Race: Dwarven
Unit Class: Archery Unit
Requires: Runes of Kilmorph as State Religion
Starts With: 1 First Strike
Medic I
Medic II
Immune to Disease
Life II
Info: 9 Strength
1 Move
Cost: 180 Production
Special: Will abandon civilization if state religion switches from Runes of Kilmorph

An entire company was wiped out by her. She wore a ragged white dress and matted red hair, both of which clung to her like grease on a pan. She didn't carry any weapons, she didn't need them. Her claws were like iron, she was stronger than any girl. But she was just a girl, or at least once she had been. She clawed and bit at them, coughed and wheezed and fled. One of their number was dead and several were injured.

Arthendain began applying healing poultices to the wounds, but they were already growing green with infection. The finger sized gashes broke open, skin and muscle peeled back as if it was trying to escape the bone. They writhed in pain, and in minutes they looked as if they had been flogged with a whip; after a few more, they appeared as fresh zombies, still screaming, minds alive as their bodies died. Then finally, mercifully, they died.

Arthendain was uninjured from the fight, but still the disease spread. He grabbed his crossbow intent on making sure the girl didn't spread her disease any further. As he gripped the polished handle of his crossbow, he noticed his own hands had begun to redden and swell. He hurried to water; they were in the sewers beneath Prespur and normally he wouldnt touch the water here, but it had to be better than what was on him. He scrubbed his hands, but it just got worse, then the coughing began.

He heard himself screaming, exactly as the others. He fell into the water and died. The disease spread in the water; the next morning, the city would have awoken to a Plague. There would be barely any left by nightfall, if Sucellus had not interfered. His shadow passed through the sewers and gathered the disease into a earthen flask. He spoke to the water and it brought Arthendain from its depths and laid him at the god's feet. Succellus asked for the dwarf's spirit and Arawn consented.

Arthendain doesn't remember much, everything from scrubbing his hands to waking up that next morning in a local tavern is little more than a blur. He remembers a man who healed him. He remembers being given the flask and told to keep it safe, and never open it. He remembers being told that he must find that girl. And to this day he has worked toward that goal.

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