After assessing the situation, Sanjaya determined there were three immediate priorities. The first was food. Water wasn't an issue, thanks to a simple hand pump on the temple grounds, but the provisions stocked for regular congregational feasts would only last the survivors perhaps another four days. While some food could be scavenged from market stalls, the bulk of it was stored in a warehouse just inside the east gate.
The second priority was silver. While the temple held a fair amount of holy water, powdered silver was an essential ingredient in its creation — and even a wraith might not survive being dunked in a barrel of it. Fortunately, Stuart had agreed to leave the silver helmet behind as Sanjaya and Prād's share of the treasure, on the promise that they would return to Lone Creek with proper compensation. Yet, reducing the metal to powder required either specialized smithy tools or alchemical reagents. Despite his interest in the subject, Sanjaya had never dabbled in alchemy.
The third priority was weapons. Three of the survivors were guards who had been off duty and were fortunate enough to reach the sanctuary of the temple. While weapons and armor could certainly be found in the barracks, with two wights residing there, Sanjaya didn't fancy their chances of retrieving anything. Juan, however, had assured him that his smithy held both weapons and silver. He was a weaponsmith by trade but dabbled in silversmithing as a hobby — catering to the constant demand for jewelry and mementos among tourists.
Another place of interest was the distillery, where the infamous Dragon's Breath whiskey was crafted. Sanjaya had never tasted the spirit himself, but he was certain it would burn. Both the bakery and the smithy were located in the market circle.
As the sun climbed toward its zenith, objectives set in their minds, Sanjaya, Prād and Elhandriel headed for the temple gate. The pixie's tiny face peeked out from Sanjaya's pack, where she sat perched atop a cluster of holy water flasks.
The road leading from the temple was beautifully paved with stone, flanked by flower beds on either side. Where it intersected the main road stood a small structure - likely a shrine - and lurking near it, the party spotted two townsfolk. Judging by their slack posture and occasional lurching steps, the figures were undoubtedly zombies.
"Let's experiment," Sanjaya whispered, ducking behind the wall of a nearby house. "If things go wrong, we run back to the temple grounds."
With that, he loaded his crossbow, traced a thin line of ether from the bolt to the closest zombie - a middle-aged man dressed in dirty finery - and fired.
Thunk. The bolt struck the zombie solidly in the chest. It staggered and swung around to face Sanjaya. He immediately pulled back, but not quite fast enough; the corpse began to lurch toward him, followed closely by the second zombie.
"They're coming, but not very fast," Prād observed in a hushed voice from behind the berry bush where he was hiding.
Sanjaya reloaded his crossbow. "Fight or run?" he asked.
"Fight," replied Prād, standing up and brandishing his staff. "They're slow, so if things get messy, we can easily outrun them."
As the zombies continued their shambling approach, Sanjaya put two more bolts into the lead corpse, but they seemed to have little effect.
"Try this," chimed a voice from his pack, followed by a light, damp tap on his shoulder. Elhandriel had handed him a crossbow bolt dipped in holy water.
Prād settled into a defensive stance, his mind's eye open and observing what his vision presented. He had trained for years against seasoned human opponents, and these wretched corpses could barely be considered a threat by comparison. Taking a deep breath, he felt his ki flow from his core outward, his heightened senses tingled. Relaxed. Alert. Ready.
As the first zombie approached - shafts of Sanjaya's crossbow bolts bristling from its torso -Prād swung his staff, shattering its leg with a sharp crack. As the creature collapsed, he brought the staff down squarely on its head, crushing the skull with a sickening smack that splattered congealed blood and brain matter across his pristine white dhoti. Keeping his mind's eye locked on his second opponent, he easily ducked beneath its clumsy swipe.
Sanjaya loaded the holy-water-soaked bolt into his crossbow, took aim, and fired. The wet ammunition threw off his trajectory slightly, but a slow-moving target at close range was difficult to miss. The bolt struck true, yet the zombie didn't seem to notice, its dead eyes locked firmly on the monk before it.
"Doesn't seem to make a difference," Sanjaya commented. "Pass me a flask."
From deep within the backpack, Elhandriel heaved a clay flask of holy water upward, balancing it on Sanjaya's shoulder.
Meanwhile, Prād was trading blows with the final zombie - a thin man in a simple brown robe. The monk had tried a few precision strikes at vital pressure points, finding they had little effect before taking a glancing blow to the chest for his trouble. Adjusting his strategy, Prād swung his staff to snap the wretched creature's arm, immediately following up with a fluid leg sweep that sent it crashing to the ground.
Sanjaya quickly uncapped the flask and emptied the holy water over the downed corpse. The dark force animating it flared and vanished in a hiss of steam, leaving behind nothing more than a damp, battered shell.
Wary of his surroundings, Prād scanned the area, but it appeared that their brief clash had gone unnoticed.
"What should we do with the bodies?" the monk whispered.
Sanjaya thought for a moment. "Let's search them and leave them out in the open so we can see if they rise again."
Prād didn't like the idea - he felt that the bodies should be burned lest the spirit linger out of material attachment - but without the means to do so, he reluctantly agreed to Sanjaya's suggestion.
On the corpse of the man in dirty finery, they found a purse heavy with coin. The man in robes, meanwhile, appeared to have been an apprentice spellcaster; his pockets yielded a low-level magic license, a small notebook and a scroll case.
"Shall we head back and discuss, or carry on?" Sanjaya asked in a low voice.
"I want to scout the market," Prād whispered, "but let's avoid fighting."
