With trembling determination, Arlan decided to test his newfound ability – just a little. He reasoned it would be safer to try somewhere private. The town's small graveyard was tended by a single elderly groundskeeper and was usually empty at mid-morning. It lay just behind the chapel of the Light, ironically one of the last places someone would expect a necromancer to lurk. Arlan made his way there cautiously, sticking to back lanes.
At the rusted iron gate of the graveyard, he hesitated. Rows of humble wooden grave markers and a few stone tombs lay beyond, dappled in weak sunlight. His heart hammered as he stepped inside, the gate creaking softly behind him. Each tombstone suddenly felt like a watching eye. "This is a terrible idea," he muttered. But what choice did he have? If he could raise even a small undead, it might protect him or help him scavenge food. And if he failed… well, better to know now.
He approached a corner where the oldest, least-visited graves were. Weeds grew tall, and one marker had fallen over completely. Arlan knelt by a patch of disturbed earth, probably where a fox had tried to dig for grubs. His hands were shaking as he placed them on the moist ground. He tried to recall the instinct he'd felt the previous night – the way the power had curled around him.
Closing his eyes, he whispered, "...Raise Undead." The words felt both natural and foreign on his tongue. He pushed with his will, reaching for that small flame of power in his chest and directing it down through his arms into the soil. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the earth trembled lightly. Arlan's eyes flew open. Before him, something was rising from the dirt – a small, half-rotted paw.
His concentration wavered at the sight and the magic sputtered. He was so startled that he scrambled back, falling onto his rear. A decayed cat's corpse, mostly bones and dried skin, had surfaced from the shallow grave, likely someone's old pet buried here. The thing twitched as necromantic energy tried to animate it. Its jaw fell open in a silent yowl, and one skeletal back leg kicked weakly.
Arlan's initial reaction was revulsion. The smell of old death hit him, even faint as it was, and he gagged. The undead cat flopped over, unable to stand properly, as Arlan's tenuous hold on the magic slipped. He realized he was whimpering under his breath and forced himself to stop. Crawling forward again, he tried to reassert control, reaching a hand toward the pitiful cat skeleton. "Up… please get up," he whispered, voice quavering.
The cat's glowing eye sockets (a pale green light flickered there) met his gaze – or he imagined they did. For a second, it actually rose on its feet, bones rattling. Hope fluttered in Arlan's chest. But then a lance of exhaustion stabbed through him. The flame of power inside guttered; he had drained it too fast. The undead cat promptly collapsed into a heap of disjointed bones. Arlan slumped, breathing hard as if he'd run miles. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
He had failed. Or half-failed? It had moved, briefly. But he couldn't sustain it. He was too weak, and the corpse was in poor shape. A wave of discouragement and relief washed over him. Relief, because a shambling cat corpse loose in the graveyard would surely attract attention. Discouragement, because in his first real test as a necromancer, he could barely animate something so small. He carefully gathered the bones and pushed them back into the shallow hole, piling dirt over to hide any evidence. "Sorry," he murmured to the long-dead pet. His voice shook, and he wasn't sure if he was apologizing for disturbing its rest or for failing to give it a second life.
As he stood, his legs wobbled. Using magic had taken a toll – his head felt light, and a hunger gnawed not just in his stomach but in that new hollow in his chest. He needed to recover. Magic, he realized, likely needed energy from him, perhaps even calories or vitality. Hard magic rules: nothing comes free. If he wanted to raise the dead, he'd need to eat better and build his strength, or he'd pass out every time. Arlan left the graveyard with haste, heart heavy but mind already planning his next attempt. He couldn't give up yet.