By Moradin’s beard, that blasted fool must’ve been screamin’ all damn night! Who needs a cockerel when ye got him caterwaulin’ outside? With a great huff, I haul open the window, grumblin’ all the while, and against me better judgment, I drag him back inside. As I do, I catch a glimpse o’ where we are—right at the edge o’ a walled city.

I stomp downstairs, ready for a stiff drink, but instead, I find the lot o’ us gathered round, askin’ Shredder what he knows ‘bout this Abandoned City. Turns out, it’s been deserted near fifty years now—used to be a fine place for trade ‘n learnin’ ‘til the Wizard’s Tower got itself destroyed. That’s when everythin’ changed. Bah, wizards. Always causin’ trouble. Shredder figures the rest o’ his camp would’ve gone that way, to the ruins o’ the tower.

There’s a guard tower down the road, and by the look o’ things, most roads lead straight to the center—the very place where that tower once stood. No point dawdlin’. We head back down into the tunnels, marchin’ toward the guard tower, weapons at the ready. Ain’t long before a shadowy figure appears in the distance, each step echoin’ with a hollow knock—wood on stone.

I grip me axe and bellow, “Who goes there?!”

The knockin’ stops. A raspy voice calls back, “Who are you? I don’t know yer voice…”

I’m about to give ‘im a piece o’ me mind, but Shredder steps up first. Turns out, it’s Kal-El, another o’ his kind. They chat for a bit—seems the rest o’ his camp passed this way, fleein’ some trouble. Some other group—an Elf, two Dwarves, and a Loxodon—attacked ‘em, and from the sound of it, they were a right nasty bunch.

We ask ‘im about those blasted stone gates, but all he knows is there’s five o’ them. He also warns us to steer clear o’ the cursed runes. When Shadowstep shows off the marks now burned into his skin, Kal-El gives ‘im a look like he’s already half a corpse. Says we best deal with that quickly. Aye, no kiddin’.

Then we bring up Morros and that tavern o’ his, and Kal-El looks at us like we’ve lost our bloody minds. Says that place has been abandoned for years—overgrown with vines, left to rot. Shadowstep, lookin’ a bit pale, pulls the meat from his pouch, only to find it’s dried up and leathery. I grab me waterskin, hopin’ for a drink—only to taste somethin’ foul. Slimy, rotten. I spit it out, and the stuff bubbles when it hits the floor. Moradin’s hammer, that’s no ale!

With partin’ words, Shredder and Kal-El leave, tellin’ us that Nimfudge is a good man. Aye, I’ll be the judge o’ that.

We press on and reach the guard tower. Inside’s a circular room lined with eight cells, and a stairway leadin’ up. I take the lead, stompin’ up the steps to see what’s left o’ this cursed city. The next floor’s got a makeshift desk, parchments scattered across it, and at the very top, I find beds, some scattered armor, and basic weapons. Lucky me, I find a fresh waterskin—none o’ that slimy pisswater for me!

Meanwhile, Shadowstep’s got a bee in his bonnet. Claims the nearby buildings ain’t real. So what’s he do? Picks up an inkpot and chucks it out the window. The pot smashes against a very real, very solid wall. Ha! Idiot. But that ain’t the worst of it. I turn around, and there he is, scrawlin’ “We are after you!” on the wall… in ink… and shit. By Moradin’s hairy backside, what is wrong with this man?!

We head out into the city proper, and somethin’ don’t sit right. It’s too well-preserved—should be overgrown, rotted, but no. It’s eerily intact. My instincts tell me to tread careful, but Shadowstep? Nah. He slams open a door and shouts, “HELLO?!” Like a damn fool.

And wouldn’t ye know it, the ground starts shiftin’. Two rotten corpses claw their way up from the dirt, their empty eyes fixin’ on us. Then, the Captain lets out a horrible gasp and keels over. Her skin turns gray, hair fallin’ in clumps. But she ain’t quite like the zombies, no… somethin’s wrong.

Shadowstep, quick as ever, flips over one o’ the zombies, stabbing it deep. I waste no time, rushin’ forward and splittin’ the bastard clean in two. Behind me, Dreafus swings the blunt end o’ his weapon, knockin’ the Captain out cold. Aye, good thinkin’—we’ll deal with her later.

Shadowstep moves for the next undead fiend, but before he can strike, Icarus waves his hand, summonin’ some fancy magic. A spectral hand appears above the zombie, holdin’ a dagger. Then—whump—it drops straight through the beast’s skull. Damn good shot! The corpse slumps over, still as the grave.

Gerhard checks the Captain. No sign o’ her turnin’ back. She’s changed—permanently. We ain’t takin’ any chances. We haul her back to the guard tower, lock ‘er up in one o’ the cells, and barricade the door. One thing’s for damn sure—this ain’t gonna be a normal adventure. Aye, Moradin help us all.