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!