A quick pointer: There comes a point in most Necromancer’s lives where they’re stabbed in the back by their apprentice. The point of the dagger entering the back can not be found at the pointy tip of the knife, but rather in the emotional state of the stabber. A Necromancer might point out that it is in their best interest to be hospitable and nurturing to their little skeleton loving child, maybe even hit some pressure points with a nice old backrub. This, however, would be a fatal mistake.
There is a saying in some lands, somewhere, that you cannot appreciate the good in the world without experiencing some hardship. Nothing grows the character of an apprentice more than throwing them in a cramped dungeon cell to think about how much better life could be outside of that cell. To them, the outside world will seem brighter and less damp because they only know of darkness. Also, cell bars do a good job keeping the apprentices away from cupboards where the knives are kept. A certified win-win.
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Time is but a fickle thing, moving quicker on days that feel the same, days chained and shackled by routine. No day felt as long as the first day, but the second day felt almost as long. I was still adjusting to life as a student. Not much needed to be said about day two… let's not discuss day two…
On day three, Rose was willing to do my makeup for a small stipend of half my paycheck. I couldn’t thank her enough for her generosity, but I was tempted to take up Azog’s offer after he said he’d do it for free… Even if the outcome would be disastrous. Instead of taking either of their offers, I hardened my resolve and strengthened my determination to put on my makeup by myself. Blending in was necessary, blending makeup on my face was harder than I thought.
It was fortunate that I had time to perfect the craft. With no first period, I was almost indistinguishable from Calvin: my alter ego. I could feel the residual heat of the charm working overtime in my pocket, though. Like days two and day one, Brethslan had not shown up to any classes. It worried me slightly, but it was too early for me to panic. I understood that he was upset, and it took time to come to terms with our situation. I wondered why I was so fine with it, for a split second. Probably, the normality of it.
The primers on ritual magic were an interesting start to the class known as the fundamentals for beginners, more colloquially whispered by some professors as the fundamentals for fools. Typical ingredients and spellbinders included multiple types of herbs and rare gemstones. Some were better ground up and shaped, while other ingredients lacked the oomph that you got when they were whole. The general rule of thumbs, was that the more whole a finger, the more potent and long-lasting the power. Chopped off smaller bits were flexible and easier to manipulate, leading to precision magic.
There were more types of magic than just ritual magic, but for Necromancers and Gardeners, rituals were needed to handle the complexity that came with handling life and its afterlife. Theoretically, it was possible to use incantations, but no one wanted to give a two hour sermon to raise a rat.
I could prepare and raise a rat in mere minutes, but I immediately noticed the flaw with mana sight casting. I wasn’t raising the dead. I was puppeteering the dead.
Shuffling in my seat, I took a better glance at the board, where the gnomish professor Malin Mailstrum was teaching. He must’ve had calves of steel as he tiptoed to reach the chalkboard.
“As you see, when you raise a minion of necrotic origin the mana takes on characteristics of flesh and bones, the magical tendrils fuse and strengthen the material. That is why having the right type of plant or zombie is pertinent to success. The better the carcass or plant, the easier it is to raise something mighty.”
“But professor, if it was as easy as getting some good bones, then why aren’t there any ancient primordial zombies trouncing about?”
“First of all, zombies don’t trounce. Secondly, living things degrade over time and so does the magic that holds it together. The natural order of things always wins over time. All that can be done is to prolong the inevitable. Hollow, decaying, bone does not hold magic forever. And the living plants fight the very magic you bestow them. Nothing in the world is everlasting.”
“Not even rock and stone?”
“Be quiet Klarence, we’ll get to the basics of Artificers next week.”
“Aww, but why did we have to start with ritual magic.”
“We get the boring stuff out of the way first, that way we can focus on the more important and entertaining material.” as if it was obvious that ritual magic was the most boring.
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Worse, the class seemed to agree with his sentiment. Maybe it wasn’t flashy, but I’d rather be mucking around in the dirt raising skeletons, than studying in a classroom all day. I ignored the jeering and complaining of the majority of my classmates and opened up the class textbook. It was all summary information, none of it more than an overview really.
Something caught my attention; it reminded me of George. Apparently, bug’s were cheap alternative blood used to extend the life of an undead. That explained Georges’ fascination with bugs. I felt a bit melancholy as I remembered that I had sort of sold him off to that professor. It wasn’t right for him to be cooped up in a rundown mansion all day. I promised that I’d take him for a walk, maybe to the forest on the surface.
I looked down at my pale skin. My tan had already started to fade. I could use some sunlight, after Necromancy 202.
