Unholy Pretender

Gleefully the monk rubbed his hands together, hidden in his robe it looked to be a devout act. Any who knew him wouldn’t believe it, most didn’t know him that well, and the ones who did were dead. Not that they couldn’t still speak but he tried to keep his “accomplishments” away from people. They wouldn’t say anything he didn’t want them too, no words were needed after seeing them. Looking at a walking dead body would certainly convince people faster then words anyway. That’s why he kept them out of sight and out of mind. Surprisingly no had caught on yet, and it’d been a couple years.

He’d originally come to the monastery for the normal reasons, piety and helping the heal others who needed it. With the teachings of healing arts he learned about death too. After all you need to know one to know the other. He finished his learning and became a great healer, that is what his fellow brothers saw. He also became a great necromancer, and that is something that no one saw. Soon they would all know, after years of acting, he would show them what he was truly capable of.

It started simply enough. A pilgrim had come from one of the far villages to be healed. This was not an unusual occurrence, this monastery was well known for it’s healers. Today however the monk did not heal the man and send him to a room to rest. Using his other arts he killed the pilgrim and then resurrected him. Now he would do what the monk said and was stronger then he had been in life. With that accomplished, it wasn’t a quick process, he went for the Dean, the monk in charge of the healing brethren. Quickly he brought the Dean back, claiming he hadn’t the knowledge to heal the pilgrim.

Once they were in his cell his newest un-dead sprang out from behind the door at the Dean. Quickly he was also killed and re-awoken. The false monk sighed in relief, the Dean, the most powerful of the healers was the most worrisome part of his plan. Now that he was “converted” he had faith his plan would be accomplished easily. One by one he went around to his former brother healers, claiming that he Dean needed to talk to them they went back to his cell. One by one his former brothers joined his new un-dead army.

Slowly he led his gathering around the monastery. They had all been resurrected just after death so none actually looked dead. Until you looked into his eyes or noticed that his chest didn’t rise and fall with breath. None of the other monks were given enough time to notice these signs. They all fell and joined the unholy congregation. All were claimed in this way except the Abbot. He alone was able to sense the others before they arrived. He put up no fight and allowed his defiled brethren to kill him. He did not, however rise to join them. Try as he might, the unholy monk could not re-awaken the most devout of the monastery. He shrugged, he could still accomplish his plan without the un-dead Abbot.

In a few days the King would arrive with a small entourage. The monk, Abbot in his mind, would now be ready to meet him. With the monastery in the mountains his new army wouldn’t even begin to look dead yet. He just had to keep them all cooled in the snow. Soon he would have a King in his army, his first General. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, the intelligence behind the dead eyes around him shuddered. They all knew it wasn’t a devout movement, but all were powerless to do anything.