Tired of Death
"No," said the zombie, spitting out a toenail.
"Well," Dreth looked around the room. "Truth is I can't remember, but probably not very old. The point is, even if you cut me up into little cubes, I wouldn't die! I would just be little-cube shaped, and very uncomfortable."
"Oh. I see."
"Cuthbert, how long have you been down here?"
Cuthbert shrugged, a rather one sided gesture as his left arm was over on the table. "A couple of hundred years maybe."
"Why don't you leave?" Dreth picked up his sack again and peered inside.
"Well, it's a job you know? I was never very good at being alive, truth be told." Cuthbert looked uncomfortable for a moment. He took another bite of foot and masticated noisily. "Anyway, ten minutes out there and I'd be hacked apart by some over-zealous Cleric or something."
Dreth tied his pack off and looked at the undead munching on the remains of the thief. "Why don't you