The best way to relieve the anger that is rooted in the femur you were assigned during Necromancy class, is to take a nice walk with an undead minion. An undead ghoul is a far superior creature to walk with than a dull lanky four legged canines. Where the minds of the dogs tend to lead them astray, leading to them becoming strays, undead will always follow you in a straight and predictable waltz. No running away, just a nice steady rhythm. Leashes are overrated and unneeded when you make the right choice with your walking partner.
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The weekend had finally come, and with it a few days without having to wander around the halls of the classroom, sneaking my way into classes that I didn’t belong to. I didn't bother to put on my disguise. This was my day off, I wouldn’t waste half the morning getting ready.
The shopkeepers didn’t know of my infamy like the other students did. Mana Batteries were feared but the danger of a mana battery was only the seventeenth leading cause of death for shopkeepers, right behind tax evasion and the maniacs who claimed that Newts were legal tender.
I stood before Obran’s manor. After climbing through the magic gate that didn’t immediately open, I knocked on the door. A few clicks and the turning of a rickety gear let me know that someone was opening it. I braced myself for the Professor, knowing the slight combing of my hair wasn’t straight enough to talk to a Professor.
Relief washed over me, as I saw George on the other end of the door. He smiled at me, in a way that wasn’t like the George I had previously known before the Dark One had tricked us. I wished that I would have had an opportunity to see that iconic frown one more time. I wished to see my old friend as he truly was.
“Welcome to the Manor. Professor Obran will be with you shortly.” said George, in a sort of gleeful yet formal voice. It was a very agreeable sort of voice.
“George, how have you been? They aren’t prodding you with long point needles are they? This girl in one of my classes was going on and on about how the magic researchers liked skewering dead things with large needles and pulling apart the flesh to look at their innards. I believe they called it dissecting.”
George stood in front of the door and thought for a little bit. I could tell that he was wondering where a needle began and where a needle ended. He was being significantly more deliberate than he was before, at the very least, more deliberate since he’d been brought back to unlife.
Progress. In only as little time as one week, George went from instantly agreeing to every single word that someone said to stalling them out by deliberating the meaning of their words. He’d eventually agree, but stall tactics would blunt most of the danger he posed to others. George’s victims would at least get a head start before his otherworldly legs went into overdrive, and his iron-like claw-like hands grappled with soft malleable flesh.
“He’s much better, isn’t he?” I heard Obran speak.
He sat on a stool with a cushion, a clear upgrade from the last time I had seen him. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
“Yes, he’s definitely in a better state than when I’ve left him.”
“I was stabbed with needles.” George stated, finally answering my question.
“Well…I only slightly stabbed him with needles. But they were necessary in determining the rate of his regeneration. We asked for consent of course, and he, of course, agreed. It really is a puzzling dilemma. If he agrees to everything we do and I know that magic is shifting his mind to agree, then how can I ever truly know if he actually agreed. I think he wants my help to fix him, but I realize that idea is rooted from my selfish desire to get myself out of debt.”
“I think that if your intentions are good, then that is what matters.”
“I would feel that way too, if we were making more progress. It’s good that George isn’t going to listen to everyone right away. The buffer on his mind right now is long enough for the user to reasonably cancel a command, before he puts said command into action. The issue, though, is that we haven’t really had any breakthrough on removing the actual spell intertwined with his mind. For all we know, it might be impossible to undo that complex and ancient magic.”
I nodded and turned to look back at George, his mindless eyes looked back at me. His slightly smiling face was one of ignorance more than him being truly happy. Eternal contentment was a life no one deserved, even if that life came after death. It was no better than living in Purgatory.
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“Well, do you think that he’s good enough to function normally, if I were to take him on a walk above ground?”
“If you’re careful. The logical side of my brain is screaming at me that this is an unnecessary risk, but you’d be a monster to deny any living or unliving being the right to go on a walk. It’s probably one of my top three favorite things to do ever.” admitted Obran.
