My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

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The Headstone Congregaton

Outskirts of VV Base

There was silence, all but the sound of crashing waves could be heard. I spend most of my time here in solitude, surrounded by my trinkets and books. I don't mind none of my "team members" don't come here. I appreciate it more than they could ever know. I just feel like they wouldn't understand me. That is, they actually don't at all. They've never tried, and I've not even thought to give an explanation of my existence here to them. None of that would be worth my time.

I chose a place on this forsaken island hell hole for one reason. The prisoners long since dead, were buried here. Nothing but small, incomplete and uncared for headstones are placed on each grave, about fifteen so far as I can tell. I thought, that coming here, claiming this spot as my own haven, there would be a solace offered up. But instead I got silence. The graves are outside, on a bluff overlooking the southeastern part of the island. You can only see more ocean from its coordinates. Sometimes, I think I should just jump into the water, although, further thought would submit that I would crash land onto the sharp and pointy cloister of rocks nestled at the bottom.

Since aligning myself with the band of fools, I can't help but to realize that I'm as alone at any other point in my life. I sought out purpose, and I got sitting in my room reading and talking to myself. And then it hit me, or more-so I was so stir-crazy that I was insane enough to do it. Every sorcerer, magic using, witch, whatever you call yourself, knows to leave the dead well enough alone. But I couldn't talk to those blathering pains, I was here just because...Literally, I'd be homeless if it weren't for this room to rest at night, but other than that I haven't a care for any one of them at all, and I would dare to guess their feelings were mutual. Contact was kept to a very minimum, its actually been a few weeks since I actually saw some of them....Anywho. There is a spell that I know. Basically, it raises the dead for a few hours. It's origins were from Zimbabwe, where shamans used it to learn information of their enemies after they'd been defeated in battle. Useful...

I planned however to do it to just talk. And so I took to the task. As always, magic of this caliber required blood, my own, which I didn't particularly relish in, but necessity is the mother of all inventions I suppose. I let down my blood into a small bowl engraved with symbols etched into the outermost layer of clay. I spoke the incantation, winding magic into the syllables, leaving the impression of my spirit and intentions to the forces of the Ether. Feeling their very souls pulled out of the endless ocean of despair that was after existence was bracing. I didn't like it. A price to pay for what I needed. And that was a captive audience. Someone to listen, and not speak.

---- I conjured up a cows tongue, and pierced it with a cinnamon stick, and bound it, assuring none of the bodies would dare utter a sound.

Soon enough, I was sitting there, and they were sitting there. Decrepit and ugly, I began to speak, and they just sat there. I smiled, because I could say anything, do anything to them without response. They were just bone and dirt now, so any threat they presented was balderdash. "You guys...I'm just so lonely. These people are so stupid. I should really leave...No you're right, I don't like sleeping in parks. What do I do?" "Yeah, I don't know either."

This has been going on for a month now. Any time I have an issue, those skeletons just sit there and stare at me. I must be insane.