Chapter 1- Afterlife

Silence. A dreadful blackness pierced into the world, the black void of nothingness, of true death, filling all that no longer existed. It was a peaceful rest, a rest of eternity, a rest that was a bittersweet return to the predecessor of birth. Nothingness.
All at once, in the darkness, there came a simple poke. A touch that revitalized the nervous system, like a small, faint chiming that came all at once. The faintest touch of life reentered the mind.
A labored, steady breath drew inwards, causing dried lungs to expand for the first time in half a cycle of decomposition. Death's own veil began to fade, bringing one fortunate (or unfortunate) soul back into the world.
All at once, the eyes forced themselves open, revealing a sky that seemed so utterly bright to the dried corneas, the milky blue on the girl's retinas faded out by what seemed an eternity of passing time.
The girl sucked in air, attempting to cry out. Her mouth wide open, she could do nothing but sit there, her expression agonized, as her eyes glanced around, trying to take in her first site in the world since her abrupt and brutal passing. She sobbed, her tearless eyes shut in her own true agony, as she tried to move her limbs around hopelessly.
Several other corpses, some largely decomposed, and others intact, are strewn out next to the girl. You are among these, your first glimpse of the world being returned to you after your own end. You reenter the world.

Emerith sat up slowly, and looked around. "W-Where am I? Who's there?" Emerith tried to rise but fell back down, and she got a glimpse of her right hand, which is almost complete bone. It seemed as though animals have eaten away at it. She let out a piercing scream, which ended quickly in hoarse cry. She slowly got up again, this time able to hold herself up. She looked around her surroundings.

A short ways away, sprawled onto his back, one leg bent at an abnormal angle, lay another corpse. This formerly-breathing man seemed to have faced a death in combat, a sword lying a short distance from his open palm, and a shield still strapped to his left arm. His body was coated in now-rusted, thin plate armour, although several holes signified the wounds that ended his life.

Suddenly, he stirred. His body made a nearly imperceptible movement, then another, then another, before his foot shifted, and his full reanimation began to take hold. His blood-crusted eyes flutter, then open, revealing dust-caked ruins that were soulless at their deepest level. Slowly, he pushed himself, before letting out a garbled groan through his shredded throat. He rolled over, immediately vomiting an amount of congealed blood from his throat. As he moved, his plated armour shifted about. His sword remained where he dropped it upon his death.

A hooded man in worn robes, with a pale face and two ice-blue eyes, as light as the cloudless sky at midday, stood over the group, eying them down. He took the time to address each one individually, looking at them.
"Wake up, you are going to be fine. You have just come back from the armies of the scourge. Redemption is what awaits." His voice was strangely soothing and flowing.
A man stood nearby, his flesh rotting away to a green hue, his lower jaw crooked and his eyes completely dislodged. Upon a further glance, it appeared that his abdomen had been brutally forced open, his decomposing entrails, strands of intestines, still hanging from a gaping hole there. He blinked several times, before pulled a rusted sword from its sheath. "The dead are close, my King."
The little girl shook violently, gripping an old and battered violin close to her chest. She let out a whimper.
The hooded man spoke softly. "Patience, let them at least walk their first steps, Dathral."

Emerith suddenly looked angry, "You....you...y-you did this to me! You took away EVERYONE I loved!" Emerith began to tremble and she clenched the hand that was purely bone in anger. "You..will..pay for this. I will NOT let you live." She hurled herself at the man but fell halfway, although she began to strengthen. Emerith got up again and her leather armor shifted a little to show that she had been stabbed. She hurled herself at the man again. "I WILL NOT LET YOU GET AWAY WITH THIS."

The man, who we will call John, continued to vomit. The vile blood and bile continued to flow past his torn lips, eventually ceasing. He brings his worn gaze up to the man in robes, blankly, and calmly. His emotions fail him. He then notices the other raising corpse stand, and attempt an attack. The sight of this anger seems to revive him, and he swipes his sword into his body fingers. He attempts to stand up straight, holding his shield in a hobbled fashion. Clearly in no condition to fight. "Curse.....you......Why.....Am.....I....Alive?"

