You have put your powers once again to work. You've been flashstepping around the city and gathering a rather large hoard of weak looking zombies. They fight amongst themselves like animals and attack and turn anyone who comes near.
You spot a few police officers in the crowd and a twisted grin spreads across your face. No one is safe. Everyone is a meal to you.
You've managed to take the time to stitch yourself up, although it's all clumsy and haphazard as you no longer have the co-ordination for delicate work. You don't care either. As long as your corpse of a body stays together you'll be fine.
No meal has satisfied you ever since you put your plan into motion. You don't think your animalistic and inhuman hunger will ever be sated but you will never stop until you are.
You've long since lost all humanity you had, the only thing remaining was the vague memory of someone you once vowed to protect, but failed to do so.
But you push it out of your mind for now. The only thing you're thinking about is food.
And you know where to get a damn tasty meal.
You smart enough not to lead, but you make your hoard march and shuffle ahead. There has to be around a thousand, with more and more being added as you move along as they feast and bite upon onlookers. Some are armed with weapons they don't know how to use, some are falling to pieces already.
But they all know their goal. They all know where they're heading.
The fortified supposedly zombie-proof house of the vampire Broderick Bran Strider.
