The Continent is full of all kinds of places, and in some, fear rules every corner. Approaching the worst of these places is beyond the stomachs of most men and women. Entering and crossing them? Even fewer would dare that. And they would only do so with an experienced team or a heavily armored trade caravan, for only in such company would they have a chance of making it.
Even then, nothing is guaranteed. In the borderlands, a mighty tank regiment can perish in a matter of moments. The risk of any crossing is colossal.
But Cheater has no tank convoy, no trade caravan, no crack team. He has joined a parody of a party, with only one or two experienced members and a handful of unknown wildcards. Some seem so new they wouldn't cut it in kindergarten. The party leader, meanwhile, acts like a god of wine cast down to the Continent for making cheap beer his new drink of choice. Now this dubious boss consumes an endless stream of warm alcoholic fizz to fuel his life-or-death decisions.
The luckiest of players could hardly expect to succeed in such a situation. Cheater, however, has no choice.
