Royero is the region of the southern skies where the Tempest casts its eerie blackening pall. Ayrlands drift into Royero when their days in Panazur are finished, and the pull of the Abyss draws them south. When the sun's warmth graces an ayrland on fewer than half the days of the year, that is how you know it have crossed the point of no return. It's all downwind from here. The wildlife begins to turn dire from the toxic ashes that seep into the earth. Swarms of crows feast in the chaos as creatures become stronger, more bloodthirsty, and sprout black coral armor plates that regenerates as the host consumes flesh. Folk start telling stories of monsters lurking at the outskirts of the villages, not to scare their kids to bed, but to rouse the guards to their watchposts. People don't build as much in Royero as they do in Panazur. They maintain and repurpose. They buy used, they make do, or they get moving and join the Northward March. Anchorspires still stand far off the coast of Fryggidios, providing a few places in Royero where Gahls can tether their ayrles and create cities. These are typically cramped, dank and treacherous places, smelling of rust and unwashed sweat. The most profitablet trade is working the coilrigs and hunting Wenwhales. This is a dangerous enough job out in Panazur, but in Royero, the storm turns Wenwhales dire and aggressive. Normally a peaceful giant that feeds on lumes in the clouds, the dire variant has been corrupted by the abyss. It uses its hardened horned frill to disbalance ayrlands. It then gorges on the hapless creatures that get knocked off. Unable to digest most of it, the nethergris it vomits up makes a potent fuel, or can be alchemically distilled into incense and perfume, both of which are dangerously addictive and intoxicating.