Ilthain

“Help! Somebody—anybody—help us!”

The screams came from the old stone quarry. Carefully picking her way through the briar patches and dead timber of the woods she now called home, Ilthain headed for the treeline and peered down over the edge of the quarry. A woman knelt at the bottom of the pit near a large boulder, and a man was frantically dragging a large branch toward her.

Ilthain was about to skulk back into the shadows of the forest when she caught sight of the young, blonde-haired child. Her yellow dress was soaked in blood. Somehow, the boulder had rolled onto her left arm, crushing it and pinning her beneath the massive rock.

Ilthain fought through the brambles and made her way down the narrow trail to the quarry's floor. The man glanced at her as she approached. He had wedged the branch beneath the boulder and was trying desperately to use it as a lever to move the rock.

“Stay back,” he said, his voice quavering. “Why don't you rob someone else? Can't you see my daughter is dying?”

Tears streaked the woman's face, but it lit with a glimmer of hope as Ilthain approached. That is, until she saw the blight that afflicted Ilthain's face beneath her hood.

The woman stumbled to her feet. “Get away, witch!” She waved her hands frantically in the air. “Don't come any closer.”

Ilthain crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you like me to save the child or not?”

The woman turned to the child and the man's futile attempts to pry her free. “What can you do?” she asked, her voice wary.

Ilthain joined the man and, together, they strained. Strained harder. Her muscles burned. Her bones creaked. The boulder lifted ever so slightly. The woman hurried forward. She grabbed her daughter's legs and dragged her clear. Ilthain and the man stumbled back, gasping for breath, and the rock settled back down with a crunch.

The father crouched beside the mother as she cradled their daughter in her lap, but the child lay limp and unmoving, her arm a ruin of shredded flesh and shattered bone.

The woman looked up at Ilthain through her tears. “Save her,” she said. “I beg you.”

Ilthain sighed. “No need to beg.” She murmured a spell of healing as she stooped over the small body and fanned the fading embers of life. The arm re-knit itself, the flesh mending and the bones setting with a series of cracks. When at last the girl gasped a great lungful of breath, Ilthain turned without a word and walked away.

“Wait!” the man called after her. “Who are you? How can we repay you?”

Ilthain stopped and lowered her head. She did not turn around. “I am Ilthain the Revenant. I don't want payment. All I ask is that you remember this day and speak of me kindly.” Pledged into service by the Silver Shield, Ilthain was a warrior trained in the martial arts. She spent her days working in communities and helping those less fortunate. At night, however, she acted on behalf of the Silver Shield to rid the land of the corrupt, using her unique abilities to bring peace to Khymeria by purging it of its lawless rebels. She became so well known among the people that when she passed on, thousands of mourners followed her body as it was carried to the Peace of Light Monastery and entombed within a great mausoleum.

Following a great number of supplications from the people, Ilthain was eventually named a saint on the first anniversary of her death. There was much rejoicing. Every year, celebrations were held to honor and remember her deeds—that is, until the Chaos Legion invaded.

On the seventy-first year of her death, when the people made their way to the tomb of their lady, Ilthain, they discovered someone had moved the stone door aside. The crypt was empty. The people painted holy symbols upon the mausoleum and prayed for days, asking the gods to strike down with holy fire whoever had desecrated the tomb.

Ilthain watched, shrouded beneath a cloak and hidden in a nearby thicket. She did not know what had happened or why she had been resurrected, but she knew the people wouldn't accept her—not with the blight that plagued her and rotted her skin. She looked more like a revenant of the Dark Eternals than a champion of the Silver Shield.

After hearing of the Chaos Legion, she set out to find them and determine if it had been they who had breathed new life into her… and, if so, why. Never did her love for the people diminish, though. Ilthain continued to do everything she could to help them, even if she had to remain in the shadows.