A Land Far Away

HEAR YE, HEAR YE! *town criers intone upon the hour*

Throughout the cities and towns of the Federation of the Marches, word spreads that the undead walk. Town criers repeatedly broadcast the news that a necromantic plague spreads through the Marches. It is transmitted by bite of the infected. After twelve hours of being bitten, the victim turns into an infected, and is permanently made into a undead.

It is also repeated that if a cure disease spell is cast upon the victim within twelve hours of the initial bite, the disease can be halted, but if not cured within that time, the undeath is permanent.

It is further reported that some of the undead have been proven resistant to divine turning, and many have been immune to mundane weapons. Fire and Acid are both effective means to fight them, as well as positive energy normally used for healing.

The price of fire and acid bombs has exploded, as many groups seek out the best (and only known) means of putting down the undead now plaguing the Nether Pass.

Certain goods are rising in price as trade slows in several parts of the Marches. The legion and Knights of Silver openly seek persons willing to aid in the onslaught of undead harassing the land. Mages at the college are said to be hard at work scribing magical scrolls capable of summoning all manner of fire. Several groups are being commissioned to seek out raw materials for the fire bombs fashioned by the inventive gnomes.

Travelers are strongly warned to steer clear of the mountains and pass at night.

The dead corpse tried to rise on its feet once again, but the dwarven sized boot landed directly on the neck, pinning the head to the dirt. "Leht's see ow yeh loike ehs!"
The bolt went through the skull, the small liquid vial attached igniting upon impact. Soon the body was burning. Indeed...bolts were more cost effective than the vials ever would be. Garlus grinned, and moved further up the pass.