Warning: Musings on life and death, and the going from one to the other manually.
Children, these are trained fictional characters. Don't try this at home. Leave it to the company you eventually work for, your commanding officer, or the weather.
"Dame Campbell?"
"Yes, my squire?"
"Have you ever… wondered what it felt like to die?"
"…not particularly. Though it would most likely depend on the means of death. For instance, if I were to die in battle, it would probably be from the accumulation of my injuries as cuts, stabs, burning oil, throwing knives and other means of trying to kill me accumulated, so that would be what it would feel like to die, as opposed to, say…"
"Being hit by a really heavy and fast-moving wagon while crossing the street?"
"Yes, exactly, my squire. In the former, each cut would burn, but since it would be in battle, I would be able to endure through it as I fought. The pain would be a distant, burning feeling, one I tell myself I can attend to when I am victorious. But if the battle went on, if my foe had no issues of skill and was git gud enough to evade my blade, I might grow desperate and resort to techniques that might require taking injuries to strengthen my blade. The mounting injuries would slow me slightly, forcing me to push on and increase my pace to compensate. Should I still be unable to inflict harm faster than I accumulate them, I would no doubt die suddenly in mid-movement, and it would only be by the grace of my opponent that I would have the opportunity for last words. Though… actually, the moment of death would bring with it little pain. I would be too filled with adrenaline to feel my injuries as my body finally failed and I slipped into true death. Comparatively, in your example of being struck by a heavy and fast moving wagon… well, that would probably be similar to getting struck by a large rolling boulder?"
"Actually, it would depend on the design of the wagon. Like, if the wagon has a bar in front, the bar would hit you first at about… oh, knee height. First one knee would crack from the side, and you'd start to fall towards the wagon. Then the, uh, horses hit you, and while your body would bounce off, you'd hit your head and break your neck. But it wouldn't be the kind of broken where you stop feeling anything, so you still feel how your knee hurts, and then it's all pain as you bounce on the ground, and then the wagon runs over you and a wheel runs over your neck, and since it's already broken your head comes off…"
"… squire, I probably should have inquired earlier, but why do you bring up such a morbid topic that I—and most certainly you—have absolutely no expertise of which to speak of?"
"Well, it's just that… you need to die to become undead, yes?"
"That is the generally accepted method. And why were you thinking about that?"
"Did you know undead have no sense of smell?"
"… really?"
"Yup, no sense of smell at all. I remember that from the time I dreamed I was an undead and my head kept coming off. I could taste just fine, but since I didn't need to breath, I couldn't smell. I could be eating the most delicious food and I wouldn't be able to smell anything at all. Not a thing. It's like my nose didn't even exist."
"Truly? No sense of smell whatsoever?"
"Yup! And not much feeling on the skin, either. They can feel pressure, but you wouldn't be able to feel, say, wet soft stuff up to their ankles."
"How interesting. I never knew that about the undead."
"Yup! So, you know, it was only natural that my thought would go 'I wonder what it's like to die?', right? Because if I did, I can come back as an undead, and they can't smell."
"Indeed, my squire. I can see how your mind would suddenly find itself there."
"I know, right?!"
"Unfortunately, at the moment the only thing that might kill us is drowning, where the water gets into our mouths and—"
"Ah, you know, life is a precious gift, we need to take good care of it, watch your step, that spot looks slippery!" we need to take good care of it, watch your step, that spot looks slippery!"