My name is Fritz and I’m a zombie. Yes, it’s not the noblest of professions, but it’s what I am now so I have to be the best zombie I can be. I wasn’t always a zombie, of course. It’s not that I come from a long line of zombies and mommy and daddy zombie are so proud I’ve gone into the family business. No, I was once a soldier…a loyal servant of the Empire. But I died, like many soldiers before me. When that happened, I figured that was it. A nice burial in the nearest Garden of Morr and eternal rest, right? Well, sometimes things don’t go to plan. See, we were fighting a Vampire Lord and his army of undead beasts. I say "we" but as the first wave sent in to deal with the threat, I did a bit less fighting and a bit more being ripped open by a ghostly scythe being carried by a mounted figure that passed through my unit. Apparently the fight was not going well for him, though being dead, I would argue about that. Anyway, he decided he needed reinforcements and there I was in a big pile of my dead friends. His Necromancer waved his hand, said a few words and boom, I was a zombie.
Let me tell you, being resurrected is an interesting sensation. I felt no pain. Even my gaping chest wound didn’t hurt anymore. I was born again, ready to serve my new master. OK, so I felt bad ranking up with the other reanimated corpses and marching…shambling…toward my former comrades, but that’s how it works. I’m not proud of it, but at that moment he became my master and I would do his bidding.
So there I was, in my first fight as a zombie. I stood next to the raised girth of Big Ludwig. The fact that he could be raised was impressive in itself. I was in the 5th rank…Ludwig in the 5th and 6th. I thought he smelled bad when he was alive. Anyway, we advanced on. As we cleared the hill, we saw the organized withdrawal of our ex army. They started to react to us and the large regiment of skeletons to our right. Now, I’ll be honest here…when you’re a zombie and you’re about to face the living, you get sort of crazed…well as crazed as we could. None of us could move very well, what with fresh fatal wounds and riger mortis setting in and all but we did our best. We managed to hit a block of halberdiers. Our front rank began clawing at the humans as they swung their polearms across, cutting down the front of our squad. A few humans fell, and were quickly attacked, the mob moaning for brains. Another thing to know about zombies…we aren’t very verbal and make lousy conversationalists. I would soon learn we aren't very durable either as our casualties started piling up. Before I knew it I was in the 4th rank…then the third as those in front of me were being cleaved to pieces. I made it to the front and was about to prove my worth when a swing from a halberd cut Big Ludwig’s leg off. He didn’t seem to mind, but this shifted his sizable mass toward me! I tried to get out of the way but he landed on me. I began to panic. I couldn’t breathe. Then I discovered I don’t breathe anymore and felt a little better.
Through the mud and Big Ludwig’s gut, I was able to make out the voice of the Bright Wizard that had joined with the captain’s forces a few weeks ago. I couldn’t make out most of what he said, but the few words I did hear hurt my ears. The horde I was a part of started to grow quiet, and I really wanted to free myself from Big Ludwig. If they weren’t moaning they were probably eating and I didn’t want to get stuck with the leftovers after all the good brains were gone. I didn’t know if Ludwig landed face up or not, but if he did leftovers were unlikely anyway. The bulbous form of Big Ludwig shifted enough for me to slip out and all I saw were the charred remains of my fellow zombies. I guess the wizard decided to get rid of us and Ludwig’s mass saved me. The humans had withdrawn from the battlefield entirely, leaving only the dead and the undead. I looked around, finally catching the eye of my new master. He walked toward me. He was surprised I “lived”…apparently zombie lifespans are usually measured in hours. This impressed him and he brought me back to his camp.
An undead army’s camp is a different place from the army camps I was used to. It was more of a holding place for body parts. There were a few tents, inhabited by the Necromancers mostly. Some of the grander ones were said to be the shelter of Vampires, but few were granted an audience with them and as someone that couldn’t really talk I didn’t expect an invitation. I was brought into Master’s tent where I learned that there were almost no zombies moving with the army. It seems we are usually a disposable thing, so while the skeletons and big beasts come along, anybody can become a new zombie recruit. The Necromancer apparently kept those of us that survived for as long as possible, using us in various places. The good thing about being his servant is all the spare scrolls lying around and that brings us to this.
It occurred to me that there had never been a book written by a zombie, so I would be the first. I can’t talk, but as long as I still have all 9 fingers…yeah I lost one somewhere along the way… I will write my chronicles. Maybe someday, people will look at zombies in a new light because of me. Besides, when you’re a creature that doesn’t sleep, mate or talk to people you have to do something to pass the time between feasts on flesh.