The Northern Swamp was out of the race already, its fate already on its way, for now, they worked to perfect pyromancy.
The Eastern Peaks were only animated by Horhir and the work of the mining crew, carving a path right through the ground, homing in on the feasters in spite of any weather problem.
The Western Cliffs's surface was only inhabited by birds of prey and drylurkers, the people that had made their homes here were nowhere to be seen, whilst undeads with backs covered with feathers scoured the rifts, braving the depth and the malignant sludge that dwelled there.
The Southern Shores were deeply infested with the undead now, the farmlands were under their control, all fishing parties and harvests were done under their watch, documenting the exact number of fish and the amount of wheat they gathered.
