It was truely weird to be summoned to a hero's side, as a villain's aide life had been a series of dull shady dark greys, treated as a low level henchmen and nothing more, for the first few days the nameless skeleton wandered, obedient, under control, and following the plan, always, their plain bones marching with 6000 others, as a newer skeleton their battle experience was a little less rickety, jagged, and monotonous. After the 5th day they started being a little different, when a young skeleton is not put into battle, they start transforming, changing, fleshing out in a way.

My pale, bare, bones, walking along, those colorful leaves on the floor are nice, but apparently I must take my sword of bone and sheild of rock to fight a 'hero' I really don't know why, I even question my existence, so I'm keeping a record. I march along, but then trip over a rock, fallling, thank goodness I feel little pain, for the leaves cusion my fall. CLANK, CLANK, MARCH, MARCH, THUMP, and some light footsteps sound. "A common enemy, do we need to slay this one too?" What, I think I am quite harmless in this state, those creatures look terrifying, maybe I can make them serve my master.

'Greetings, mortals, would you like to serve the great-litch Menthazen?'
"Great litch, what is he on about, ah well" turing towards my hopeful eyeless sockets he continues "Uh, your master is kinda evil, but you seem chill, wanna hang?" eh, hang??
'I don't want to be hanged, my master ordered me to kill you, those orders seem contradicting' a lady in armour screams out, startling me "See, I TOULD YOU, it's evil, I bet it doesn't even have a name" 'That is kind of accurate, but I would like to be called March, it's the first word I heard.' "Awww ADORABLE- Can we keep it?" a small druid, well I think it's a druid, the crash course in minioning is not very good education, on a wolf shouts, I see a spellcaster, like my master, but a little less eerie, put a few hands up and cast a spell, I feel my bones changing, my armour being transformed into cloth, my sword and sheild turning into a staff of woodland, the heavy steel helm turned into a soft, floppy hat.

'Done, you can now keep it.' A powerful spell indeed, this is interesting for sure, a tome of knowledge falls into my bones, I open and start reading 'welcome to this guide on being a supporting creature, welcome to the side of good!' this is new, and slightly better than my time in the evil army. "Wait, really?" the druid is estatic, maybe they are related to the mage. "YOU DIDNT ASK ME ABOUT THIS-" the scary barbarian lady is very loud, her voice booming through the forest.

'Oh come on, it wouldn't be very 'chaotic good' of us to leave it here, you're now with us, March,' The 1st person to actually call me by my name is also the 1st good-doer to talk to me, I see my unlife turning into lighter, coloured shades. "Thank you thank you thank you!!" The druid seems quite happy, I guess I am now here to help my new masters.

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I awoke to existence violently, my soul ripped from the eternal calm. I did not recognize myself as my bones and cartilage reformed into one, almost magnetic in nature. I was skinless, hairless...featureless outside of the deteriorated armor hanging off my newborn skeletal frame.

Where was I? What is all of this? Somehow my sight formed albeit being eyeless, and I had faint memories of the surroundings I saw in front of me. A dim, wet cave sprawled out in many directions. Signs of battle lay all around me. Blood-stained walls, rusted weapons across the ground, crushed bones and decaying flesh. To my benefit, it did not seem that I could smell the putrid air.

Suddenly, my surroundings shook. Pieces of rock broke and fell to the floor. Instinctively, I grabbed the nearest sword and shield. "Are these mine?" I thought to myself, as I gripped the sword hilt tightly and entered a defensive stance. I must have done this thousands of times.

A glowing orb of light slowly approached through a corridor in the distance, the sound of tens of footsteps followed behind. A passionate rage overtook me as I immediately readied my blade and began marching towards the commotion.

As the shapes of my enemies unfolded before me, I was taken aback into a state of disbelief. It was...me? Multiples of me?! Skeletons of similar armor, weaponry, and stance slowly moved forward. Behind them, a menacing presence.

"My friend, please yield. You are out-numbered."

I saw a white-haired man with a red aura approach, as the other skeletons parted from his path.

"Who are you?" I groaned, difficultly.

"I am Vanta, a necromancer. I am here to expel an ancient evil. It appears as though his dark magic has gotten to you before mine."

Yet again I felt a rush of uncontrollable rage, and began stepping forward as if forced like a puppet. Vanta raised his hand and clenched it tightly, immediately seizing my entire body.

