CARRY THE DEAD. WALK THE ROAD. HOPE IT DOESN’T WALK YOU BACK.
There is a road, and you are on it. You have been on it for longer than you think, longer than the maps suggest, longer than the stars have watched. It winds west of Graven-Tosk, where graves stretch farther than the horizon, and the land is more bone than soil. The people of Vissna call it the Corpse Road, but it has other names. Older names. Names that chew at the back of your mind like teeth wrapped in velvet.
The Elder is dead, but they are not at rest. Their body creaks, sighs, and shifts in its wrappings. A thing a corpse should not do. You must carry them to the Charnel Chapel, must bring them to the place where the bones are stacked high, and the air is thick with the weight of all that has died before. The village told you it was duty. Honor. They did not tell you the road remembers. The road does not forgive.
This is a point crawl, a slow march through death and decay, where every step forward is a choice. Do you take the road past the Whispering Gate, where the stone wails for offerings? Do you seek shelter in the ruins of Varkolac’s Maw, where the Eater waits and watches? Or do you take the faster path, past the Cradle of Flies, where the air is thick with rot and something unseen rocks gently in the breeze?
The dead do not sleep here. They twitch, they whisper, they hunger. The Bleeding Dead walk, suspended by unseen strings, their skulls clattering together in rhythmic agony. The Skinneth Maw drags itself forward, stitched from the faces of those who failed before you. The road rebels, shifting and writhing beneath your feet, pulling you toward the Charnel Chapel, the final stop where all roads end. Where the bones whisper secrets that are too terrible to be spoken aloud.
MÖRK BORG is a game of doom and despair; this adventure is its rotting heart laid bare. It is a winding death march through the filth and fog, where the wind tastes of copper, the rain cuts like razors, and the sky bleeds black.
A d12 table of the corpse’s unnatural convulsions. A d10 of cursed weather that paints the world in sickness and omen. A d10 of occult treasures, relics left behind by those who walked the road before you—artifacts of sorrow, power, and promises best left unfulfilled. Encounters are not meant to be fought but endured. This is not an adventure where you win. It is an adventure where you survive—if you are lucky. If you are careful. If the road lets you.
Upon the Corpse Road is an adventure written for Mörk Borg and other similar doom-ridden systems. It will be available soon at: https://2-gorblins-in-a-studio.itch.io
