Amongst the Dead

It wasn't until my seventh month with the creatures that they seemed to accept me. Well, "accept" isn't really the proper word, but they seemed to have decided that I posed no threat to them and gradually ceased their attacks. Though more than capable

of fending them off ( a combination of fire aspect and smite are generally sufficient ), I admit that I tired of having to be ever vigilant in their presence. I'll never know whether there was some sort of agreement communicated among

them, for the only utterances they make seem to be in that heathen tongue that I can't even pronounce, much less transcribe. In time, I learned more of their intentions towards me from their general movements and tones rather than specific words.

Hostility in any creature is easily read, but in these most peculiar of the living dead, with such variations in gait and speed, what amounts to a hostile charge in one may simply be casual movement in another.

I had always wondered why the ancient priests of the enderdragon cult had insisted that their followers be buried with them. It seems the height of pagan vanity to drag your conscripts to their death along with you, but as I integrated into their

presence, I began to observe the reasons. Every day, a different set of zombies would awaken, shamble their way to the sarcophagus of their priest, and prostate themsleves before it. Several hours of this, followed by a meticulous cleaning of the area.

It would appear that the adherents of the enderdragon priest continue their worship of him in death, which would also explain the ferocity with which they defend his chambers. It took several weeks before I felt comfortable approaching the

enderdragon priest's resting place, myself. Inch by inch, until the snarling zombies around me seemed to tire of fending off my timid presence. When the next group of zombies came to pay homage to the priest, I noted a sort of transferral happening.

A distinct flow of life force between the adherents and the master. It was here that I finally understood the enderdragon cult's notion of resurrection. The second eternal life was only promised to those who ascened to the

priesthood, but the lesser functionaries contributed their life force to sustaining them for eternity. I don't know what sort of eternal wellspring they draw from, but it's clear that each zombie carries only the barest whisper of life in it, and

rekindles it nightly while resting in it's niche. I now believe that the grotesque forms that we see in the strongholds were, in fact, buried fully as men and women, and only over the thousands of years that have passed withered into the wretched things

we know. If we had visited a stronghold directly after it's construction, we might not have even known any of its inhabitants were dead! These discoveries and extrapolations excite me, and my mind aches to return to the strongholds. I have only paused

here at the College to transcribe these notes and gather further supplies for a more extended stay. My new hope is to learn some rudimentary was of speaking to them, for imagining what they could tell us of the early mists of time is staggering.