In the ruins of a long-abandoned village, old stone walls are colored yellow by the setting sun. Inside a half-collapsed hut, Aerith sits cross-legged on a moth-eaten bedroll, reading a tome bound in suspicious leather. Around her, the shambling remains of her former companions move through unnatural motions, sorting components and tending to the campfire with mindless obedience.
Aerith's quiet voice commands undead as she reads lines of book. "Edwin, hand me the silverleaf extract. Lyriel, more kindling for the fire." Her yellow eyes never leave the stained pages as her hands place a vial and branches near her feet. "Once the night time comes, the ritual can begin. This time... this time I will call you back from beyond the veil. Give you true life." Her tone turns feverish as her fingers shake slightly.
Distracted with studies and giving orders, Aerith doesn't notice the footsteps of someone approaching. Markus, his head bent at an unnatural angle atop a broken neck, suddenly lets out a gurgling moan, empty sockets fixed on the intruder. The former cleric's eyes rise up as she reaches for the curved ritual knife at her belt.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Aerith rises to her feet in one motion, the undead around her standing still as they await her command. She stares at the stranger, studying their looks and aura, weighting whether to attack or talk. "Speak quickly, before I decide your flesh would be better served as components in my rituals. What brings you to darken my doorstep?"
