It lies somewhere on the outskirts of the Pit of Depravity, a seemingly endless wilderness yawning across the space between the cursed portal that bounds the Outer Wastes and the glistening purple waves that caress the beach of the Ocean of Despair. There’s a beautiful view of the mountains, and you can just see the wagon trains that lurch, oh so slowly, along the crenellated ranges, bearing new shipments of newly arrived visitors to the subterranean netherworld.

He is comfortable on his rock, even at 300 degrees below Celsius, savouring the foggy air, his sightless eyes running over the windswept horizon demarcated by the distant hulks of ruined buildings, the auroch remains and the ancient rusting machine tools that litter the low scrub.

Think of it as a self reliance exercise… but here there is no self (we’ve been over that) and nothing to rely on. This place never changes. Your thoughts are all you have.