exmortisooc

You open your eyes to an alien new world.

The world around you is almost pitch black, and yet you can see perfectly. There are no stars, no sun in the sky here. The only light in this world is a beacon far, impossibly far in the distance - a pillar of light radiating warmth through the air. You feel a strange tug towards it, deep in your chest, and know - perhaps instinctively - that this is where you must go.

And then you notice the clothing. It seems that at some point, some other undead used you as an unthinking clothes rack. Scarves, pants, a pair of what you assume are underwear, and even things not tailored for a human form are all draped around your arms and across your shoulders.

And then you realize that you can't move your arms with all this cloth around you.

Huh. Maybe you should find someone to start getting these shirts off you.

It finally happened. You've found another group - hundreds, maybe even a thousand - of humanoid undead like you.

Unfortunately, first contact isn't quite going as you might have hoped. For one thing, they don't appear to be sentient - they ignore all attempts to interact with them, from politeness to violence, and just keep marching towards the pillar of light. For another thing, they seem to have reached a bottleneck in the form of a cliff face. The good news: you can see a way up, a natural staircase leading through the crags, just a quarter-mile or so in the distance.

Unfortunately, these guys don't seem quite smart enough to make the same connection. In fact, the just keep mindlessly walking forward, climbing on anything in their way and scratching fruitlessly at the wall. Do you stay, and try to help? Or do you move on?

Shelter is sparse in the afterlife, and buildings are sparser still - but here one is, right in front of you. It's a mess of glass, adobe and bone, lashed together with who-knows-what, but against all odds it's still standing. And inside, amidst the rubble and dust and decay, is a functional adobe table laden with fruits of all shapes and sizes.

Those with a bit more sense might notice the varying bits of wax strewn across the room - never-lit candles, sculptures, misshapen and meaningless lumps. But those who are brave - or impatient - enough to take a bite?

Well, they'll realize it's wax soon enough.

So, there you are, minding your own business, doing whatever it is a newly-risen undead does. Maybe you're wandering the desert, trying to get a better feel for your surroundings. Maybe you've had to defend yourself from the mindless hordes shambling through the wastes. In any case, out of the corner of your eye, you spot it-

-there's an arm lying on the ground.

With a dulled sense of pain and a degrading body, it's unfortunately easy for physical undead to lose limbs and not notice. Did yours fall off while you weren't paying attention? Is it someone else's? Just whose arm is this?

In any case.

Guess it's yours now.