Brazen Wolfe Tabletop

Felkirk’s Fallen

527SaFeFa

The wooden planks of the dock groaned beneath the party’s steps as smoke drifted from the burning galley behind them. In the eerie stillness, Bunker and Cinella emerged, their expressions caught between disbelief and admiration. Where once chaos ruled, silence reigned. Cinella’s voice trembled with both awe and relief as she praised the party’s staggering success. They had expected only to hold the enemy at bay, waiting for royal reinforcements that never arrived. Instead, it was the party who turned the tide. Bunker, always brimming with rough-hewn pride, reminded them of the warehouse lift, the very path that got them here in time.

The moment did not last. A soldier staggered onto the dock, breathless and dirt-smeared, bearing ill news. One of their own had returned from a mission to seek aid at the castle, only to collapse in death, muttering fragments about the dead and Merchants Way. Cinella’s stance shifted; they could send some troops, but mercenaries still stalked the shadows, and no one knew what lay ahead. She issued swift commands to rest and regroup. Her eyes then met the party’s, heavy with unspoken hope. Perhaps, once again, they would be asked to do what no others could

Merchants Way greeted the party with dread. Blood stained the streets in great swathes, walls scarred with frantic claw marks and steel gouges, but not a body lay in sight. The signs of violence were fresh, yet the dead had been moved, dragged up toward the castle. Shattered carts and broken doorframes littered the path, but the party pressed on with Cinella, Bunker, and a handful of steadfast allies. When the dead did return, it was not with blind fury, but tactical malice. From the shadows, the undead swarmed with unnerving coordination, seeking to entrap rather than overwhelm.

Blades cleaved and spells burst as the party stood their ground, but with each strike a deeper horror unfolded. Among the dead were familiar faces; once citizens of Felkirk, and others who bore the long-decayed wounds of battles long past. These were no accidental corpses. They had been gathered and raised for war, prepared well before this night. A raven called from above and wheeled away toward the castle. Somewhere close, a necromancer guided the assault with chilling foresight. Wounds were bound in haste. The party moved, still bleeding, toward the storm that awaited them.

Their pace quickened as they neared the castle. Undead corpses now littered the stones like refuse, signs that someone; perhaps those within, had been fighting fiercely. Fire arrows rained over the walls, igniting swathes of the dead. Standing apart from the carnage was a robed mage, casting destructive spells heedless of which bodies they struck. Tattered like old feathers, the figure remained obscured behind waves of undead. But then, a new threat revealed itself. Rotting ravens, perched high and silent, watched from the rooftops. Their glassy eyes turned toward the party. Moments later, fresh zombies stirred below, forming a living barrier between the party and the mage. Just as all seemed lost, fire tore through the ranks. The mage’s attention faltered. In the chaos, gaps formed, narrow, fleeting, and dangerous. A chance to reach the mage was laid bare, but it would not last long.

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PDF adventure – Felkirk’s Fallen

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