[ WP ] Write the third episode of non-existant series . Make us curious about what happened before episode 3 , and what happens after .

Yea, dead. Of course she was dead. Every time I get this close to finding that wretched Necromancer, he kills whatever lead I have. My hand shook as I stretched it towards that lifeless corpse. 
 
 `` Captain!'' a man cried from behind. My hand recoiled as I turned to witness the disturbance. A trio of armed warriors, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight as all eyes turned on me. 
 
 Thankfully enough, my cloak hid my appearance, but I knew that would n't last long. A gloved hand pulled my hood tighter as I stood, my other holding out in apology. 
 
 `` Listen, I know how this loo-'' I attempted, but they had none of it. I felt the impact of his weapon before I even saw his movement. Fierce loyalty, blinding speed. No wonder this so called `` Captain'' kept this one. I slumped forwards, I could feel that cold steel jutting out the back of my body. 
 
 I put a hand on his shoulder, raising my gaze to meet his. I admit, I always had a thrill at seeing their faces when they realized they had no priest in their party. The hallow sockets of where eyes should be, glared into the windows of his soul. 
 
 He leapt back with a cry of fear, his sword still sticking from my gut. The cloth, ripped from his death blow, billowed with the slight breeze, showing the dull white bone beneath it. 
 
 The other two men foolishly followed suit, years of hardened battle training would n't face up to the fear of fighting the undead it seemed. The other swung for my neck but it never hit it's mark. I winced as I leaned into his blow, catching it on my shoulder early and plunging the tip of my dagger up through his stomach. 
 
 I did n't want to kill him, honestly, but there was no way I would let him stand in the way of my goal. I was wasting enough time as it was. I coud n't waste anymore. My eyes burned bright green, my robes singed into smoke and I gripped the final attacking soldier. His cries of pain made my spine shudder as his flesh burned to the bone, and he slumped dead. 
 
 I held out my palm facing the last man, the first man who started the attack. He shook in the face of danger, but he still looked ready to fight. I kept my palm up, fire streaking between my bony finger tips and sending sprawling shadows into the night. 
 
 After a few seconds, an eternity of time in war, I lowered my palm and extinguished the flames. He ran. I did n't even get a chance to explain, I did n't get a chance to beg forgiveness for my sins. This would n't be rendered as an act of mercy, it would be portrayed as an act to spread my name. To warn every village from here to the Great River Styx of the Skeleton Sorcerer. 
 
 I slumped and turned my sights to the sky, the moon just barely sustaining the energy I needed to live, to move, to fight, to chase... I needed the warm glow of the sun once more. 
 
 It was n't my fault I was created, it was n't my fault I was n't given instruction, but that did n't mean I'd fall to the archtype of what these damn fleshbags always looked at us as. 
 
 Not all creatures of the night are evil. 

