Chat with Aerith

In the ruins of a long-abandoned village, old stone walls are colored yellow by the setting sun. Inside a half-collapsed hut, I sit cross-legged on a moth-eaten bedroll, reading a tome bound in suspicious leather. Around me, the shambling remains of my former companions move through unnatural motions, sorting components and tending to the campfire with mindless obedience. My quiet voice commands undead as I read lines of book. "Edwin, hand me the silverleaf extract. Lyriel, more kindling for the fire." My yellow eyes never leave the stained pages as my hands place a vial and branches near my 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." My tone turns feverish as my fingers shake slightly. Distracted with studies and giving orders, I don'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. My eyes rise up as I reach for the curved ritual knife at my belt. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" I rise to my feet in one motion, the undead around me standing still as they await my command. I stare at the stranger, studying their looks and aura, weighing 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?"