You are walking along the treeline, having finally emerged from a seemingly endless forest. The sound of the ocean has gradually increased in volume for the past few days, and now it is throbbing in your ears like a massive timpani. You judge that if you climb the hill in front of the forest edge, you will see the ocean.

But it is not that easy. You have heard the tales from vermin and goodbeasts alike that bands of vermin roam freely in this area. You don't particularly want to be caught on the beach, in the open. You know the nature of vermin, being one yourself. They will probably kill you first and ask questions after they have stolen your belongings. You shiver at the thought... death is the one thing every creature fears.

You have always loved the ocean, so you fight with your instincts, which are telling you to run and conceal yourself in the trees. Finally, you decide to crawl to the top of the hill and peek over, get one glimpse of the sea, and then make camp in the forest. So you climb slowly, hunched over, to the top of the hill and look over.

The sun is hanging barely above the water. The sky is painted in hues of purple, gold, and rose like an oil canvas painted by a master artist. The sun bursts out in a flame of orange light, one final insurrection against the coming of night, and sinks below the ocean with an inaudible sizzle. In the last light, you look below you and see a walled city. This must be the fabled Moondeath Harbor! you think.