The disturbances around amia, the destruction of Cordor and the destruction of Lumerior cause the ocean floors to buckle and snap, making them appear completely different than they were before. At the bottom, something is awakened by the sheer energy that beset the land. That something called out, looking for a way out of its watery prison.

Something listened.

A plan was hatched, a party seduced. Alliances made, alliances broken. Silently, quietly it waited beneath the waves as the powers above ploted and moved their mortal pieces.

Nothing could change the unalterable future now. It was set in stone, or set in the waves rather. A certain dark elf of pure intentions read from the stone. Tarkuul was coming. In the distant sea the water grows an odd tinge of blood red, the water in some places steams and boils and the waves, larger than usual crash upon the shore.

The first part was over, the more dangerous rather, lay ahead.

With the help of six people of questionable morality... and a very nice fairy. The great mass of Tarkuul rose and was brought back to its former power. Even now undead walk about and clear out the ocean floor and priest sail in from distant lands to take the city as their own. Tarkuul had risen, unmarked trade vessels sail in circles around it as it finishes reconstruction.