The southern provinces form the rugged frontier of Eurussia, a vast expanse stretching from the trench line to the approaches of Phoenix City. Each province carries its own identity, its culture shaped by distance, hardship, and an independence that the capital has never fully tamed. Though united under the Phoenix banner, the south has always lived by its own rules—its loyalty earned through necessity rather than decree.
Closest to the trench lies Quarryton, the continent’s primary mining hub and the industrial lifeline of the south. Entire districts are carved directly into the stone, producing the iron, minerals, and raw ore that feed the furnaces of Phoenix and Krashnov alike. Quarryton is a city of hard labour and harder weather, its workforce accustomed to danger, dust, and the constant tremor of machinery running beneath their feet. Mining shafts, processing yards, and rail loaders dominate the landscape, while the civilian quarter clings to the outer ridge like a settlement born from the earth itself.
Beyond Quarryton rise the vast territories of Hatchet Hills, one of the largest provinces in Eurussia outside the three capitals. Here, rolling badlands give way to scattered settlements, fortified townships, and winding cliffside routes known only to those who were raised among them. Hatchet Hills is a land of independence—a region governed not by Phoenix, but by its own people. For generations, the inhabitants have upheld an unspoken accord with the capital: they handle their own affairs, settle their own disputes, and maintain internal order; in return, Phoenix refrains from interference. The territory has become a refuge for the displaced, the unregistered, and those who reject the rigid hierarchy of the continent. To outsiders, it is unpredictable. To its residents, it is home.
Further north, the roads narrow and converge toward Lewton Province, the southern gateway to Phoenix City. Lewton is a strategic corridor: a heavily trafficked region of transport hubs, fortified checkpoints, cargo depots, and military outposts that regulate movement between the south and the capital. Unlike Quarryton’s industrial severity or Hatchet Hills’ autonomy, Lewton is defined by control. Every road, tunnel, and transit lane feeds into the main approach toward the capital, making the province a critical choke point for trade, migration, and military passage. From its elevated ridgelines, the faint silhouette of the Citadel can be seen on a clear day—an ever-present reminder of the authority that waits beyond its borders.
Together, these provinces form the southern backbone of Eurussia: one forged in mining, one shaped by independence, and one bound to the gates of the capital. Their landscapes differ, their cultures clash, but their importance to the continent remains absolute.
Past the trench and the continent’s border lies the territory of the Southerners — a population separate from Eurussia, shaped by generations of isolation. When the trench was first constructed, the families stranded on the far side were cut off from the northern capitals and forced to build their own way of life in the dense jungles and unforgiving terrain. Over time they developed a distinct culture, a hardened identity, and the Solari language that now defines them. Their settlements are scattered, their governance informal, and their loyalties bound only to each other. In this wilderness sits the rebel camp, hidden beneath the canopy — a sanctuary, a fortress, and the last holdout of those refusing the control of Phoenix and Krashnov alike.
