The winds howled softly over the no man's island, a barren, desolate stretch of land that had long been forgotten by the people of the Seventh Realm.
Yet, in the shadows of twilight, the island stirred with life, though no ordinary kind. Hooded figures glided silently across the craggy shorelines, their robes fluttering as soft incantations filled the air.
The army of sworn wizards was hard at work, transforming the island into a fortress of war, under the strict command of Madam Clark and Supreme Sword Magus Elarin.
The wizards moved with precision and discipline, each faction working in seamless harmony.
The Wand Faction arranged traps in the sand that shimmered before sinking beneath the ground.
Magical barriers rose from those traps, invisible to the naked eye but crackling with arcane energy beneath the surface. They would snap shut like jaws should an enemy dare to tread on the island uninvited.