Very slowly, what appeared to be a high elven woman, rose up from the rest of the mangled corpses. She was clothed in slick midnight black leather that hugged close to her rotting skin. A large hole could be seen in her chest right above her breasts. The woman pushed herself up on her hands and knees and looked around at the dead bodies. Her hands touched the left side of her head. Rotting flesh fell into her hand. She looked closely to see that it was in fact her delicately pointed ear. If her heart had been beating, it would have been beating out of her chest. She heard yelling nearby but was too busy with trying to figure out with what was wrong with her. She didn't realize she was dead. The only thing the high elf could do was sit on her knees and stare at the severed ear in her hands.

The pale-faced, hooded man peered around, his pointed nose complimenting the gentle and wise features upon his face. Nearby, the poor little girl was still gasping for breath.
In response to the woman's advance, the pale man simply stood aside, as if expecting her to trip.
"Conserve your energy, I have nay slain your family nor destroyed what you love. You have been brought back from the grave to battle the dead, the lich who forced us into atrocities. Now is our time to return to this world, to sew the seeds of restoration. If any of you prefer a return to your slumber, it shall be so. You shall not be thought a coward, nor without will. Return to your graves if you wish, sleep into the next world. But if you stay, it shall be for Eldoras! For our world!"

Several of the dead corpses began to stir. "Halthas!" One called out, as a mostly-rotten corpse of a man dressed in black leaned up, gazing around. "Where...am I?" He said in a heavy northern dialect.
"No...what has...what has...FOUL HEATHENS, BACK, BACK INTO THE DARKNESS!!!!" Cried the anguished voice of another man. "I AM DOREN, SON OF THALMATH, OF FAENDAS!!! I AM THE MIGHTY RETRIBUTION OF THE GODS, THE VANQUISHER OF GREAT EVILS!!!" The man of brown, rotted flesh tried to stand on two bony legs, but beneath the weight of his rust-decayed armor, there came a loud SNAP!!! Both of his legs broke into halves as he fell backwards, moaning in agony on the ground.
The soothing voice spoke again. "We shall bring for you new legs, Doren of Faendas."
"GODS, PROTECT ME!!!" Cried the former paladin in his anguish.
The little girl rolled up to her knees, still holding her violin close. Her face was complimented by a small, pointed nose, her skin seeming to be less decomposed than many of those around her. It has become an eerie grayish shade, her two little brown eyes glazed over like icing on pastries. She wore a small, white dress, which was torn and crawling with maggots. A worm was attempting to dig its way into her face, a worm she did not seem to take note of, until the hooded man took hold of it, and slid it out.
"Welcome back to the realm of the living."

Emerith growled in anger, still easily standing she turned easily to face him. She scowled at him, "But WHO killed me? The necromancers and undead that YOU raised. I WILL kill you for this." Emerith was taking large panting breaths. She flexed her bone hand, "I will...I will.." Emerith seemed to be rather 'fresh' when it came to being dead. The only thing that showed her of being dead was deathly cold pale skin, her wounds, and a few decomposed places, such as her hand and part of her leg.

John stumbled forward, still staring at the necromancer, before looking down to himself. He noted that his armour was still intact, for the most part, though his flesh had turned an unearthly, very light purple colour. Bones jutted visible from his body in various places, including from his collar, where shards of his collarbone had chipped and were visible. He looked to the necromancer, and composed himself. For several moments he waited, heavily shifting, before speaking with a clear, concise tone. "What have you done to me?"

The high elf let her eyes examine the rest of her body. She saw the gaping hole where maggots were nesting and eating away at her flesh. Her jaw felt lopsided… crooked. Puss and a variety of different insects dripped from her lower lip like drool. The yellowish and red slime covered her hands. The smell was unbearable. It would make even a man with the strongest stomach gag. Faithia began to shake violently as she came to see that she was not normal. A gurgling sound was the only thing that emerged from her throat as she tried to scream. The young elven woman heaved and coughed and pulled out more maggots from the back of her mouth.

