Name For A Necromancer Novels & Stories

Something that still carries the Church’s coin and the Church’s warrants. He sips his ale slowly, eyes scanning the wall behind the bar where fresh posters have been tacked up. The ink is still damp in places. Raven Winterstar stares back at him from the parchment—child’s face, white hair, sharp blue eyes that seem to follow him even in charcoal and soot. Below the sketch: **NECROMANTRESS. 500 GOLD MARKS. DEAD OR ALIVE.** Garrick sets the tankard down. Wipes foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. He’s seen worse bounties. He’s hunted worse things. But a child who raises the dead… that’s new. That’s interesting.

"Did you really not have to kill anyone to gain your power? Like for Necromancers in general, not just you." His question caught me off guard. Why was he stuck on this killing thing? Did they all think we were a bunch of mindless killers? "John, Necromancy isn't something you can buy. It's something we're born with, and I've never heard of a Necromancer taking a life - at least, not outside of the war." He still had that calculating look in his eyes, but our time was up. I watched his dad and the other figures take aim, raising their arms and pointing in our direction.