What had once been a glorious fastness, the sunken city of Tor Anroc is little more than a skeleton, its high towers smashed and its walls sundered during the Elven Civil War. Only broken stubs of lost towers remain, jutting from storm-lashed waters like the fingers of a drowning victim. With each passing year, more succumbs to erosion, collapsing below the waves. Lost to history are the Lord of Tor Anroc and his sons. None speak of them now for fear of ones' thoughts becoming moribund.[1a]
Ghostly winds blow over the watchtower of Tor Anroc: a tall spire of dark rock rising from the city ruins. From its peak, it is not uncommon to see a shimmering, misty haze over the ocean. From the tallest peak of this watchtower, on this desolate, forgotten island, Asur still keep watch over the horizon, guardians of a magical beacon used to warn Ulthuan of approaching, hostile forces. Said-beacon lies within a chamber below the tapered merlon of the tower's summit, the stairs cut into the floor leading to a sconce-lit stairwell. A magically locked and reinforced door of white timber blocks further passage upon reaching the landing, requiring a password to open. Yet inside, the glowing blue orb of the warning beacon pulsates, awaiting activation.[1a]
In addition to citizen soldiers, and on rare occasion, Shadow Warriors of Nagarythe will garrison here, much to the trepidation of the former.[1a]
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