The hooded man spoke again, addressing the rising dead. "I have done no crime against any of you during my days of freedom, unless you believe that your return to this world is an abomination, an aberration of nature! For many long months I have labored to discover the secrets to freeing you from the grasp of the tyrant lich, the King of the Dead, Analax. Now, this has been discovered! Should any of you wish to return to to the grave, you may do so! To those who stay, we shall stand and fight against Analax, he who has imprisoned us, destroyed our homes and families! Our curse shall become his! And he shall know of our vengeance!"
One of the decomposing men, a northerner in black-and-green colors, bearing the sigil of a tree, sat down, gripping a jagged blade firmly. "I was dead...I belonged in death...and so to the next world I shall return. Gods, receive my soul! I will be with you soon, my darling..." He thrust the dagger into his chest, moaning in agony as it ran through him. "WHAT IS THIS?!?!?" He cried out. "WHAT IS THIS DEMON MAGIC?!?!?"
The hooded man stood near the corpse, raising a blade. "Find peace." With a slash of the blade, the northerner returned to death, his head rolling.
The paladin, Doren, mumbled to himself. "To death...to death...I...I am an abomination..."
"Who shall return, who shall stay?" Called the necromancer.

Emerith looked down at her body, "I will kill all of the necromancers...That I promise. You will not get away with taking people out of their graves and stealing their souls!" Emerith grabbed a small dagger that seemed to have been in her boot and hurls it at the necromancer. "Where is my bow?! Where is it," she screamed at him as she threw the dagger. It seemed as if she was not taking death well at all.

John stood, almost stoically, his posture righting itself and his back straightening. He regarded the events unfolding with a degree of fear, followed by determination, followed by fear, and determination again. Eventually, around the time Emerith hurled the knife, he spoke. "The gods have clearly forsaken me, necromancer, for such a fate to have befallen me. I must seek redemption. If you really mean what you say, then I will work with you, necromancer. Gods save me for what I am agreeing to do.

Faithia wiped her mouth and looked over her shoulder at the other living corpses. "Who shall return, who shall stay?" She heard the necromancer say. The high elf wasn’t sure what to do. Everything was so confusing right now. The mention of this Analax seemed familiar. Now that she thought about it, nothing other than that came to mind. Delving into the deepest recesses of her memory, she recovered nothing but darkness. Faithia did not move from where she kneeled and only observed the others to see what they would do.

The hooded man spoke again for all to hear. "A righteous crusade it shall be, a grant fight for all of the realm! We shall stop this plague, this horrid curse in its tracks, and keep it from ever leaving Westguard! Come, stand, take your weapon!"
Suddenly, a knife flew into him. He looked down towards his abdomen, where the knife was lodged in completely down to the hilt. Never breathing, he moved his hand downwards, withdrawing the knife with a slide from his belly. Not a drop of blood was left on it.
"Monster...monster...monster..." muttered Doren.
"I can't...breathe..." cried little Katrianne through her silent sobs and whimpers. "Can't..."

Emerith spotted her bow a few feet away, she quickly went over and grabbed it. After she looked at it for a moment, she began to sob, though no tears fell. "Gaius...I miss him...Where is he?!" Emerith glared at the necromancer and hung her bow and quiver on her back.

John bends down, picking up his scabbard and tying it to his belt. He slowly gathers the rest of his discarded things, as well, including a single plated pauldron which he sets on his right shoulder, a knife of rather strange make, which he also sets onto his belt, and a sharpening stone which he sets, guess where, on his belt. He straightens up, sheathes his sword, and walks forward. He moves to stand with the necromancer, before crossing his arms over his chest uncomfortably.

