Lorewyn

Cradled in a shallow bay along the southern coast, Lorewyn is a sea-slick town of salt air, coral-painted stone, and bell-chimed wind.
Built where ocean meets land in an ever-patient conversation, the town rises on tiered platforms, its buildings leaning into one another like old friends exchanging secrets. Boats bob in the harbor, their painted hulls bright with kelp charms and driftwood wards.

The people of Lorewyn are attuned to tides both literal and unseen. They speak of currents in the air and sea, of dream-fog mornings where forgotten things wash ashore. Music drifts between buildings without a source. Old bells ring on foggy nights, though no hand moves the ropes.

The sea has calmed somewhat since the discovery of the disturbing creatures pulled up during the exorcism event. It seems that the confusion of the Rhae-fán had a hand in the strangeness of even these mist-shrouded shores, and now that they have settled and the veil has had time to heal, so too have the waves.
The boatmasters, though, distrust the quiet.

They suspect greater cries in the near future, as if they think the ocean smothers itself not to speak.
From the whispers I've heard on the docks, I fear that if nothing happens, the denizens of Lorewyn may start crafting their own tales, just to fill the silence they find so damning.