The Rise of the Undead

He walks about the town drowsily. He even waves his hands up in the air like a madman. As he walks past by us, I can smell something strong, something of an alcohol. There he goes, stumbling on one stand to another, but still, the village sees this as nothing more as a beggar on the street.

Unexpectedly, he passes by the same beggar and takes the coins he patiently gathered.

"What are you looking at?" the drunkard asks.

He spits at the beggar and walks away. From a distance, I can see the clenched fist of the beggar and strides angrily.

I expect a punch or two to be thrown but no. . . My expectation fails.

He bit him.

The beggar mercilessly bites the flesh of the drunkard's neck, causing him to bleed to death. I cannot believe this. The crew and I are like a group of children seeing a two-headed pig down on a fair. We are not alone on this. The whole town stands agape with the scene. Nobody even dares circle the bleeding victim and the cannibal around.

I was about to draw out my claws, but Aretha stops me. Suddenly, things could not go worse.

More of them come. Men, seemingly gray and freshly buried in the grave, spring out of nowhere. They walk as clumsily, if not worse than the drunkard earlier. For a while, they seem peaceful. They walk placidly around town without even posing a threat. I look at Melchior and it seems he is resisting the urge of licking the blood of the now dead drunkard bleeding from the neck.

After the beggar finishes his meal, he suddenly screams aloud, "attack!"

Then, it happened.

The placid Undead begins biting the life out of the humans around town. Some of them take one strong bite from their body and leave them crippling down. Others simply cause mayhem and cut their hearts and brains out. Aretha begins singing her song, but unfortunately, things do not work out. It remains a disaster. Even Olghar shrinks inside Melchior.

I look once more on the bleeding victim, but something strange happens. He stands once more as he joins The Undead in attacking the town. One of them dares take a bite out of Melchior, but he fends them away with his dagger on his side. As the same drunkard attempts to grab Aretha, Olghar crawls into his shirt, distracting the drunkard with just enough time for us to run for our lives.

With a little concentration, my smooth face turns into the face of a beast with a nose of a wolf and eyes as sharp as a knife. I go on fours, allowing the crew to climb on. As I run, Olghar catches up and grabs on my tail. In haste, I run as fast as I could. I run and run and run for our lives. As The Undead endlessly kills, or turns the people into like them, around town, I cannot help but look back.

What is going on? I think. Where did they come from?

"Now is not the time for thinking, Rordan!" Olghar screams at me as he notices my hesitation. "Run!"

I need no more words. I run into the forest and up into a hill. None of them dares follow us. We look at the scene with quiet disbelief. This has not happened before.

Did they truly rise from their graves?