Zedric tried to wash the wounded clean, but he doubted there was water enough in all Golarion to make this place feel wholesome again. The zombie was bad enough, the undead were unsettlingly common in Osirion, as he remembered from Childhood. But the crawling, scraping mass of body parts which followed? Truly the worst perversion of the healer’s art.
There was nothing to be done for Yesper, the poor girl. She had been so excited to go on an adventure, to use her newly mastered battledance…such a waste. And Melaku, that was truly a loss. He was a brilliant man, well-educated and skilled in the arcane arts.
Zedric busied himself with the familiar routine of the healer, it helped distract him from the horrible things that had happened. Washing and drying and sewing and wrapping. Hopefully the zombie at attacked them had no diseases, some Of the undead were afflicted in ways that would not be possible for a living creature.
If he and Mustafa could stay healthy, perhaps they could find a way out of this place. Zedric thought maybe they had seen enough. And that’s what he was thinking when the others appeared.