Scenario 1 - Planting the flag
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Stren smiled his toothless smile at the Orc, "can't ya count, dumb dumb?" he sneered, "seven, we got seven left. Not like they're moving too fast to count, is it?" 

His rapier sliced horizontally across the neckline of a bony and brittle upright corpse. The creature's head fell to the sand with a trail of black blood following behind, and it snapped menacingly at him after it came to a standstill. He booted it into the frothing ocean. 

"Six, we got six left," Stren shouted. 

The other shamblers moved on the circle; a sailor was grabbed by one, and hauled to the ground. His mate tried to help, stabbing it in the side with a spear, but the dead don't feel what the living do, and it continued to snack on its unfortunate screaming victim. Stren was not phased by this, and with a shrug, he drew his powder satchel and started to reload his pistol. One of the monsters was making its way for him, but he had enough time. 

"This all ya got Ironshore? A bunch of dead'ns? Pah! Expected more," the wily ensign muttered, squinting as he looked up at the castle high above them. "Still, where there be dead, there usually be treasure, eh?"