Revenant Warriors
Calden’s fallen soldiers, cursed to march again in silent, unyielding formation. Bound by duty even in death, they fight without fear, wielding steel for their undying lord.
The Wolf Rides Again
Calden’s relentless champion, a towering revenant driven by bloodlust and bound to his master’s will. Where he treads, slaughter follows.
The Lord's Court
Twisted revenants of Calden’s inner circle - sorcerers, assassins, and scheming courtiers, each still serving in death as they did in life.
The Undying Lord
Aethelric, the tyrant of Calden, risen in monstrous form, his hatred undimmed, his ambition unbroken, his dark reign unending.
The Last Honorable Son
Ser Lucius of House Calden, ever-wandering. A twisted knight seeking redemption, or vengeance, for the curse that doomed his bloodline.
In the wake of the Old Empire’s fall, the world was shattered. The Cataclysm left the land scarred, its survivors scattered and struggling to rebuild amid the wreckage of a lost age. From the ruins, new powers emerged, some seeking dominion, others merely survival. The Azerai Church emerged from within the Sunlit Citadel, forging the Penitent Crusade to subjugate the shattered world. But they were not the only force to rise in the chaos.
Calden was one such power, a fortress-city that stood defiant amongst the ashes of Cataclysm. Beneath the blue and silver Wolf Banner, its armies carved a bloody path across the lands, rivaling even Azerai’s early conquests. Its Lord ruled over his new kingdom with an iron will, a dominion built upon fear and brutality. Here, loyalty was measured in blood spilled, and power was claimed through violence. Such crude mechanisms of rule were doomed to fail though.
The great revolt came as fire and fury. The downtrodden masses rose against their masters, a great tide of bodies driven by rage and desperation. The soldiers of Calden slaughtered hundreds, but for every rebel cut down, another took their place. The rebellion became a siege, then a massacre, until it stopped at the inner keep, where the Lord’s knights made their last stand.
Even as those mighty warriors fell to pitchfork and cudgel, the ground itself began to shake. The earth split open, a great ravine yawning between the rebel host and the Lord’s inner sanctum. None could cross the abyss, from either side. The rebels, denied their final vengeance, could only watch as the Lord’s tower stood isolated and defiant amidst the ruin. They waited, hoping to see him beg in starvation, to hear his wails of desperation. But no such cries came.
For many years, a vigil was held amongst the ruins of Calden, but not once was there seen a sign of life within the Lord’s Tower. Over years, memories faded as generations passed, the long watch ceased, and folk forgot the dark legacy of Calden and its cruel Lord.
For centuries, Calden remained a dead place, its towers weathered, its halls abandoned. But something has changed. In recent years, folk travelling in the shadow of that dark keep have spoken of horrors riding from the mist-choked ruins. Raiders clad in rusted mail, bestial faces obscured by ancient helms, descend upon the living. Their arrows fly true, their blades bite deep, yet no mortal voice is heard among them. They fight without mercy, take no plunder, and leave only slaughter in their wake. The bipedal footprints of hounds evidence their advance, and where they march, the Wolf Banner flies once more.
Calden has awakened.
What force has stirred the dead from their slumber? Some whisper of an unholy covenant, struck in the final hours of the keep’s fall. Others claim the Lord of Calden never truly perished, that his will lingers, unbroken by death, bound to the crumbling stones of his fortress. Whatever the truth, one thing is certain, the Revenant dead of Calden march again, and the world would do well to fear them.
