The necromancer spent days preparing the spell, gathering the necessary components and the skeleton of course.
The skeleton was all that was left of the necromancer’s apprentice. The lazy, difficult lad that had no aptitude for sorcery. He was the necromancer’s nephew, and he only took the boy on as a favor.
He poured his magic into the bones, slicing open a much-scarred left arm to draw the sacrificial blood.
The skeleton rose and stood shaky, knock-kneed before the necromancer. The dark wizard told his creation to go and lay waste to his enemies.
The skeleton shook his skull, no.
Author’s Note: I like the idea of powerful evil wizards failing in small, pathetic ways.