Skelly looked at the reflection off of his polished helmet. He sighed. A hundred and twenty-seven years he'd been dead, but not dead enough. If he was dead, maybe he'd be someplace better - feasting with his tribe, engaging in battles, perhaps taking on other afterlifes he'd heard about, like that one where Heroes got over a hundred lovers, or maybe he'd have been reincarnated as someone else, but at least he would have been able to remember his name. The Necromancer had cursed him like that. Folks had avoided him, meaning he'd been unable to even introduce himself. He'd been called a monster, and worse. Places closed their gates to the likes of him - even other undead were more welcome than him. After a hundred years of walking the world, he had forgotten his own name, due to being unable to even say it to even an enemy. No one hired him for any reason. He'd had no purpose.
Then, seven years ago, Rutabaga came into his life.
He'd managed to get into the city by, of all things, hiding in a wagon filled with bones, that were destined for the Wizards and such, who wanted a skeleton in their rooms, which was almost a requisite to being a wizard. He'd gotten out of the wagon when the driver went into the inn. He didn't know why he'd entered the city - he had no need for food, sleep, or female company, although he missed those - but something had told him to enter the city.
That was when he heard the call -
"Unlicensed Thief!"
He'd heard the running.
He felt the impact, causing him to lose an arm.
"Watch where you're going!"
He'd grabbed the person, just as they realized what he was.
The person screamed, drew a knife, and stabbed him. The blade stabbed naught but air.
The skeleton's missing arm came back to him, and he was able to disarm the person, by simply keeping the knife in his ribcage, held by the free arm.
"Mind letting him go," said someone else. "Big Fat Pig City Guard."
The skeleton looked up, and he got a good look at Commander Rutabaga. The guard wasn't afraid of him as he walked up to him, and looked at the knife. He then looked at the person that he'd been holding.
"That's Attempted Murder, in addition to Unlicensed Theft, as well as Resisting Arrest," the guard said.
"But he's not-"
"And neither am I," the guard said. "But it still counts as an attempt to kill another! Complain any more, and you'll pay a visit to the hangman!"
The guard took custody of the person. "Thanks for your help. What's your name?"
The skeleton had looked at him in surprise. "You're not afraid of me?"
"No, not when I have a few who have their own issues on the payroll," the guard said. "I'm Commander Rutabaga, in charge of the City Guard. Your name, citizen?"
"I don't have one," he'd said. "I've forgotten it over the years, since I last had flesh."
Rutabaga nodded. "In that case, I'll call you Skelly in the report. Silly, I know, but, it will do. There's a reward for assisting the Guard in their Duty."
"Money's no good for me," said the skeleton. "There's nothing I want to buy, and no one will sell to me even if I wanted to buy."
"Is there anything you want?" Rutabaga asked.
"A purpose."
Rutabaga looked at him. "Ever do work as a City Guard?"
"No, but I used to be a warrior, that much I can remember."
Rutabaga looked at the prisoner. "Well, given that you don't have issues being stabbed, I might have a slot open for you; it's not glamorous, and it won't be easy, but it should give you something to do, until you get bored of it."
"What is it?" the skeleton asked.
"Well, I need someone to help train new recruits, and wooden dummies don't fight back," said Rutabaga. "Then there's checking to see how bad a dangerous situation is, like riots, to say nothing about regular Guard Duty."
"So, you want me to be a training dummy, and arrow fodder," the skeleton said.
"Could use someone who could handle that sort of work," said Rutabaga.
"I'll take it, and the Name."
Back in the Present, Skelly put the helmet on, and checked his armor. It was more for show when it was on him, but it made him feel like he belonged. He then set out to do his Duty.
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