[ WP ] The hero was killed , the princess was sacrificed , and the evil king rules the land . For the average citizen , though , things have taken a turn for the better .

Mortimer pushed the requisition form over the desk. 
 
 The magistrate squinted at it angrily. `` Twelve? Why twelve? It says here-'' the magistrate looked into a crystal ball `` - you only needed 8 last year. Why do you need 12 this year?'' 
 
 `` Well, now that the graveyard's empty, we're going to plant crops on it and we need help shifting the gravestones.'' said Mortimer. 
 
 `` Fine. Twelve it is. You're gon na have to take a few zombies though. We're running out of skellies.'' The magistrate handed Mortimer a pouch with the magic control stones in it, a contract scroll and a pin to draw blood from a finger so Mort could sign the contract. `` Good for 3 months. Keep them oiled, report any damage before you sign the parchment and did you want to purchase insurance on any of them?'' 
 
 Mortimer knew how to care for the skellies. `` No thanks, I'm good.'' 
 
 `` Righto, you know best. Sign here and you're good to go.'' 
 
 Mortimer pricked his finger, made his mark and took over the work party. 
 
 Once you got used to the smell, there was n't anything really left to be upset about. Zombies worked just as hard and actually broke less than the skeletons, especially the older models. Nobody greased the bones properly. It was all about the quality of the tallow. You could n't just rub beeswax on them, that did n't seep into the bones. No good, no good at all. Technically skellecare was the user's responsibility but everyone blamed everyone else. That's what always happens in the shared commons. Not Mort though. He knew everybody had to pitch in to make the whole system work. 
 
 The dark lord's work parties was made up of all the dead soldiers - from both sides - of the 12 year's war which had finally ended the reign of Leopold the Bastard. The dark lord's mage battallions - the magistrates - kept all the coprses animated. Luckily, the corpses had all decomposed now so there was n't much of a stink anymore - it had been a couple of years - and a zombie was pretty rare. They were only drafted for harvest season and in emergencies. They were the recently departed, shipped in from out of town so that there were no unfortunate memories of loved ones. 
 
 Mortimer thanked the magistrate and gestured to the crew. They lined up in formation and Mortimer looked them over. `` Oi! Mage! What's this shit? How'm I supposed to run a grave reclaim if this stinker's got no bloody hands?'' 
 
 `` Oh, right, gimmie that c-stone, I'll swap it out.''
