Necromancy is an art.

The bearded fools of Erland consider our magic to be a product of evil, a tasteless practice of gore and disgust. They let their base instincts cloud their sight.

In truth, necromancy is no different from the other forms of magic. Our grafting of bones and tempering of flesh are no inferior practices to a pyromancer’s fuel research or a hydromancer’s container crafting. Our own research is simply of a different, more visceral nature, leading to the widespread contempt of our would-be peers.

But repulsive as it may seem to the weak of heart, our research remains noble, and an advent worth pursuing.

- From the personal notes of Ozborne the Cursed

Jerry lounged on a fallen log, taking his usual midday rest. The breeze was pleasant, the sun shining brightly through the foliage.

He had no idea where he was, but that was par for the course. He didn’t need to know, nor did he particularly care. A village would either come up or it wouldn’t, and his six months in the forest had taught him nothing if not patience.

An oink came from a patch of nearby bushes. Jerry smiled. Spending half a year in the forest had its perks.

The branches parted and a monstrous form walked out. It resembled a boar, but was massive and thick and white and made of bones. An absolute monster. Jerry smiled warmly.

“Hello, Boboar,” he said. “Had a good trip?”

The skeletal boar replied with a happy oink, affectionately—and carefully!—rubbing against Jerry’s thigh. He patted its skull. This creature, which could bring nightmares to the bravest of children, was one of Jerry’s happy pets.

The rustling of leaves betrayed another arrival, and Jerry looked up. A skeletal fox dropped from above, carrying a dead squirrel in its maw.

“Good girl!” Jerry laughed.

At his noises of approval, Boboar seemed to remember something. Running back inside the bushes, it quickly reappeared with a few green-capped mushrooms in its mouth, then dropped them on Jerry’s feet and excitedly wagged its tail. Jerry took a look; even if necromancy made him immune to most diseases, these were definitely not edible.

He smiled.

“Good work, Boboar.” He rubbed its skull. “You are the best skeletal boar I have ever seen!”

The boar oinked happily, swerving around itself once. Foxy, ever the calm one, simply curled up beside its prey. The two undead had each developed their own personalities, a feat which made Jerry curious and happy in equal measures.

Actually, when he first animated them, they’d been fairly mindless, only good for executing orders. But after some time, they’d developed something, something which allowed them to behave like normal animals. Boboar, for example, was a big, lovable goof, while Foxy was calm and efficient.

His working hypothesis was that their souls got somehow reset when he animated them, making them into a blank slate, and they matured as time went by.

But yes, back to the issue at hand. Eating.

“Come on.” Jerry stood up, dusting off his weather-worn green tunic. “Let’s start a fire.”

Boboar excitedly ran off into the woods, while Foxy grabbed the squirrel and began skinning it. With easy moves, as if rehearsed, Jerry set to work preparing the bonfire.

A cold breeze ruffled his loose clothes. He looked at the sky. Winter was coming. If he didn’t find a village to live in soon, or at least an abandoned house, or even a nice cave, he would probably freeze to death. He shrugged. Not much he could do about that.

And besides, necromancy had its way of de-glorifying death. Truly, it was no big deal.

Will the snow rise higher than Foxy’s head? he wondered idly. If I’m going to freeze to death, maybe we can play in the snow beforehand. That would be nice.

With the harsh sound of two stones rubbing against each other, the pine needles burst into flames, scorching the small logs arced above them. Soon, these too were aflame.

Pushing a wooden stake through the skinned squirrel corpse—Foxy’s sharp claws had been busy—Jerry angled it over the fire, using a stone for support. He grinned at their teamwork; Boboar had gathered wood, Foxy had caught and prepared the meal, while he had gathered tinder and lit the fire.

“We make a great team,” he told them, and the two undead cried out in joy at his approval.

Another cry cut through the woods, this one not made in joy. It sounded like a girl’s scream before it sharply turned into silence. Jerry’s head whipped around.

“What?” he said, already standing up. While he hadn’t interacted much with humans in the previous months, he could still recognize the sound of someone in trouble. And if that was so, maybe he could help. He liked helping. He also liked making a good impression, which would help convince that girl’s village to let him stay.

He was, after all, a good guy.

Or maybe the girl had just tripped. Who knew.

“Boboar, Foxy, with me,” said Jerry. “Let’s go check it out.”

The two skeletal animals stomped and rushed through the woods, their lightweight forms enhancing their speed. Jerry ran after them, quickly getting left behind and feeling a bit ridiculous.

Running on foot wasn’t very becoming of a necromancer, but it’s not like he could ride Boboar. The sharp spines made that pretty hard. Perhaps he could craft a saddle. Or find a horse corpse and create a mighty steed.