As I entered the courtyard for Necromancy 202, Marcus was already beckoning for me to sit next to him again. I let out a sigh. I wasn’t ugly enough. I would have to talk to Professor Plimor to see if she couldn't ramp up the ugly. I was going to learn magic today and told myself I wouldn’t get caught up in the chit chat. Still, though, it was rude to ignore basically strangers beckoning you over to them. So I took a seat, and waited in anticipation for the lesson to start.
Today, magic was going to be taught. That was the rumor that spread down the halls, whispered by the few necromancer students in a way that resembled yelling.
Professor Rath shuffled his way into the room, his stern expression not giving anything to the students as they psych analyzed his expression. His first words would determine whether or not today would be a day of chatter, or a day of learning.
“Welcome, students. It is with great pleasure that I bestow on you each a femur. You will be broken up into groups and we will begin,” spoke Rath, with a stern expression.
“Be careful, though. The groups you form now, will be the same groups that you will have for the rest of this class. If I had the authority for it, these groups would carry over for your entire stay at the academy. Unfortunately, the only authority I have over anything, are the clothes on my back and femur in my hand. My rights were stripped from me unrightfully, ruthlessly by the president of this university.”
“What did you do?” asked a student.
“Nothing significant. In fact, the student I buried alive wasn’t significant at all! bloody, useless, good for nothing, student. I don’t look older than the oldest artifact in the academy's vault. Lying son of a-”
“Um, professor! How large can our groups be?” interrupted a preppy girl, who hadn’t been paying attention.
“It doesn't really matter. No more than four people, no less than four people,” Rath mumbled, absentmindedly.
“So four?” asked the preppy girl.
“Yes, four! Use your mind! Use your fingers if you have to!”
“Geez, I was just asking.”
“Sorry, I’m still a little angry thinking about how not old I am.”
“I believe you,” said the preppy girl.
“Teacher’s pet,” muttered Alcathorm.
And then began the most cutthroat competition to ever grace the school. There wasn’t ever a winner when picking a team, but there were certainly losers. Undesirables were always left out to fend for themselves in this inhospitable wasteland. I was one of them, through and through. That is why, my eyes narrowed when Marcus asked if I wanted to join his group.
What was his endgame? A loser like me, joining a group with someone who's not a loser like him. It set off my sixth sense, a type of tingle only developed, when getting picked last for Blorg Ball. And no one got picked last for the Blorg Ball, more than me. Two left feet is what they called me. To understand if this was a real offer, I had to solve what type of group this would be.
“Oh, thanks for the invite! Who else do you have in mind?” I asked. It was the most cheerful I had been since my inception, my smile more forced than , I couldn’t show weakness.If this opportunity was real, it could be the opportunity of a class time. For an entire period, I’d be living the dream.
“Well, Alcathorm, here, would fit in well. I figure my student Helfen could fill up the last spot. That’s four, no more, no less.”
It was a reasonable team composition. Alacathorm was a clueless, but popular student I didn’t deem as necessarily cruel. He openly talked to me during the first lecture, too spoiled in being born cool enough to not realize the game afoot. He got the classic younger sibling to known older sibling buff.
Marcus was a scholarly type, sort of like the type of person who wanted to dissect peoples thoughts for fun. He had to know everyone through and through. To him, I was an interesting mystery to tackle. Less so because of who I was and more so to do with that I was a mana battery? Brethslan’s student aide? Whatever the reason, he wouldn’t be a problem for the short duration of the class.
Helfen was a mystery, textbook vegetable. But I had learned recently that vegetables were often more than they seemed. He was an unknown entity that could make or break my involvement in the group. He was the key to the outcome of the team dynamic.
As I looked at his blank expression I couldn’t help to think that there was more in his brain than people gave him credit for.
“Umm, I think you’re overthinking this, Calvin. You’ve been sitting there, staring at Helfen for a solid three minutes. The other students are glancing at you.” said Marcus.
“Just give me a minute. I got to think this through,” I said, as I put my hands up to my head, as indecision took hold.
“We can just go with Frelick, if you don’t want to work with us,” said Marcus.
I snapped out of my stupor, the threat of losing my spot imminent.
“Yes. Absolutely, I’ll join this group.”
Marcus smiled.
“Perfect.”
I was tricked into the group, I realized. The threat of being outcast was too much for my weak resolve. As I looked at the other groups, who’d already been formed, I wondered if I made the right call. Then I looked at the group in the farthest corner, and knew that I had made the right call. I wasn’t going to be replaced by Frelick.