“....Ngh….”

Ah….So Embarrassing, this whole experience reminds of my first time with alcohol. I was younger than I should have been, over-excited and having never drunk before, I didn’t know how to pace myself.

Thus my memories of that night stopped after shot number five. The rest of the evening was lost in darkness, and what few murky impressionistic recollections I had of it, were mainly based on what others told me had happened.

*****

The inside of my mouth tasted like hell, I’m not being euphemistic here, or trying to be cute. It actually tasted of bile, blood, brimstone, corpses, and suffering.

I tried to spit a little in hopes of getting rid of the taste, but all I got was strings of goo dribbling down my chin, for my efforts. The taste was still there, and I got reminded of the fact that I’d likely made myself into even more of an oddity.

*****

“Ngh…”

With some pain, and more than a little difficulty I got to my feet. The concrete cool against my bare soles. I looked around at the room I was in, and ignored the mild nausea I felt as I did so.

It was more the sudden movement than the sight, that was making me feel ill, but it took me a second to get in the right headspace.

*****

The good news is that I didn’t die...or at least I didn’t stay dead, when I died.(Hooray for being undead, I guess.) The bad news is that I was in some kind of charnel pit, surrounded by bodies, covered in blood, bile and old gutter water.

Which actually explained, the infernal taste in my mouth. My going theory for how I got their was two-fold. The first possibility was that some kind good samaritan wandered upon me and tried to save me.

Discarding my body when they saw that I was a goner. Then there’s the second theory, where whoever came across my dead(and or unconscious) body, had robbed me and then discarded the body when they were down.

Considering that I was naked at the moment, without a stitch of clothing or gear on me, I was leaning more towards the latter than the former.

“Tch….they could have at least left me my socks.” I grumbled. I’d liked those socks. They were comfortable, just thick enough to feel like they were more than stockings, without being too thick.

What I really wanted to know was what whoever took them was intending to do with them. There wasn’t really a market for used socks. I guess they could sell it as cloth scrap but it didn’t really seem worth it.

*****

*Clang!*

I kicked down the door of the charnel pit, having decided that it was time for me to make my way out of there. Wherever it was, that I actually was. The door hit the wall and then just sort of stuck their.

Twisted and bent. I’d kicked the door, because my hands were busy protectively cupping my family valuables, after all, I hadn’t a clue what I’d find on the other side of that door.

What I found was nothing, just silence and dust, and dirty laminated, floor tiling. I wandered through an empty hallway till I found an exit, then I kicked ‘that’ exit down as well.

*Clang!*

*****

It occurs to me that I might have been oversimplifying when I previously discussed the sorts of people that lived out in the wastes.There’s more than just bandits out here.

There’s also folk who used to be bandits who later settled down and folks who’d just plain built little settlements for themselves, trading with scavengers and hunters like yours truly.

Using magical tech and good old fashion Novemite gumption to carve out inhabitable slices of land for themselves.

As to why I was thinking of this now, it was because it was becoming more and more clear that I was wandering through one of those settlements.

I passed homes and, a building that might have been a simple school. Like any avid fan of adventure games and rpg games, I explored (trespassed), in hopes of finding someone or something to clarify the situation for me.

I entered shops and storehouses and saw signs of recent inhabitance. Things like meals that were left half eaten and tvs and radios that were left still playing. Or clothes that were freshly layed out or hung up for dry cleaning.

Some of which were ‘borrowed’ by me.) Or workshops with the tools still laid out. Sign that people had been there, just recently doing all things that people did.

The only thing I didn’t see were the people.

*****

I never did find out what happened to all the people but I did end up finding someone else that might have known. She was five foot seven and humpbacked. Her eyes sunken into her head. Her lips dry and receding, revealing jagged teeth.

Her limbs were emaciated, spindly, and crawling with blackened, varicose veins. Her eyes glowed with light blue hellfire and her feet weren’t quite touching the ground.

When I ran into her she was gnawing on a piece of meat, that looked a lot like a small arm and there were two others just like her, who were tearing apart a heap of bodies.

For such weak looking thing, she put out quite a bit of pressure. Wraiths were special kind of severed.

They were Much more Magically talented, much more intelligent and much aggressive than your average undead.They were also largely immune to physical damage, unless it was done with some combination of blessed salt, true silver, or magic.

It was a bit like I’d walked into a pack of tigers, while they were at lunch. On the one hand, they had food right there, on the other hand, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t just chase me down and kill me just ‘cause.

I tried to back away quietly before I was noticed. That went off as well as you’d think it would.

With me falling on my rear, while three sets glowing blue eyes turned to my position. Needless to say, I owe a big one finger salute to whichever joker put that trashcan behind me.