Scab looked over its choice of bodies in the stone mason's guild. The undead in soiled priest robes walked from body to body examining the corpses like a human would apples at a fruit stand. One body would be raised and sent against the walls of the bank. If luck was on its side tonight the freshly raised corpse would find wherever the orange coats drinking water came from and fall in. It was unlikely but an undead monster could dream.
Under its robes it had the saber it stole the night before. The use of a weapon was new to it but a welcome idea. A sharp blade that gave it more reach. It could welcome a mortal to the other side that much faster than it could with its teeth. The unliving were a difficult bunch but perhaps they could learn.
Scab walked to the second floor and noticed the plague filled corpses overlooking the street had muskets. A few cartridge boxes as well. The undead began to wonder. If they had muskets might they also have a magazine in the large stone building. Scab wondered down the back hallways looking at the hand carved stone. The excellent stonework reminded the undead of the front of the temple. The pockmarks were invaders had pried gold and stones out of the walls. Scab knew the memories didn't belong to itself but a new reason to hate the orange coats was always welcome.
Hate was the foundation of its being. The emotion that bound it to the world of the living. If it could hate it could continue to exist, kill, eat, and convert life to unlife.
Scab chose tonight's body and spilled liquid unlife into it mouth. The black liquid wiggling into the corps filling it with the hunger insatiable. The creature stood and began walking to the bank. Quiet and determined it walked into the night.
Scab passed through the granite hallways finding stairs into a basement. Storage rooms of tools and stone a well room then a small room filled with picks and mining equipment. An empty barrel of black powder sat on a table covered in papers waiting to be filled with gunpowder. Scab looked through the mining tools and found another barrel of black powder awaiting use. Scab would order the unliving to move the barrel. They should be capable of that. The tools caught its attention. If these tools could cut stone could they pierce steel. Scab picked up the heavy mining pick and gave it a swing.
It would certainly hurt more than teeth. The stone saws would likely do little harm but the hammers looked like they could cave in a helmet. Perhaps changing locations would be a good idea. The orange coats were closing in on the temple. Scab did not think it could kill the orange coats if they attacked in force. Not yet anyway. Its servants were to few. If concentrated musket fire didn't end the unliving the shrapnel guns or nights would.
Yes, a move was in order. The unliving would need to learn clubs and picks.
An unliving arrived in the hallway. The other dead priest missing its head.
Perfect thought the whight. Scab ordered it to lay down on the table and pilled out its saber. It cut open the front of its belly and filled its dried-up stomach with gunpowder and stolen musket balls. A pistol taken from the mummified cavalry by the entrance was also filled with powder the body was stitched together so the grip of the pistol was accessible from the outside. The hammer was left unchanged. The decapitated corps squeezed the trigger of the handgun. It could not shoot, not without being charged but once it did it would ignite the stomach full of gunpowder.
Scab wondered what to throw the walking bomb at first the column of solders or those blasted knights. A brilliant idea. Find and blast the knights.