First was the End. After that, everything.

The West is lost.  Your hopes are dead.  There is no paradise beyond the War.  No matter what you say.  The world is ended.  Forget your dreams and forget the lies whispered at fireside.  I have been West.  Further than most.  Further than you.  It is gone.  The untouched land is narrow there, and grows ever narrower the further you go.  I travelled those paths  years ago seeking your dream.  I found nothing but death and decay.  Nothing but the folly of man and the unending power of Nature’s revenge.
You wish to travel that way still? 


Best would be if you stayed here.  Here where at least we can wrestle life from the bitter ground.  Here where there are few people to taint our path.  If you must go you would best travel but part of the way.  Stop at a place I visited once. Avoss.
It is a place where a miracle did happen and every day they lived knowing they could survive only if the miracle kept happening.  They had Machines.  Working ones.  From the days before.  How?  I cannot say.  With miracles there is no how.  There is just to rejoice and hope. 

And hope is all that remains.

To get there?  Follow the rumours.  Follow the caravans.  I have a map, but you have not the trade for it.

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