Eagles Brook is a town overrun by zombies and Bloodthorn vines, and from what I could gather from tavern gossip and fireside hearsay, the same fate has befallen much of Northern Glenumbra. The ambitions of the Reachman Angof and his necromancers seem at times to have little reason beyond malevolence. In general I still hold to the principle that anything coming back from the dead is bad… well, almost anything.
When I first laid eyes on a zombie I am sure I wanted to laugh as it shambled loose footed and unsteady like an Argonian who’d lost it’s tail. As it neared and I noted its ashen-mottled skin and mouth hanging open in a sempiternal yet silent scream, that initial reaction was overtaken by a fascination which oft accompanies the macabre. Finally I felt only a numbing horror as I recognised in the grotesque teetering ever closer, the resemblance of my betrothed.
The first thing I learnt about zombies that day is that the only way to be sure to slay one, is to keep hitting it until it stops moving.