The man turned back to her.
"Well, welcome then, 'faithful'. Allow me a moment to explain a thing or two before you decide it's time to seek whatever drives you forward: The Holy Light no longer concerns you, the spirits of your forefathers are fairy tales, and the creatures of the Nether don't want you. Do you understand so far?" Melva's mouth trembled.
"No!" He ground his teeth together.
"You are Forsaken. That is the end of the lesson."
"But-"
"Go!" And, whimpering, she did.

-IDK-
Deathknell was the name of the town. It had almost certainly not been called that originally, but that was what it was called now, and as far as the Forsaken were concerned, that was all that mattered. They had a strange way of doing things. Most of them had lost some or all of their memories during the change, and thy had patched together a society based on the scraps they still had. Those, and a burning hatred for the things they had once been. They were bitter. It was understandable. Melva wasn't. She was aggravating the hell out everyone.
They found work for her to do- mostly scavenging for supplies and patching together wounded guards. And thinning the herd.
When she had been sent to kill undead past the fence dividing the town, she had gone willingly. Undead were victims of necromancy, and needed to be freed from this life to move on into the beyond. The necromancers that controlled them were of the Shadow, and were by definition enemies of the Light. Both were motives pure in the eyes of the church and its members. So she had gone out past the gate, and found that the hideous monsters she had been taught to fear looked- well, alot like her. And everyone else she had seen. The guards were watching her, hooting and catcalling while they took bets. Apparently, no one sensible and well mannered had made it here yet.
They didn't look all that different from everyone else. And nothing that shambled in confused circles like that could be especially dangerous. But... they were probably suffering. And she should put a stop to it. She took a deep breath (Not because she needed to, but old habits die hard) and lifted her hands, inviting The Light to fill her, working its will on the trapped soul, smiting the flesh until the spirit could escape. Nothing happened. She reached back, behind and to the left, fingers questing for the place The Light's power came from. Nothing happened. One of the wandering horrors spotted her, standing there with her hands in the air and her jaw slack, and decided it would eat well tonight. It was slow, but she never saw it. The Light... It was gone! She was alone! She was- Forsaken. The zombie hit her. She reeled, and looked to the walls. The guards were laughing. The bets had gotten steeper. They would be no help. She grabbed the little used mace from her belt, and when the creature swung again, so did she.
It was a lucky shot, the sort only players and the completely inexperienced can manage. The charging monster's arms were flailing wildly at her, and she planted the mace into its unprotected face. It wailed, wobbling forward and back as she swung again. And again. The guards stopped laughing. The crying beast tripped over its own feet and toppled. Melva went down with it, swinging. She heard screaming, and it took her several minutes to realize it was her. There was blood and brain matter flying in wild arcs, flung by her frenzied blows. The zombie was dead, and had been since the blow that shattered its face and exposed its squishy grey brains. But Melva did not stop. For the first time, she truly felt forsaken, in every sense of the word, and someone was going to pay for it.
It wasn't until the mace was coming down on dirt that Melva stopped hammering. She looked around. She did not see the entire populace of Deathknell standing along the fence. She saw another shambling zombie and gathered herself to her feet. She reached for The Light, and found nothing there. She screamed again, and charged the monster, howling and swinging the mace.
Someone was going to pay for this.