At his funeral he insisted that his corpse was to be interred at twelve feet deep, a second corpse, one of a beggar was then to be placed at the normal six foot depth. They thought him insane. But being a last request in sound mind, at the time at least, it was done. That night the shambling corpse of the simple beggar was set on fire as it tried to return to its spot under the bridge and ate his former squat mates.
This being not his first death, it only made sense he would have taken precautions. Also, since he was rumored to be quite incapable of dying it made no sense that he was buried in the first place. But no one ever really questioned his decisions, he always seemed to be more than a few steps ahead of everyone. It was quite annoying, exceptional but grated on the mind all the same.
The next day his coffin was raised, only to be found empty. A false bottom was found and a tunnel was discovered heading East. Briefly it was followed only to have collapsed a few yards in. A simple note was left, and it read that the reverend was, in fact, a revenant. A simple recipe for a potion to kill a revenant and any remaining thralls was carefully detailed on the false bottom itself. Along with the coin needed to purchase the ingredients.
He could be quite vexing, even in fake death he had a way about him. In fact he sat watching the entire spectacle from a rented room across the street. A tumbler of whiskey half drank, a partial baguette and meats and cheese on a plate beside him. His low chuckle filled the room. Another successful hunt for the ledger, another dark tale prevented. He put the final touches on the story of the revenant reverend, the end already done in his mind and signed it with his flourish of loops,
Sir Travis Oleander, theologian and master of the supernatural