Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, wreathed in strange weed and an eldritch fog, lies a warped place. Seafaring cultures for as long as there have been seafaring cultures have run afoul of the strange magic of this navigational dead zone. Their ships have endured as forsaken monuments, their unfortunate crews transformed into the aquatic corpse-horrors known as the Draug. Few who have seen this cursed place ever leave it. Those that do are marked, doomed to be reclaimed by drowning, or by the rare visitations of the pale Draug. And so, when the fishermen of the Lady Margaret escaped as unwitting tomb-robbers, they drew the full attentions of its dark powers. The Draug rode out in pursuit on a pale carrier -- The Polaris, a cargo ship, broken loose from the outermost ring of derelicts and carried across the sea north and west by the roiling, creeping fog bank. In its hold, an ancient lord of the creatures, long since outgrown its human form, exercised its powers to command flesh and fog alike. The ship's passage was inexorable, but unmanned, running aground on a rocky outcrop not far from the coastline of Solomon Island. Spilling from the wreck, the Draug and the fog continued across the waves towards the unsuspecting community of Kingsmouth. What no one knows, however, is that a greater threat has traveled in the wake of the ship. An immense beast, born from the material that re-made the first Draug, and formed in an echo of the terrible thing dreaming beneath the sea: The Ur-Draug, watching over its foul progeny from between dimensions, waiting.