Chapter 1: Healthy Unlife

Welcome to a brave new world, bros!

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People detest necromancers. They call us disgusting, repulsive, ungodly. They are wrong about those, but they are right to fear us.

Necromancers and mundanes cannot coexist. We are simply too different; to us, people are materials, a nascent state of zombies, as farm animals are to farmers. To them, we are predators. They are right to fear us; for we are enemies, but it takes many of them to kill one of us, and only one of us to kill many of them.

Some believe we can overcome our differences. That is a false notion. The wolf cannot live with sheep, not only because he hungers for their flesh, but because they fear him for what he is. Against mundanes, we must not attempt coexistence. That would only give them opportunities to scheme against us, to betray us at our lowest. In a battle of the mind, they are more, and they can emerge victorious.

No, we necromancers must come in the night, falling upon them like hungry wolves on fat lambs. We shall tame their souls and raise their bodies as ours. Before the night is through, we must have made them part of our strength, until we are too great to be slain by their paltry forces.

That is the way of necromancy.

- From the excerpts of Ozborne the Cursed

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 cornered against a tree, her beautiful blue dress wrinkling against the bark. Around her, two men grinned, while a third simply watched on.

She screamed.

“Hey now, girl,” one of them said 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 stank.

“Don’t be afraid.” He smiled, showcasing his couple of missing teeth. “We won’t harm you; just take you for a walk.”

Another man chuckled, while the third bandit simply scoffed. “Come on,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “Just grab her and get this over with.”

“You shut your trap, Tom,” the first bandit snapped back. “I’m going to do this my fucking way.”

“Then you can also keep watch your fucking way.”

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

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

“Big words don’t make you smart,” the third bandit argued. “Just do your damn job and keep watch for us!”

Holly’s mind was hazy with fear, barely following their words. They were standing too close. If she so much as reached out, she could easily touch their leather vests. Her breath quickened. She was panicking. They would kidnap her, then kill her and use her head to decorate their treehouses. Or worse.

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

Their grins widened.

“What’s your name, beauty?” the leader asked. “You’re our guest now, so let’s get to know each other.”

His companion laughed, while Holly’s world closed in around her. These men were going to take her away forever. Nobody could rescue her, not even her father or Murdock. She was doomed. The forest span in her eyes.

“Excuse me.”

A polite voice interrupted the bandits’ laughter. Ten steps behind them, a skinny, unkempt man walked out of the bushes. His clothes were tattered, his short beard scraggly, and his dark brown 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?” the bandit leader barked.

“I’m Jerry,” the man replied nonchalantly, “and I would like you to step away from that young lady. She seems uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” another bandit asked, 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.”

The two rowdy bandits looked at each other. A much better prey than this fool awaited right behind them, weak, frozen, and terrified out of her mind. Once they took her back to the base, the leader would reward them plenty.

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

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

“What are you—”

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

Before 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 his chest. The man’s insides splattered out in a shower of gore and blood.

The bandits screamed, and so did Holly. She had no idea whose screams she was hearing.

The third and final man was tossed aside by a massive boar head, crashing against a tree. He stood up and tried to leave, only for the other monstrous form to fall on him. It was a maelstrom of bones, 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 out the windpipe.

Blood gushed out like a river, drenching Holly’s face. She screamed again. Behind everything, the skinny, unkempt man watched 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. “I know how this looks, but I’m actually a pretty good guy!”

***

A few moments earlier,

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

He had no idea where he was, but that was par for the course. He didn’t need to know. A village would either come up or it wouldn’t, and 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, thick, and white, made entirely of bones—the result of two boar skeletons grafted together into an extra-burly version. 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 loving pets.

The rustling of leaves betrayed another arrival. A skeletal fox dropped from above, carrying a dead squirrel in its jaws.

“Foxy! Good girl!” Jerry laughed.

At his noises of approval, Boboar remembered something. Running back into 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. Though necromancy made him immune to most diseases, these were definitely not edible.

He smiled.

“Good work, Boboar.” He rubbed its skull. “You’re the best double boar I have ever met!”

The boar oinked happily, swerving around itself once. Foxy, ever the calm one, simply curled up beside its prey.

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

Boboar excitedly ran into the woods, while Foxy grabbed the squirrel and skinned it—she didn’t have claws, being a skeleton, but her bones were just as sharp. At the same time, Jerry set to work preparing the bonfire.

A cold breeze ruffled his woolen coat. 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 before dinner.

And, besides, necromancy had its way of de-glorifying death.

Will the snow rise higher than Foxy’s head? If I’m going to freeze to death, maybe we can play in the snow beforehand.

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, they were aflame.

Jerry angled the dead squirrel over the fire, draping it on a piece of wood using a rock for support. He grinned at their teamwork; Boboar had gathered firewood, Foxy had caught and prepared the meal, while Jerry 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, decidedly not made in joy. It sounded like a woman’s scream before it sharply turned into silence. Jerry’s head whipped around.

“What was that?” he said, already standing. While he hadn’t interacted much with humans in the previous months, he could still recognize the sound of someone in trouble. 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,” Jerry said, quickly snuffing out the fire. “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 wasn’t like he could ride Boboar. The sharp spines were inconvenient. Maybe 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. There was someone to save, and with a little bit of luck, maybe they would even let Jerry into their village!