The walls of the fort are well warded, had they not been that place would have been long overrun by the horrors that lurk in the shadowy forests of Moonshadow. Surprisingly, there are few wards within the fort itself, understandable given the cost of each such ward; yet one can not help but wonder why there are any wards within at all. All such wards lie on the lowest floors, in the cellars beneath the keep where folks are loath to tread.
It was thought that, perhaps, these wards prevented the evil without seeping up through the ground, though not far from the truth this hypothesis erred in one crucial way.
It was a prisoner who first thought to see what lay behind those warded walls; it was this prisoner who first discovered the entombed catacombs beneath the fort. Iron struck stone, stone fell to strike stone, corrupted flesh and bone struck flesh as those behind the wards reached through from their long imprisonment to recruit another for their fell purpose.
The abominations of rotting flesh were undoubtedly human once, which raised more questions than it answered. Alas, they were beyond all answers. Were it not for the screams of those watching the prisoner's excavation, the menace would not have been swiftly contained. Alas these wailing saviours found no salvation themselves.