Vambran was shaking. 'My uncle,' he said. 'The Crescents. We have to find them, free them, before the plague can get to them.'
Arbeenok nodded, and together they ran down the street, moving opposite of all the fleeing citizens.
As they rounded the next corner, Vambran skidded to a stop, not sure he was seeing clearly. In the half light of evening, shambling forms appeared out of the deepest shadows, chasing after running, screaming people. The figures' gaits were slow, unnatural, and Vambran understood with horror that they were not alive.
'Zombies!' he cried. 'They might be what's spreading the plague! We must turn them back!' Fishing his medallion out of his pocket, Vambran stepped forward, preparing to turn the undead away with the might of his holy courage and faith. He extended his hand, displaying the coin, and began to pray.
Beside him, Arbeenok began to chant, pulling a small totem free from his belt as he did so. When his chanting reached a crescendo, a small ball of flame appeared in the palm of his hand. He hurled the tiny conflagration at the closest zombie, scoring a direct hit. Another handful of flame instantly appeared in its place in his palm. He flung again, striking the same zombie, and it went down, becoming a roaring bonfire that lit the street.
Bolstered by his companion's skill, Vambran proceeded to advance down the road, calling on the power of Waukeen to aid him in driving back the shambling undead. Suddenly, to his right, another shuffling, limping creature stepped out of the shadows of an alley. Vambran spun, ready to drive it back. Then he faltered, the prayer dying on his lips.
The zombie shuffled closer, reaching for him, plainly visible in the light of the fire behind Vambran. Its eyes were lifeless, its skin pale and tinged, and it came closer, a low growl issuing from its throat.
It was Uncle Kovrim.
