jade Forest might seem incredibly dangerous, that's only because I've primarily focused on the predators. It gets much worse.

In the northern regions are the Giants, monstrously huge, stupid, but only like plants. Mostly tree leaves.

To the South are Elves, short, agile, and antlered, they are a matriarchal society of shamans of the Forest, using strange metals and stones from the moons, they can bring water from ground, grow plants in any shape, and conjure storms of life and death, so, naturally, scholars to the regions named them Elvus Gothica, but most just call them Elves or Elvis.

Just a short ways North, there lies a massive clearing, large enough to farm and build multiple towns. Some call this clearing, the Emerald Isle, as an homage to the great Ocean from which much intelligence had come. These towns are populated with Halflings, strange men and women, small and squat of stature, with large feet, who clothe themselves wool and furs. While intimidating in appearance, they are quite friendly, seemingly incapable of doing harm. They do not eat waste food, and love to cook and bake and have therefore developed high tolerances for large quantities of food, and have even developed recipes that extend its lifetime. Though, they have never shared these recipes with anyone, and are therefore only rumours.

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We all fight in a war. The only difference is the war itself. Do you fight a war around the world for your loved ones back home? Do you fight in a domestic war? What about child custody with that once amazing person you loved but became a monster? These are nothing to with the war that everyone fights at some point in their lives.

A war of your inner self.

This is a war won only by brokering peace. You cannot kill nor destroy the opposing sides. There are too many, and you are outnumbered and out matched on all sides, in isolated pockets of resistance, surrounded on all sides by ungodly powers.

And you are every side. Every soldier killed, every bullet fired. You are the missiles in their silos, the rockets on the launch pads, the spy satellites in orbit. You are the civilians being raped and murdered when the city falls. Rapists and murderers. The presidents and Prime Ministers and Dictators. The xenophobes, the racists, homophobes, the victims and targets is these people.

The civilians getting burned alive by napalm. Vaporized by the nuclear blasts, crushed by buildings, you are Death Incarnate, and you are His victim.

The question you must ask yourself is, do you broker a peace deal, or do you kill everyone, leaving naught but an empty shell.

I husk of what you once were.

If you stand and fight, you will lose.

If you surrender, you will lose.

You must broker peace with your inner self.

If you cannot do that, get a razor blade or a rope.

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An Endless Flood of Endless Emeralds.

The Emerald Ocean spans great distances, almost as large as the Ruby Desert, but far smaller than the legendary forests beyond.

To the North and Northeast is the Giant Forest; to the South and Southeast is the Ruby Desert. They are divided by a wall of spikes that appears smooth, due to one being able to see one's own reflection, but are, in actuality, coarse enough to peel the skin and meat from your bones with little effort. The Wall impenetrable and impassable. You cannot scale it, nor can you dig beneath, for it goes higher than even a gryphon can fly and deeper than any cave. The only way is around.

But what about West? How far does the Emerald Ocean go West? If one were to go West, one would die of old age before ever seeing what lies beyond. No one has ever found the end of the Emerald Ocean. You could begin life on the very edge and begin crossing for your entire lifetime and never reach the end. You would die before ever reaching the other side.

It is said you need to offer a soul and a promise to the Lords in the Sky to cross and live long enough to see the end of your journey. What kind of promise no one knows, but a soul is easy enough. The only problem is finding someone stupid enough to lead to the offering spot and kill them. Though no one knows what the right way to kill them is. As all methods of killing, beheading, strangulation, stabbing, poison, old age, they all lead to a soul of impurity. A broken soul. Unworthy of sacrifice. Unfit to live in the lands beyond death.

There are countless cities that were built to cross over multiple generations. They are all in ruins now. Every one. Destroyed by some unknown and unnatural means. Lightning, earthquakes, fire, plague, winter storms, fire storms, dragons, flooding, drought, no one knows. They are forsaken and cursed places. No one who enters is ever seen again. So one enters.

Within the Emerald Ocean are rock formations, cliffs, valleys, plateaus, golden caves, windswept canyons, rivers that come from the north, south, and east, but nothing coming from the west.

Drakes and Wryms are not uncommon, though they can be in the east. Dragons are more uncommon. Serpents and behemoths are thought to be extinct. Horses, zorses, oliphants, wargs, giant rodents, and centaurs are pretty normal.

Certain subhumans have made their way in these lands. They do no build or cultivate the land. Some scholars have theorized the land can be crossed if they do not build and instead live entirely off land. Some have tried, only for their bones to be returned ages later.

There is only one way across.

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The Desert of Rubies and Blood.

The Ruby Desert is a land of blood coloured sand with massive shards of contrasting milky glass. They were nearly opaque, though not quite. The Disardi said a great battle was fought here between the Lords Known and Unknowable. The glass are the bones of the Lord Known when She lost. It is said Unknowable ripped her apart and tossed her body to the Cosmos. The bones landed in the Ruby Desert. The rest of her remains are unknown.

Rumours tell of bone mountains that are her spine. And it blocks the ocean winds from reaching the desert and spreading the forest beyond.

Such things are ridiculous to accept of course. The ocean does not bring the forest.

The Desert is not only death and decay. There is a type of tree that seems to be made of the sand. It is called the Blood tree, but not for the colour, or the fact that it drains the blood of those who touch its roots, but for the fruit it bares.

Peaches. Peaches with juice that is disturbingly similar to blood.

The trees only bloom when Cuth vanishes. No one knows why, and perhaps that is for the best. Despite the theories.