In the far north of Farryn’s peninsula, where the forest grows old and the earth remembers, there lies a drowned keep—its broken towers half-swallowed by dark waters and root-choked stone. Few now speak its name, and fewer still will walk the paths that lead there.

Of late, troubling signs have stirred the region. Pale lights flicker beneath the flooded halls at dusk, and a low chant—carried on the wind—has been heard by hunters who dared stray too near. Some say a cult has taken refuge within the ruins. Others whisper they are wardens, not worshippers.

It is at this hour that Dr. Nabanik, a scholar of ancient kingdoms, has come before the Springreach Adventurers’ Guild. He asks for an escort into the ruins—to drive out those who dwell there, and to aid in uncovering what yet lies beneath the water.

Though measured in his words, there is urgency beneath them, and a reluctance to speak plainly of what he seeks. Yet in quiet moments, he warns that the fall of the castle was no simple ruin… and whatever stirs in the drowned halls now, it has begun to wake.