Huh, he wondered idly, why didn’t I think of that before?

But for now, he simply ran ahead. There was someone to save. And with a little bit of luck, maybe they would even let Jerry into their village!

***

Holly’s eyes darted left and right in panic. This was supposed to be a simple herb gathering trip. She stepped back and found herself pressed against a tree, her beautiful blue dress wrinkling against the bark. Like a cornered rabbit, her eyes grew wide. Around her, two men grinned, while another simply watched on.

She screamed.

“Hey now, girl,” said one of them as he leaned in, his voice rough and overly honeyed. He wore a green tunic with a leaf insignia on his chest, the symbol of the Greenskin bandits, and his breath stunk.

“Don’t be afraid.” He smiled, showcasing his couple of missing teeth. “We won’t harm you. We just want to play.”

Another man chuckled, while the third bandit, who seemed less predatory, simply scoffed. “Come on,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “Just get this over with.”

“You shut your trap, Tom.” Their apparent leader snapped back. “I’m going to enjoy this my own fucking way.”

“Of course. Then I suppose you can also keep watch your own fucking way, right?”

“You already agreed to do this. Be a man!”

“I was ordered to, not agreed.” Tom crossed his arms. “And your definitions are way off.”

“Bah, you think big words can make you smart,” argued the third bandit. “Just do your damn job and keep watch for us!”

Holly’s mind was hazy with fear, and she was not following their words. They were standing too uncomfortably close. If she so much as reached out, she could easily touch their leather vests. Her breath quickened. She was panicking. They would kill her and use her head to decorate their tree-houses.

“I want to leave,” she muttered weakly, looking down and clutching her herb basket. “Please...”

Their grins widened.

“What’s your name, beauty?” asked the leader. “You’re going to be moaning God’s name later, but we still want to know yours.”

His companion in laughing at the ugly joke, while Holly’s world closed in around her. These men were going to—

“Excuse me.”

A voice interrupted the bandits’ laughter and they turned to look. Ten steps behind them, a skinny, unkempt man walked out of the bushes. His clothes were tattered, his short beard scraggly, and his green eyes tired. Unexpectedly, his goatskin shoes seemed brand new, and above all else, this man sported the world’s most well-intended smile.

He couldn’t be more than thirty years of age.

“Who are you?” barked the bandit leader, frowning.

“I’m Jerry.” The man smiled nonchalantly. “And I would like you to step away from that young lady. She seems to be uncomfortable.”

“You know what?” said the bandit named Tom. “I kind of agree with the forest madman.”

“She’s uncomfortable?” asked the third bandit, his mouth forming into a smirk. “Are you trying to say we smell, punk?”

The man took a whiff. He considered it. “A little bit, yes,” he stated honestly.

The two rowdy bandits looked at each other. Did this guy have a death wish? Their minds aligned. They had no time to play with him; a much better toy awaited right behind them, weak, frozen, and terrified out of her mind.

“Come here, brat. I will show you the afterlife,” said one of the men, drawing his sword. Tom sighed and followed, while the leader remained behind to hold the girl.

“Well…” Jerry scratched his head. “I apologize then. This is going to hurt a bit.”

“What are you—”

The bushes behind him exploded. Two things rushed out, each scarier than the other. The bandits froze. Holly, already frozen, could not avert her sight. Her mind registered these two things as a boar and a fox, but they were… not. They resembled those animals but were white, made entirely of bones. The sight was grotesque and disturbing. Her knees gave way, meeting the floor as her mouth opened in a silent gasp.

In front of her trembling eyes, the two things obliterated the bandits. The boar fell on them like a runaway carriage, goring one—Tom—with its tusks and throwing the next on the ground before furiously stomping on him. The man’s insides splattered out in a shower of gore and blood.

They screamed, and so did Holly. Honestly, she had no idea whose screams she was hearing.

The third and final man was tossed aside by a massive head, crashing against a tree. He stood up and tried to leave before the other monstrous form fell on him. It was a maelstrom of white and blood and fury and death, and the man screamed as his face was cut apart, uselessly flailing his weapon around. Two jaws clamped shut around his neck, prying the windpipe out.

Blood rushed out like a river, falling right onto Holly’s face. She screamed again. Behind everything, the skinny, unkempt man watched over calmly, a sad glint in his eyes. When the slaughter was over, he regarded the devastation and sighed before turning to her. Holly thought she would go insane.

“Hi, I’m Jerry,” he said, giving her a wide smile. “And I know how this looks, but I’m actually a pretty good guy!”