Somewhere around the northern border of Zone 4...
The night had swallowed the sky and brought a cloak of despair-black with it. The stars appeared, beautiful and scattered. Their shining brilliance was like mockery to the man walking through the seemingly endless wastelands. With defeat is the last taste on his palate. Nothing was appetizing enough in the wastelands that could remove that taste of defeat from his mouth.
Nor was there nothing mouth-watering as there was no water to drink either. Despite all that, his unkempt hair and beard were soaked with a liquid. It wasn't water, but the blood of the dead goblin he had just feasted upon.
