A horde of the undead stumble into view

Purple swirls crisscross your seeing stone, lingering several moments longer than usual, and when they finally dissipate you are transported to a dark, dank chamber with only a few scattered torches that do little more than add an eerie background glow to the room. There is only one entrance and one exit on opposite sides of the hollow, a thin corridor snaking in one way and slithering away through the rock on the other. The greyish soil looks sodden, ragged tufts of dying grass forlornly dot the area and rectangular slabs of rock jut out from the ground at odd angles. Wait...are those?

As you put two and two together, a yellow pair of eyes sudden pops into view, then another...and another. There must be six or seven creatures in the hall and after a while there can be no doubt. Some limp awkwardly around the makeshift graveyard, others stand listlessly staring into the distance. All are equally unpleasant, flesh falling off in pieces, bones and organs popping out seemingly at random from their porous bodies. It's a band of the living dead!

You struggle to contain your obvious disgust. In terms of sheer unpleasantness, zombies take some beating, even amongst all the creatures that you have assembled over the years. Freshly raised, they ressemble, with some exceptions, walking human corpses. Trapped down here in the labyrinth, the years have taken their toll, leaving behind a number of slowly putrefying shells more akin to monsters from the deep than men. A greenish layer of oozing muscle encases what remains of the bone structure, rotting teeth poke out like leaning tombstones from crumbling mouths and empty eye sockets, awake with only the meekest hint of consciousness, leer back at you.

More than anything though, it is the utter brainlessness of these beings that puts you off. The undead have no will whatsoever of their own, responding only to their primal urges, whether that be to feast or to fuck, or the manipulation of an external power. Intelligence and freedom being two of the things you value most highly, these walking carcasses are the antithesis of everything for which you stand.

No! You will not deign to dirty yourself by possessing one of these mindless beasts. Let the carrion birds peck at them for all your care, you shall find your excitement elsewhere! You move your hand towards the inky mirror, about to dispel the vision before you. That's when you spy someone emerging from the tunnel. They step out into the open, and your witless minions turn instinctively towards the intruder. You ball your fist and lower your hand, unsure of what to do. You have a front row seat, after all.