The Sunken Ruins of the Placid Palace
Symbols hold great meaning in the North and nowhere holds more of a symbolic connection to the reign and fall of the God of the Ravaging Tides than its once awe inducing home. Built on a rock off the shores of the North sea, surrounded by the sholes that allow for a serene water in otherwise turbulent shores. The palace stood on a foundation of bedrock rising from the depths of the sea, with lower passages hewn into the rock to allow servants and beholden to move without disturbing the atmosphere above. For the palace was not a place of governance but instead a den of pleasure and opulence. On every wall hung a tapestry of imported cloth, the floors were lined with beasts furs, large fires maintained by magick continually warmed every room with different salts and oils added for olfactory pleasure or addling one’s mind. More than anything there were pillows, to lounge, to pile on others, to fornicate as the God was a creature obsessed with their own sense of bodily comfort.
Strange was the day when this playground for the most simple human instincts became a battleground. The Determined Few’s forces, learning from a dire mistake after trying approaching from the docks, found allies in the servants and snuck through the stone passages below. The labyrinth meant to serve the God quickly became its undoing as their enemies appeared throughout their palace as if coming from the fire and smoke itself. The tight hallways and thick air made the battling close and personal, each side caught in a deadly dance with their opponent as more tried to push through. Fires went unattended and vengeful, catching the tapestries on fire and creating a blaze throughout the building.
This chaos brought the God of Ravaging Tides to call its greatest ally, the ocean itself to aid. The magic needed to do so on this mortal plane ripped through the pleasure-seeking, the Guardians and the Northerners, tearing their souls from their bodies and instantly killing a hundred. Those who were left living faced a raging sea crashing on the rock spire, pouring into the windows and passages of the palace, furiously trying to flush all out. The final battle between the Determined Few and the God took place in a half-burnt, half-sunk hell on a teetering rock, nearly rent asunder from waves it was never meant to meet. It was a crack from the Knot of the Abhorrent that broke the beating of the God’s heart and with that the land shook, the ocean howled and the Palacid Palace crashed into the waters below, along with all the poor and wretched still inside.
Since that day of fate, the Palace has been a cursed ruin in the sea, tainted by soul-rending magic that was never meant to know a place in the land of the mortals. The water still sits placid but the Northerns say it’s because even the wild nature of the ocean dies when touching there. The things that do inhabit the ruins are the riches amassed by the god for nearly a century, left mostly untouched despite their great value, and the husks, warped and vile undead creatures that were left in the wake of the magic used by the Gods made real. The husks continue the last act of their body before death, in an endless play of the battle of the Placid Palace, hostile to any who dare trespass on their unresting turmoil. There is debate on whether the dead will ever truly be free if their husks are still bound to the Palace but no Northern wishes to relive the horrors of the place and even opportunistic smugglers think twice after sailing near, the air itself at the ruins falls heavy in your nose and the salty taste is bitter on your tongue, it is a place of undeniable danger.