A small, shadowy figure waded its way through the mists of Perditi Cemetary, heading specifically for one of the many subplots the gigantic necropolis was partitioned into.  Turtle Hawk Graveyard, the subplot in question, was said to hold some extremely restless spirits…but the dead rising was somewhat of a forte for the kobold casually sauntering through the shallow graves and crumbling tombstones as if he owned the place.  He was here, quite simply, to practice the craft of necromancy.  He had only managed to bring the bodies of small animals back to life until now…and this seemed to be the perfect place to start with creating zombies of the more intimidating variety

It was already half-dark out, as he didn't want to be disturbed during his session, and no one in their right mind seemed to enter after the sun went down.  It was for good reason it seemed; he could feel the place practically brimming with unholy energy, likely from necromancers that came before him, or possibly due to the land itself being tainted.  Whatever the cause of it, it was the perfect miasma to empower his will.  

Ivacus soon reached his destination, passing under the wrought-iron archway that read Turtle Hawk in bold, capital letters of Common, into a secluded alcove set around a willow tree.  As soon as he drew near it, however, he could feel that there was something off about this particular tree…there was something underneath it.  Something that to him, was begging to be released from slumber.

As common sense was something that the lizard man often lacked, it was here that he decided to begin infusing his energies into the earth to bring up the dead around him.  Sitting down in front of the tree, he would hold the Grimorium Nekrotika, the book that had led him down this dangerous path to begin with, in one hand and a dagger in the other.  He was ready to begin.

With a slight cut to his hand, he allowed his blood to drip onto the earth before him, as he began to concentrate and chant a mantra quietly in front of this twisted plant.  What he would awaken, however, was something far beyond his wildest dreams…and far more terrifying than his most egregious nightmares.

No bony hand wrought the soil aside to reveal the corpse Ivacus had given new life…but there was thumping. A harsh thump that made the dry, packed dirt crack and split, and, horrifyingly, the thumping became closer and closer…

…and so did the howling of a creature that was definitely not human. The war bellows of a savage beast, or the dark meaning of what Ivacus had done was being broadcast by something too misshapen to be labelled beast.

Then, the terror tore open the earth entirely, and extending from the ancient grave…

Was a battle axe…and a very angry skeleton.

Equipped with very shoddy clothing (that, while including a ring, was a flimsy copper thing with a pebble set in its dais), the corpse had nothing to loot. 

Seeing who the visitor was, 'Turtle Hawk' stayed its wicked axe, and shut its mouth. Then, opened again, to say:

"YE DIMUNITIVE KNAVE. HAVE I THYSELF TO THANK FOR RAISING MYSELF?!"

It was in that precise moment, as the ground shook beneath him, with a horrid roaring and thumping befitting of a dragon's rage, that the budding necromancer knew.

He had fucked up.

Scooting backwards awkwardly from his cross-legged seat on the opening earth, his yellow, reptillian eyes were open wide with an uncharacteristic fear.  Normally he was able to deal with the consequences of his reckless actions in stride…or at the very least, a limping meander.  But he hadn't expected hell itself to open its gates and gobble him up like a tasty midnight snack just from trying to raise a corpse from the dead.

He tried thinking of something he could do as a scream held fast in the middle of his paralyzed throat, but it was already too late.  As soon as it had begun, it had ended in a tremendous spectacle, the earth rending asunder before his very eyes as an incredibly large axe tore its way out of the grave he had unwittingly been sitting on.  And with it, came a bony arm pulling a large skeleton up and out of its prison of rot and soil.  

For a brief moment, he thought he had entirely succeeded…but this creature seemed far too confident, far too self-aware, as it fought its way back into life once more…its mere posture alluded to the fact that he was far from a servant.

His readings of the Grimorium Nekrotika had somewhat prepared him for this eventuality; it spoke of how there were certain people that, with an unquenchable will to keep living, refused to leave their body after death.  An active landmine of sorts for unwary necromancers that did not yet possess the ability to either force the soul of the deceased out of the body, or simply muscle it into submission with a little unholy persuasion.

Needless to say, Ivacus could not yet do either of those things, and had not expected to find a soul with such will to live as this one.  In his vulnerable position, he was completely at the mercy of this horrid monstrosity.  That axe of his was set to cleave him in twain at any second, he knew it.

But it seemed the skeleton had other plans than going on a mindless rampage of wanton destruction.  Turning down to the Kobold, he asked if he was the one who gave him life anew.  With a slight choking and gurgling sound, Ivacus managed to force the terror closing his throat out of it, as he looked back into the skeleton's non-existent eyes.  "I…rmmn…yes?  I did?" he managed to get out in a terse, sniveling whimper.  He had wanted to sound a lot more calm, composed, and commanding whilst pushing it through his vocal chords, but it seemed his fear had the best of him at the moment.  "Please don't hurt me, I swear I d-d-didn't mean to disturb you!"

"YE HAVEN'T DISTURBED ME, MY BOY. MINE GRATITUDE BRIMS! TELL ME YOUR NAME, BOY…SO I MAY BETTER CALL YE A COMRADE! THOUGH YE BE A RASCALLY NONHUMAN, AND A RAISER OF CORPSES, WITHOUT YON BLACK ARTS, STILL WOULD I BE."

He extends his axe in friendship, which, on this close inspection, reveals it has been used without scrutiny. Surely, whoever Turtle Hawk was in life was either an executioner, or a very, very, very determined murderer. The 'hook' of the two ended wedge was perfect for reeling in victims, and the blunt top of it was akin to a broad hammering tool, evidenced by the chips in the metal. A proud and sacred weapon, though with littlr fashion, had egregious amounts of function.

Turtle Hawk's face cannot twist into a smile, nor does his mouth move when he speaks. But, such a gentle, grateful glisten comes from the abyssal sockets in his face.

Ivacus stared directly at the axe that had been offered him tentatively, taking in the many nooks, chips, and scratches that lined the somewhat dull, but heavy blade.  It was obviously well-used, as the slight whiff of dried blood attested.  The fearsome picture of that instrument of death so close to him almost made him lose control of his bodily functions, to put it gently.  But it seemed as though, judging by his grateful words and the glint of emotion in this skeleton's blackened eye sockets, that he wasn't ready to cleave him in half.  Considering the circumstances, however, he didn't want to push his luck by setting the score straight on his "rascally nonhuman" and user of "yon black arts" status, and instead took the axe and used it to pull himself up from his awkward position.  At the very least in case the skeleton changed his mind, he'd have his hand on the blade to……do something with it?  Probably not much that would end up effectual, considering this creature's strength even in undeath to carry such a heavy weapon with practiced ease.

"I…I am Ivacus Manaclaw," he spat out with an unintentional stammer.  "I…uh…uhm…am pleased to make your acquaintance?"