Spectral Army
Fogholt lies under a perpetually pale sky, its mountains wrapped in whispering mists. There, the Spectral Army trains in a clearing carved from granite peaks, soldiers whose steps echo not because they walk, but because their boots pass between worlds. At Jaggedking Deckard Oakhand’s command, they shift: one moment flesh and armour, the next translucent silhouette, fading lungs and bone into ghostly light.
In this duality lies their power. When war draws near, Shadow Lancers rush forward—lance tips gleaming, then vanishing through stone walls; Shadow Guardsmen stand steadfast, defending gates that only open for specters; the Spectral Champions lead, heartbeats faint but resolve unbroken. And above all, the Shadow Lord holds the line between life and beyond, commanding respect from both the living and the spectral dead.
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