Anbel Tower

At the northernmost tip of the Duchy of Daundry, perched high upon a cliff, stands Anbel Tower. It is a stark place, a small but formidable castle that has long guarded the northern border of the duchy. The tower itself is a tall, narrow structure with a conical roof. From the cliff’s edge, three descending curtain walls form the castle’s lower levels, enclosing a smithy, an armory, a travelers’ rest house, and a Church of Olanya.   The road to Anbel Tower is narrow and uneven, winding through farmlands and past the cottages of those who make a living on the cliffs. The land is fertile but harsh, forever at the mercy of strong northern winds that roll in from Lake Ryrmon. To the east, the cliffs drop suddenly into the deep, black waters, where shipwrecks from old wars and reckless voyages rest. To the west are rocky hills where dirt paths meander past old burial grounds..   The hills beyond Anbel Tower are not a place for the living. There, among gnarled roots and jagged stones, lie the graves of the old kings of Styria. Their tombs are lost to time and tangled undergrowth. These kings were once warriors and heroes. Now they have become wights; vengeful spirits bound to their earthly remains. Even in the height of summer, the hills remain cold, an unnatural chill clinging to the land.   Few dare to venture among the tombs, for the wights do not rest easily. Their spectral forms drift through the mist, their pale, weathered skin stretched over hollow bones, their fingers locked in an unrelenting grip upon the swords they once wielded. Their hair floats unnaturally, as though submerged in unseen waters, and their eyes burn a bright, empty white. Only the midday sun keeps them at bay, and even then, people travel in groups, never alone.   Beneath the cliffs of Anbel Tower, are the waters of Lake Ryrmon. Here, the lake is deeper than anywhere else, its waves crashing against the rocks below. Countless ships have met their end here. Merchant vessels caught in sudden storms, warships battered in forgotten battles, fishing boats pulled under by unseen currents. Some wrecks lie shattered upon the rocks, others have long since sunk to the depths, forever lost beneath the waves.   Locals speak of ghostly lanterns appearing on the water at night, drifting aimlessly before vanishing into the mist. Some claim they are the spirits of drowned sailors, searching for a way home. Others whisper that they belong to something far older, creatures that stir beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise again. But whatever secrets the lake keeps, none who have gone seeking them have ever returned.