There it stood... stood... stood... and stood, ever present at the Dark City’s gates, since the day itself was created: a skeleton, or more precisely: an Undead Skeleton.  

It was near perfect in every sense. Clean, polished, white were its bones. No scratches or dents upon them. No bone mismatched or seemed out.  

The teeth nestled in its jaw, snug and neatly to a tee. A fine group of pearly whites.  

Where eyes would be, instead were haunting pale lights. A cold flame that swirled gently at each sockets centre. 

And in its right grasp was a rather plain and simple looking spear, new and stainless of any blood. 

Hm? “Who made this Undead you ask?” “And for what purpose?” 

Well, to answer the first: A local, of the Dark City Ziligish, as it is called. A Necromancer by the name of Nurglish Avitch, one of the many who hope to have their names heard throughout the ages, written in stone and the like—one of many poor foolish buggers. 

As for the second question: It was made for the soul purpose of being a guard of the gates—or perhaps fodder would be a better word? You see, Undead, are quite a useful bunch; you can give them orders, they’ll follow them without question, nether ask for pay; all one need do is find a dead body, know the ways of necromancy -or hire a Necromancer- and hey presto, you got yourself a poodle. 

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And thus, the skeleton stood, ever still, ever present at the right side to the black gates of Ziligish. It was not the only guard however.  

Stationed to the left of the gates was a man. This man was a 20-year-old rooky guard of the city, known jokingly as Pecker to his colleges and Zelkand to his family, who knew nothing of the nickname. Zelkand, wore armour of obsidian, simple in design like the rest of the guard. And he sat lent back in a chair spending every minute picking at his nose, unlike the vigilant skeleton. 

It was a normal day as always beneath the smouldering black clouds. Not many went in or out the city, and little ever happened. The skeleton only looked forward at the same rugged road, as it had done always, not questioning orders or pondering them.  

But then something started sniffing at its leg. The cool lights of the skeleton’s eye sockets flicked downwards. Hm. It was a dog, a very normal dog, a Labrador. This was the single most disturbing thing the skeleton had ever witnessed in the entirety of its existence. Why? Why was it so normal?  

The Labrador looked up at the stack of walking bones and panted adorably so.  

The skeleton had seen many dogs, all undead or monstrous in nature, a near daily routine. But this? This was wrong. This was The Lands of Darkness, a land of monstrosities, not fragile balls of fur. How in the 12 Abysses, has this thing... survived. 

The Labrador tilted its head slightly left, making a curious moan.  

Should the skeleton kill it? Or just ignore it? The skeleton felt torn between the two. Oh. Oh, woe is the undead. 

Then the Labrador turned its side to the skeleton, raised a leg, and pissed on the undead’s feet, followed by a perfect smoking brown dump, before running of into dark plains afar. 

The flames in the skeleton’s eye sockets flicked back up to road. And its morning continued like any other, but that was the last morning it would spend like any other.