North of the Duskwight Lands, far from the trade routes and the strongholds of the great tribes, stretched a region the natives called the Desert of Souls.
For the people living on this side of the Lumyst River—where the landscape was little more than cracked gray earth—to label a place a barren desert where nothing could grow, it had to be something beyond merely inhospitable.
The Underworld Barbarians might inhabit harsh, barely fertile lands, but they were still nourished by the Lumyst River. On this side, the river contained no Life Lumyst, but the Spirit Lumyst flowing within it was genuine. After millions of years, humans, beasts, and even plants had adapted their very morphology to draw from that energy, imperfect though it was.
Growing anything here remained difficult, but the meager harvests were enough to keep them alive. Barely.
This place was different.