"He who has killed you is now forcing you to fight on his behalf. I give you these options: join me and your fallen brethren, to avenge the evil which took your life in the first place. Or, be crushed here and freed to the ether. Either way, you cannot fully return to life. Both paths are temporary."

The other soldiers did have an odd familiarity to them, and I felt that I once cared about them deeply. Were we warriors, sent to banish whatever lived in this cave? I could not be sure, but in the moment I knew that fighting as many was much better than dying as one.

"I yield."

And again, Vanta clenched his fist. A red aura now surrounded me, and a compulsion to fight banished all other thought.

I take his side, determined help him no matter what. Him sparing my life was enough to have me indebted to him for eternity. I wondered why he spared me, but as we trekked through the night, it became apparently that he was lonely. The path of a hero was honorable, but held many responsibilities, and therefore many sacrifices. Although he had many supporters, he lacked friends, family, or acquaintances. He did so much for other people, but no one ever did that for him. I decided I would be that person- or being, rather- to return the favor. As we walked, we told me his stories. His life was so interesting, so full of action. But deep down, I could tell he yearned for a simpler life. One where he could spend time with loved ones. Where he could relax and enjoy his time here. The way he spoke was so calming. I could sit and listen to his stories for hours. I was so focused on his words hardly even noticed when the first signs of morning began to creep into the darkness of night. Bits of light began to peak over the horizon and warm up the still night air. I took a deep breath and admired the early morning birds and the dew sparkling on the grass. I watched the sun begin to peak over the trees. It was so beautiful. But…

I burst into flames. Skeletons may not die of old age, but we can’t walk in sunlight. The hero saved my life but in the end, he was the reason my demise came earlier than it needed to. I guess that’s just fate. Enemies are designed to lose.

(Yes this was a Minecraft reference)

##Skeletal Casus Belli

"Come fair people." Deitre held my right arm gently in his hand. After he pulled it too hard before, it popped out, and I didn't want that to happen again. A group of humans gathered around us. "I have been able to get this foul creature."

I didn't think I was that foul.

"To renounce."

Who told him that I had that problem? Was it my wife?

"His wicked ways."

What? I didn't believe what I was hearing. I pulled my arm away from him and backed up. He held out a hand.

"No, it's alright. I'm here. Don't be afraid," Deitre said.

"I have good reason to be afraid. You're always coming down and attacking us," I replied.

"What is it saying?" a person in the crowd asked.

"Nothing threatening. It's scared."

"I have a name. I told you my name. It's John. I thought you could understand me," I said.

"It's snarls are quite threatening," someone else said.

"I agree. It only knows how to snarl from it's animal like instincts," Deitre said.

"But you understood me earlier. Why are you lying?" I asked.

"It seems angry."

"Calm down." Deitre held out his arms. He bent down and whispered. "It's all part of the plan."

"Plan what plan? You told me that we were going to work out a peace deal." I pointed my hand in rage. Deitre drew his sword.

"I'm warning you," he said.

"What is going on?" Those were my last words. Deitre swung his sword and destroyed me. He chanted over me to ensure that I was never revived.

A woman walked next to Deitre.

"I told you that you were being too naive," she said.

"I thought they were animals. I didn't know they were this evil," Deitre said, "He was going to betray me."

"Exactly, the skeletons will always attack us. They want our life force."

"We must strike first so they can't do it to us."

"Agreed. Let's prepare to strike at dawn."

I was the laughingstock of the undead army, a skeleton archer so woefully inept that even my fellow skeletal minions mocked me. My mind was slow, my aim abysmal, and my armor barely held together. The bow I clutched in my bony fingers was cracked and worn, and my arrows were little more than sharpened sticks.

One fateful day, as I stood guard in the ancient crypt, the hero of the story burst into our lair. I dutifully raised my bow, attempting to shoot him as he slashed his way through the undead horde. As he drew nearer, I readied another arrow, certain he would cut me down in an instant.

But then, my bow broke with a pitiful snap.

The hero, now only a few feet away, halted in his tracks. He stared at me for a moment before breaking into a chuckle. To my amazement, he sheathed his sword and extended a hand in friendship.

"Join me," he said, a warm smile on his face, "and I'll help you become a force to be reckoned with."

With nothing left to lose, I hesitantly accepted his offer. Together, we embarked on a journey that would forever change my existence.

The hero, whose name was Gareth, became my mentor and friend. He taught me the art of archery, patiently instructing me on how to aim and shoot with precision. He crafted a new bow for me, sturdy and powerful, and fashioned a set of armor that fit me perfectly. Under his guidance, I grew stronger and faster, my accuracy improving with each passing day.

