At the peninsula's southern tip, Deadwater Bay earns its name. Nothing lives here. The water is clear—too clear, sterile as glass. No fish swim in it. No seaweed clings to its rocks. No barnacles grow on the few wrecks that have drifted in. Even bacteria seem absent; corpses that wash into the bay do not rot. They simply... remain.
The effect extends several hundred yards from shore. Sailors who must pass through report an oppressive silence, a sense of being watched, and a wrongness they can't articulate. Some claim the water itself feels different—heavier, more reluctant to move.
No one knows what killed Deadwater Bay, or what keeps it dead. The Zelle avoid it. Pyonokraus ignores it. Even Thrallwood's compulsion seems to have no interest in this stretch of coast. Whatever happened here was thorough, and whatever lingers here is patient.