Sanjaya nodded, reloaded his crossbow and followed at a cautious distance behind the stealthy monk.
A couple of houses down, Prād gestured for Sanjaya to come closer and pointed ahead. Sanjaya peeked around the corner and marveled at the sight before him.
They had reached the Dragon's Rest Inn. The massive red dragon that formed the structure of the building lay curled as though in slumber, the main entrance nestled in the gap between its head and tail. One sweeping wing was extended outward, sheltering rows of glinting windows beneath its span. Sanjaya knew that the creature was long dead, yet remarkable craftsmanship had gone into preserving it - making the beast appear lifelike, almost protective of the rooms tucked beneath its scales.
Across the street from the inn, Sanjaya could see the back of the bakery, though the road between them was far from clear: dozens of zombies, clad in various states of dress, milled aimlessly around the tavern's entrance.
Easily slipping past the dull senses of the wandering undead, Prād crept up to the bakery's back door. It was locked. Undeterred, he tried the nearby window - also locked - before spotting an open window on the second floor. After double-checking that they were hidden from view, he signaled Sanjaya over.
"That one's open, if you can give me a boost," Prād whispered.
"I have enough pixie dust to make you fly," came a light, almost shy voice from Sanjaya's pack.
Sanjaya glanced over his shoulder in astonishment. "You can do that?"
"Only for a few minutes," Elhandriel replied, glancing about and avoiding their gaze.
Prād pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head, signaling Sanjaya to stick to the original plan. With a steady heave from Sanjaya, the monk pulled himself up onto the second-story windowsill - and nearly tumbled backward in shock as a startled cry rang out from within the room.
Crouched on the sill, Prād raised his hands defensively. A disheveled man with wild, terrified eyes stared back at him.
"We're here to help," Prād said softly.
Hoping they hadn't alerted the undead outside, they quickly let Sanjaya in through the back door - only to freeze in horror as a heavy thud rattled the front of the shop. The survivor's shout had not gone unnoticed.
"Quickly, upstairs," the man urgently whispered. "The door is barred."
"Go," Sanjaya waved them off. "I have an idea. Prād, if they break through, take him and run."
With that, Sanjaya slipped toward the front of the bakery, noting a decent array of slightly stale baked goods lining the shelves as he passed. The hammering on the front door intensified as he crept up to the window. Peeking through the glass, he saw four zombies crowding the entrance, with more shambling in to join them. Clearly, they retain at least a sliver of residual intelligence, he thought.
Drawing on the ether, he wove a simple cantrip, throwing the sound of ringing laughter as far behind the crowd as his range allowed. At the sudden noise, the zombies halted, turned, and lurched toward the source.
Sanjaya dropped the spell. For a moment, the undead continued to cluster around the empty spot, milling in a tight clump before gradually drifting apart, taking aimless steps in random directions. Not much intelligence after all, he realized. And remarkably easy to lure.
Armed with that knowledge, Sanjaya began to form a plan.
The survivor's name was Jim Baker. According to him, he had donated a large batch of baked goods for the last temple feast, and the devotees had blessed his shop in return. He also maintained a small shrine on the premises, convinced it was the only reason he was still breathing. His wife, however, had not been so fortunate.
"That's her over there," Jim said quietly, pointing toward a rather plump zombie standing out in the market circle.
Sanjaya looked out the window at the sluggish crowd below. "I count about forty," he murmured, thoughtfully stroking his short brown beard. "What do you have in the way of supplies?"
"Come and see."
Jim led Sanjaya downstairs into a remarkably well-stocked pantry, packed with large sacks of flour, wheels of cheese, jars brimming with jams and preserves and several heavy barrels of oil. "There's more in the kitchen," Jim added, "though I'm down to half a bucket of water."
Sanjaya tapped one of the wooden casks. "This is a lot of oil."
Jim gave a weary shrug. "I used to serve over a hundred customers a day, on top of standing orders."
A wicked glint sparked in Sanjaya's eye. "Tell me, Jim - how attached are you to this building?"
---------------
While Sanjaya kept watch on the zombies out front, Prād and Jim swiftly and quietly loaded the baker's cart with wheels of cheese, sacks of flour, and whatever else they could salvage. Once it was packed, they wheeled the cart into the narrow alley between two neighboring houses for safekeeping.
Inside the bakery, Sanjaya had spread mattresses, spare clothes, and every scrap of linen Jim owned across the floorboards, dousing it all in copious amounts of oil. They then worked together to solidly barricade the back door and ground-floor windows.
With the trap set, it was Prād's turn to act. Clutching Jim's small offering bell, the monk jogged out into the market circle, ringing it steadily to draw the attention of every shambling corpse in sight. Within minutes, his measured, tinkling pace had gathered a dense following of the undead. Staying comfortably ahead of the pack, Prād led them straight through the bakery's front doors.
"Now!" he called out, vaulting effortlessly over the heavy barricade blocking the stairwell to the upper floor.
Zombies flooded the shop, snarling and tearing blindly at the makeshift wall separating them from the monk. Standing just outside the barred front window, Sanjaya snapped his fingers. The spark he had practiced so many times sprang to life, igniting the nearest oil-soaked mattress. Ether condenses into hydrogen. Hydrogen burns into water. Such a simple spell.
Thick smoke and roaring flames rapidly consumed the building as Prād dropped lightly from the second-story window to join them. They stood together for a quiet moment, watching the cleansing inferno, before retrieving their fully laden cart and heading back toward the sanctuary of the temple.