At one point, all the maps had foggyedges. Past those edges, nothing. No roads, no forts, no names for anything. Just grass and sky and silence stretching until it hit mountains that were further away than they looked. The men who walked into it were broke, forgotten, and had nothing behind them worth staying for. Most of them died young. Most of them died alone.
A few of them came back with stories that should have been famous a long time ago.
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