What is an undead? Here is the question me, and many of my colleagues constantly find ourselves asking.
The simplest answer would be: "Something that is animated, yet does not possess life force"
That is obviously wrong however, this definition would classify golems and some spirits as undead, yet, everyone agrees that it isn't the case.
No, the more correct definition of an undead would be something animated by death force, something that is by all means, dead and yet, still retains functions normally attributed to the living.
Now, what is the difference between an undead and something that is simply dead? Whilst corpses create death force, they eventually just stop doing so after a while, undeads do not.
Or so it generally is, but once again, corpses that just manifest death force without stopping and undeads that don't produce their own death force exist.
For example, the most common of zombies and skeletons fit into that second category, generally born and fueled by ambient death.
Now, you are wondering where I am going with this, aren't you?
That is but an introduction, I have presented you with two sorts of undeads, those that produce death and those that do not.
I am simply aiming at putting down on paper the variations of undeads, necromancers shouldn't dive into the dangerous practice of death magic blind.
When it comes to aspects nearly all beings share with one another, I classify undeads to fall into three categories regarding each of those aspects:
-Possess the same as the rest
-Lack it entirely
-Possess another version of the aspect, which shall be referred as 'undead' for simplicity sake-
Extract of 'Undeads For Dummies: What Is A 'True' Undead?' by Ohith of the Underground Tower.
A somewhat chubby man stood before a small pond, the surface had turned red.
He held a soft tissue to his mouth and nose as guards pulled out corpses after corpses, each belonging to people living in the villages outside the walls of Throdqdmond, he felt like gagging every time a new one was fished out.
Each and every one of them was horrendous and disgusting in its own way, some were bloated due being submerged for a long time, others were squirming with worms whilst some were simply disfigured from the brutal ordeal they had gone through before ending up in there.
The man felt sick, but he was even more furious.
His name was Harold, and he was the mayor of Throdqdmond, at first, a few peasants dying wasn't anything to write home about, it was a shame to lose perfectly good manpower but it was what it was.
Now however, this mysterious killer had begun to attack the farmers and it was equivalent to punching the city's economy straight in the guts, now that was heresy, this was an attack that couldn't be forgiven.
The killer had been active for about a month now, and there rarely was a day during which no blood was spilled, Harold had become convinced that this man was actively trying to ruin this city, for he even attacked the few cattle grazing around.
Even dogs and cats weren't safe, as it had become awfully common to find either of those smashed up in the middle of the main road, merchants and travellers had begun to avoid coming through Throdqdmond.
And it was perfectly understandable, a maniac was on the loose and no one was able to track him down.
He had seemingly only been seen once, and described as wearing a 'potato sack with sad face on it'.
Thus, the sad faced man had become the looming shadow of Throdqdmond, whether it was turning people into scarecrows, hanging their bodies around or simply slaughtering them and leaving them as is.
Harold was dreading the day this lunatic decided to upgrade and start prowling the streets of the city itself.
'I have already got all adventurers on it, not a single guard isn't on the lookout for him, why?!' he sighed heavily and motioned the captain of the guards not so far to come closer.
"Listen, do not stop anything, continue trying to catch this bastard, but don't despair alright? I am going to try to get Thomas and others as well" Harold spoke seriously as he spared a glance at yet another body being pulled out of the pond, he felt sick seeing someone so young, and yet, already in the grasp of the grim reaper.
"Thomas? The- The crusader?" the captain of the guards paled, not because he was afraid of this man, he simply remembered the one time he had been in his presence.
That seemed… Excessive for a filthy murderer, a warrior as noble as a crusader shouldn't have to be bothered for such things.
Yet, he didn't doubt that he would heed the call.
"We'll double our efforts sir!" the man responded and saluted, not wanting the crusader to be bothered with something so measly, he was ignited with a renewed fervour as he commanded some of his men to go on the move.
"Captain!" just as he did so, one of them came rushing out toward him.
He nodded, prompting him to explain what was so urgent.
"The villagers… They are all sick and tired of our… Hum- Incompetence! They are taking things into their own hands…" this was only to be expected.
Loimos had arisen one of the mightiest of forces, the wrath of the common people.
The undead wasn't fazed by it however, he watched things unfold from another attic he had crawled into, the folks below him had no idea he was there.
He listened in on the people outside, he could only hear bits here and there, but it was enough to understand what was happening.
The peasants and farmers were forming a righteous mob, there was little doubt in Loimos's mind that they would crush his bones if they caught him, though not everyone was going to rush out into the night with torches and pitchforks.
Some of them were going to be barricading themselves in their homes, such as the family living right below him at this moment, he could hear them moving furniture around and boarding up windows.
They had no idea that they were going to be the first.
The next few nights were going to be long.