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.