Disclaimer: I don't know what characters I will or will not use in this fanfic, so if you've seen or heard of a person, place, or thing in my writing, I don't own it. If you haven't heard of such a person, place, or thing, I might own it. Read and Review!

I sit here in my cell, enjoying no sound except the scritching of my quill on parchment. The depth of my own folly has only just hit me. Now, after a century of damning experimentation and plotting, I finally realize my mistake. Only by the mercy of a kindly guard do I have writing material to record my experiences in hope that someday I may be understood, and maybe even pitied, for I am pitiful. I blame these people for neither my imprisonment nor for my inevitable burning come dawn. But I do criticize them for their lack of perception. To them, I am a monster, a freak of nature, or rather, of magic. They perceive me an animal, hungering only for power and death.

They are wrong.

My name is Morath: necromancer, dark lord, and human. This is my story…

Diary of a Necromancer Chapter One A Start

I was but a boy, eleven, perhaps twelve. Yes, I was twelve years old. I was a very fine-looking boy, if I do say so myself. I had thick, black curls of hair, often falling into my face when I looked down. I had a pale, yet rosy face with full lips, large, blue eyes, and long eyelashes. I was young. I was healthy. I was in an apprenticeship to become a necromancer.

"Concentrate, Morath," rasped my master, Derir, gripping my shoulder tightly.

I nodded, terrified, my eyes never leaving the old, cracked tombstone. "Are you sure I'm ready, Master?" I asked, my high, boyish voice squeaking slightly.

"Of course you are, boy. Don't be ridiculous. I summoned my first skeleton when I was eleven."

"Couldn't I do a zombie? You said freshly dead corpses where easier to raise."

"Yes I did, because much of their matter still remains in this Plane, and because some remnants of their spirits tend to linger for a while. But you didn't listen to the entire lesson. Zombies are much harder to control because they still have a vague sense of self, and often try to rebel against their masters. For an experienced necromancer, this isn't a problem. However, you, being a complete novice, will likely lose control and I won't have enough time to throw up a protective barrier. Skeletons are generally mindless; you shouldn't have a problem. Now, let us begin. This sort of thing, like I have told you before, is best in the full moon, which is starting to wane."

Slowly, my master worked me through the necessary spells and incantations. I shall not record them here, lest someone wishes to follow my work, which I cannot allow.

Finally, after several minutes of invoking, hand waving, and finger wriggling, I stopped, folded my arms like my master often did, and waited. The spell had left me sick, like I had swallowed a vat of oil and had swum in a pool of slime. I felt dirty, yet exhilarated. Seconds passed uneventfully. My foot began to tap. Perhaps I had done it wrong? My master would not be pleased at my failure. I chanced a glance at his face; it was expressionless. I waited some more. Finally, after several more seconds of tension, I opened my mouth to apologize to Derir. At that moment, there came the muffled sound of splintering wood. After a few moments of listening to the sound of digging, a bony hand thrust itself out of the ground.

"Ha ha!" cried my master, actually clapping his hands. "Bravo, young necromancer. Your first undead raising at twelve! Ha! I couldn't do it until I was fourteen."

"But… you said… what about the skeleton at eleven?" I asked, confused.

"I lied," said Derir simply. "But no matter. You have the makings of a great necromancer, boy. I hope I live to see it."

I looked at the fully visible skeleton I had summoned. It was busily brushing dirt and pieces of its coffin off itself. Seeing me looking, it snapped to attention, awaiting my command.

"You'll do well, boy," said my master, clapping his hand on my shoulder. "Very well." Despite my upset stomach, I grinned a genuine smile.

And so my path to the hells had begun.

It was a start.

Author's note: I thought it was pretty good. I have all sorts of ideas for his exploits, but I'm not sure if I should take the time to write them. Review and encourage me!