Faithia carefully stood up on her feet, her bones creaked as her body shifted. Lying on the ground nearby were two elegantly crafted swords of silver with a violet hilt. A fox were engraved upon the hilts in a shimmering blue silver. Even among the blood and grime, the swords seemed to retain their beauty as if they had never seen battle. The high elf reached down for her short swords and sheathed one on each hip. As much as she wanted to stay where she was and watch she approached the group of undead, holding her dislocated jaw. It would be impossible for her to talk with it in this state.

The hooded man looked down at Faithia, nodding. He then turned to Emerith. "I know not where your precious one is. Perhaps he yet lives in this world, or perhaps the Dead King took him into his grasp. You must find your friend."
"My King! The dead approach!" Came the scratchy voice of one of the walking corpses, as he frantically strapped on rusted armor. "We must leave this place, before they feast on us!"
The young girl shut her eyes, her hands feeling across her violin. "I...I...I'm going to be fine! I am...okay!"
"Monster...monster..." muttered Doren continuously.
Halthas, one of the northern men, peered around. "So this...is my destiny? Surely it is just a dream..."

Emerith turned to Halthas, "I-I remember you..." She looked down and took out her bow. "I will kill every necromancer there is. And everyone that gets it my way will fall." She looked around, a determined look on her face. "I will find Gaius."

John stands in line, awkwardly clearing his throat. His reflex behavior punishes him, and a good bit of blood splatters from his mouth. He wipes it away, eyes closed tight, then instead just speaks awkwardly. "So....Should we not introduce ourselves?" He looks upwards, thin arms still crossed over his chest. "Just a thought. This may be the wrong time. Probably is, really."

As she heard the mindless undead approach from the distance, Faithia began to reach for her swords. Suddenly she hesitated. Was it worth it to fight anymore? Obviously being this way was an abomination. Besides, she couldn’t remember much of anything of her life while she had been alive. Would it really matter if she went back and embraced the darkness she escaped. Why run from the monsters to save herself? She was a monster and deserved their fate. The woman hung her head letting her blood matted grungy braid hang over her shoulder. It was impossible to really tell what color the elf’s hair was through the grime. The sun reflected off the edge of her right blade and shined into her eyes. The marking of the fox stared back at her. Pressure rose up in her chest. Maybe it was more maggots or maybe it was the feeling that she had to keep going even if she was in this state.

The woman groaned before grumbling out. “Summone ex mauah jajawaw!”

The sun, which had been momentarily revealed, hid itself behind a gray veil of clouds, clouds so thick and dark that this daytime seemed as though it were the dead of night.
"I would advise hiding...there are many that wander these lands, often together, in their death," said the hooded man.
"I'm...I'm Katie!" The girl spoke her first words, most likely at the worst time possible.
What was visible now was what appeared to be a simple clearing in the midst of a forest. Evergreen trees protruded from the ground, the dilapidated ruins of a village sitting all around, an echo of the chaos and anguish during its final hours.
"Into the inn, quickly!" Spoke one of the northerners, who gestured towards the inn. Several of the others took hold of the legless Doren, dragging him towards a nearby structure. Katrianne was lifted as well. Once the group was hidden within the tavern, the door was shut, the outside only visible through the windows as a single lifeless corpse began to walk about the ground, his gaze lifeless and empty in his hunt for flesh.
"Kill it, now!"
"Stay your blade. Do not let him see you."
"Why-"
As the more zealous man spoke, an entire gathering of decomposing flesh and labored breath suddenly came lumbering by, wandering through the dead village. Thousands upon thousands of corpses showed that this terror spared neither man nor woman, adolescent nor child. All of the corpses, simply wandering husks, limped their way in the same direction, as if headed towards something.
"Gods...have mercy..." muttered Doren.

Emerith seemed to have trotted into the inn as well, keeping an arrow ready just in case. She quietly muttered, "Where are they going," as she brushed a lock of dirt-encrusted hair out of her eyes.