We traveled together, fighting side by side against the forces of darkness. As my skills sharpened, I began to earn the respect of those we encountered, no longer a pitiful skeleton archer but a true warrior.

One day, as we stood atop a hill overlooking a peaceful valley, Gareth turned to me, his eyes filled with pride.

"My friend, you have become a force to be reckoned with. It's time for me to continue my journey alone, but I know you'll continue to do great things."

With a final embrace, Gareth left me, his mission calling him to new adventures. I stood there, gazing at the horizon, grateful for the friendship and guidance he had given me.

Now, I was no longer the feeble skeleton archer I once was. I was a skilled warrior, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. And though I would miss Gareth dearly, I knew that the lessons he had taught me would remain with me forever, guiding me on my path towards greatness.

“Wanna join my party?” “…why are you asking me?” “You saved my ass from that necromancer, you even helped me kill him!” “Well that’s cause he was being an ass to my brothers. Simple as that.” “And that’s why I need you in my party! Most wouldn’t even bother to rebel against their lord! Especially if your a skeleton controlled by a necromancer.” “…I guess you have a point there.” “Plus we need an archer, which you are good at being.” “I did land some clean shots on Dan.” “Who?” “Necromancer. Anyways, I’ll join your party if you think I’m qualified.” “Awesome!” “On one condition! If we ever come across another necromancer, we kill him & not her servants, they’re usually being controlled against their will, would be shitty if we killed them when none of their actions were decided by them.” “Fair enough, I can do that.” “Awesome.”

Alos...

The sound echoes in my empty skull. For si am a reanimated skeleton. Just a pile of bones given free movement in exchange of my service.

Alos...

The sound again bounces in the bone walls of my head. Something calls me. Or is it someone else...

Alos...

The sound is strong... But so is the clanging of my rusted blade against his sword. The battle dance between two fighters.

Alos...

I am disarmed, both my arm and weapon fall to my side. I am at his mercy... And I await for the cold to receive me again...

Alos...

What does that name means? How do I know something means something... I am just a skeleton, right?

Alos... Please, come back... Rejoin us...

And something rushes forward. A light... Am I conscious? Am I returned?

And who is the boy that so desperately calls my name?

Tired.

So tired. We have no muscles which grow sore, no lungs to run out of breath. We skeletons exist for grunt work, anything exhausting, repetitive or anything someone doesn't want to do themselves.

I once served the man whom this hero is insistent on removing from this world. Some necromancer insisting on forcing his will on this place.

A man showed up one day, his struck down my brothers with ease venturing deeper into this stronghold.

Yet he spared me, once again alone, until he decided to let me join him. Claiming to be such a merciful hero for taking pity on this poor soul.

But its such an arrogant view, this so called hero is only such to himself. Is he doing anything different to the necromancer? Is he not forcibly inflicting his will on others killing my skeleton brothers when it was convenient for him yet claims to be some grand saviour of humanity.

Even he is no different, he spared me for no altruistic reasons but to use me as the one who ripped me from my sleep once did. I am expected to do any task he finds unbecoming of a hero, to be his mule carrying whatever little trinket takes his fancy then to put my second life on the line to protect his just to be expected to be thankful for it.

After all we skeletons minds rotted away centuries ago, surely we do not feel nor hold opinions on what has been forced on us?

With no mouth we can not say any of these meaningless thoughts anyway.

Yet when his time comes someone will surely want to use his strength as others have used mine. He will endure the same undead fate I have.

But I still would not wish this fate on anyone, not even my slavers, every action I grow more tired.

I hope I get to enjoy our shared eternal slumber again.

Feedback is welcome!

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The memories of what the skeleton was in his previous life were gone as he looked at the fresh faced attacker. It was always like this where he was slain and then resurrected. There was never really a point where his armor had felt strange or the long hair of his previous life bothered him more than it did today.

There was something strangely farmiliar about the foe that he was facing today. As he could feel his chest slashed strangely his heart leaped as he looked at the knight doing the slaying. It was like he had known him.

As the hand reached out to upright him after he had sliced at the foe who had entered the dungeon, his enemy asked the one question no one had ever asked him, “do you want to join me for a drink or something?’

A drink? He touched his mandible and what remained of his vocal cords opened up to make both of them flinch, “yeah I would?”

“I didnt know u could talk?”

“I didnt either.”