Standing in front of the tavern, Loimos didn't simply step in and instead turned to the wheat field facing the lonely building filled to the brim with drunkards, walking through the golden plantation, he arrived before a scarecrow.
Taking it down from its wooden support, he threw it further into the field and hoisted himself up in its place, granting him a perfect view of the tavern, and also hiding him in plain sight.
Though that would have worked pretty well, it wasn't necessary, tonight was a dark night, the people inside, consumed by alcohol would never even be able to make out the shape of the scarecrow.
Loimos remained in place for an hour, until a group of three, all of them struggling to even walk properly, walked out of the bustling tavern.
The three men seemed to be trying to support one another but none of them was even remotely steady in their movements, Loimos stepped down from his spot and made a bee-line for them.
Retrieving a dagger from the inside of his coat, he approached with silent steps, standing awfully close to them.
There was no breathing for them to feel on their necks as Loimos assessed the situation, waiting for the perfect occasion to strike.
Raising up his dagger, he targeted the one in the middle.
He wanted them to be confused for a moment to make the whole thing smoother, but their reaction with their friend just slumped down would be unpredictable, he wanted the one he was going to strike not to die instantly and keep his grasp on the other two.
As a skeleton, he knew exactly where to strike to avoid hitting a rib, his blade went right through the unsuspecting man's back, the point of the blade ending its course as it pierced his right lung.
The force of the strike drove the air out of his other lung, in spite of the pain, all he could do was mutter a weak gasp, a mere exhale that meant nothing.
He lost strength in his knees and fell forward, the other two almost got carried along with him but caught themselves, laughing at their friend for almost falling on his face, they held no doubts in their hearts.
Up until Loimos quickly stabbed one in the throat and then grabbed the other into a choke hold before driving the dagger through the top of his head.
The undead put his feet against the man's head to get his blade back, but realised that his recent acts of slaughter had worn the blade out significantly, getting right through someone's skull had been the tipping point as most of the blade remained stuck in.
He rubbed the blood of what remained of the dagger on his sleeve and still put it back in his coat, it was still plenty enough to cut someone with.
Loimos dragged the one he had stabbed in the back into the wheat field, this man wasn't dead yet, he was holding onto his life surprisingly well.
Not that he could turn things around and escape with his life, Loimos pulled him away with the same ease he could crush the smallest of humans in his palms.
He brought the dying man to the spot he had been disguising as a scarecrow mere moments ago, Loios fetched the clothes of the strawman, undressed the man and put on those of the inanimate humanoid on him.
He dispersed what was left of the scarecrow and tucked his victim's clothes in his coat before placing his body as the new, much more realistic scarecrow.
It might come as a surprise for Loimos to bother in such a way, but he had heard the people talking of his murders, most believed it to be the work of one of their own, but some would rather blame it on a monster.
As such, Loimos decided to do something very human-like, and pose a body as if to mock the guards and others trying to catch him.
At the very least, they shouldn't expect it to be an undead of all things.
He left the other two corpses as they were and made his way back toward the farm he had chosen as his hiding spot.
Before climbing back into the attic through the gap he had found, he crept up to a window and observed the inhabitants inside, specifically the new girl that had arrived and was said to be the offspring of the old man.
Despite not having any resemblance with one another.
Loimos had clearly recognised that feeling he had noticed about that adventurer back then, surprisingly enough, he had never felt that with the goblin mage, despite all three of them being of this profession.
The undead couldn't quite tell himself, but what he had felt was their mana sense extending over to his position, Eppie hadn't noticed anything in the dungeon due to the lack of ambient mana.
Helena was not only more skilled than her, but the air outside was much richer with mana, making Loimos's undead presence much more noticeable to anyone paying attention.
Mana was rejected from him, creating an empty space, most wouldn't have paid it any mind, it was something that happened, Helena was overly attentive and worried however.
Things that she would normally chalked up to nothing were now suspicious occurrences that needed investigation, Loimos had seen it play out, how she had clearly noticed him in the attic before he had made his exit.
She was speaking with that Milo kid right now, if he just broke in right now and attacked her, would he be able to kill her?
Was he fast enough? Was he strong enough to burst in through the door in an instant?
Could he be capable of throwing his broken dagger right in the back of her head through this window?
Should he go back to the attic and wait for her to notice him again, and ambush her once she comes to check things out?
Could any of those work out perfectly?
Loimos stood still for a few moments, before stepping back into the darkness.
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.
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