I waited in the tent for his return when my Guardian returned to me. "The wife raises the dead," he said to me.
I feared this, but my Guardian was quick to assure me. "The dead are not as brainless as most are made to believe. They are either empty shells, or filled, but either way they are made to do the bidding of their master as long as the master retains control."
I wasn't certain of his calm nature. Control of the dead has always been a despicable art. To use something which should forever rest? Whether body or soul. It is deplorable, no matter what the undead is asked to do. I asked my Guardian if he knew what the undead might be made to do.
He didn't know about the wife, but he told me more of what he did. "A master might use them as bodies, menial laborers. Ingredients, for further death magics. To kill others with a bite. Whatever one can do with a body, or a spirit. Whatever a master might wish."
I asked about the tales of those who simply woke up and devoured. My Guardian said "They were commanded to kill. That is all. The master and their salts are all that matter."
I considered his words. My Guardian gave me this warning. My God would perhaps wish me to stop my host's wife from doing such horrific actions. Yet I had a mission that I could not hesitate. I left long before anyone noticed.
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