Bound by the curse of Calden, the Revenant Footmen are the silent sentinels of the ruined keep, forever marching its halls and battlements. Once proud and haughty men-at-arms, their deaths did not release them from fealty. Clad in steel that has neither rusted nor dulled with time, they move in tireless patrols, their weapons held with the discipline of warriors who have long forgotten rest.
The curse has warped them, twisting their bodies into grotesque parodies of their former selves. Their legs bend backward like those of a hound, yet they march with unwavering precision, as if their very bones remember the drills of a long-dead castellan. Beneath their helmets, little remains of what they once were, only hollow eyes that burn with cold, unyielding purpose.
Though centuries have passed, the Revenant Footmen of Calden know no peace. They do not speak. They do not falter. They wait, as they always have, for the word of their undying lord.