“What are the other two?”
“Tinkering around and doing intensive and thorough research. Drinking comes in at a strong fourth and it would rank higher if hangovers didn’t exist.”
“If only there was a type of magic to fix that.”
“Now that idea would be worth 25 platinum coins. But alass, no one’s come close to figuring that one out yet. Well, they can replace the hangover, but the magic induced hangover from the excessive spell matrixes all but make it moot.”
“So you’d need to create a second spell, to remove that hangover?”
“They’ve tried that, but that only leads to another, worse, hangover two days later.”
“Dang.” I said.
“Dang is right.”
Obran nodded in agreement.
The long bridge to the surface didn't look as amazing the second time I walked on it. I was still amazed, just slightly less amazed. Soon, George and I reached an entrance to the surface. I opened the hatch and squinted as the sun beamed into our eyes. I felt like a mole, as I squinted at the too bright light. I never realized just how dim the underground actually was.
As my eyes adjusted the light, the first thing I saw that wasn’t a blur were the gambling dens operating in plain sight. While it would’ve been interesting to watch the gambling, shouting, occasionally someone winning the rigged games, I avoided heading in that direction. I had enough debt as it was and didn’t need George finding ways to double it.
The forest that surrounded the Island was more tropical. Large singular leafs sprouted to my waist, the singing of the song birds and the sound of running water louder than the more serene and sterile nature of the forest that Mudville and five other towns were famous for.
George, after a few minutes of buffering, decided that he agreed with my assessment that he should walk in front of me, so that I could keep my eyes on him. I wasn’t going to lose him to any talking bunnies or talking carrots.
The way that George moved, ducking, diving and leaping his way through the thicker, more dense foliage, reminded me of the warriors that I dreamed of becoming when I was but a small child. And while my dreams had changed due to unforeseen circumstances and lowering my standards, I could not help but feel awe when I watched the zombie vertically run up the side of the tree, before I had time to tell him to go around it. Compared to his real life gymnastics, his mental gymnastics were in need of some fixing.
As I thought about Professor Obran’s lack of progress, it made me wonder if George would ever be fixed. I assumed that Professor Obran had years of experience honing his magic. If he couldn't solve George’s mess after a week, then how could I do any better in a year, two years? As a mana battery, I knew that I was short on time. If the talking book’s words rang true, then it was unlikely that I’d live long enough to see my potential. I’d have to rely on others. That was the only way any of this was going to work.
I was just glad that I had some alone time for the first time since entering the underground. Even if Rose and Azog were out of the apartment, the spider still resided. As much as the landlord would tell you otherwise, the spiders weren’t good apartment dwellers. They were greedy, good for nothing, bathroom hogs and face crawlers.
As my mind wandered, as I wandered through the forest I heard a peculiar sound. A sort of whispering of sorts, that wasn’t quite audible to my ears but loud enough that I could make out that there was hushed talking. Someone was trailing us, in the forest.
“George, can you come here for a second?” I yelled, annoyed that he kept walking. There must be a way to get past George’s command delay while keeping it intact for strangers. So for now, I kept walking.
I could not hear the sounds anymore, but I did not believe for a second that I was alone. They must’ve caught on that I had heard them. I refrained from calling for Goerge, as I knew that repeated questions wouldn’t make him come to me any faster.
My heart thumped and thumped, quickening my pace. It was too hard to keep up with George’s inhuman speed; it was hard to close the distance between the two of us. George stopped and turned around.
I let out a sigh of relief, the tension fading from my back slightly.
“George, we’re being tailed. Lead me back to the Tatum, please?” I whispered to him.
George nodded, waiting a few agonizing minutes before his feet began to move again. The path we took back was different this time, but George had a good sense of direction. As we made our way closer to Tatum, my worry began to leave me.
Whoever was watching us, didn’t seem eager to show themselves. They were observing us, keeping a distance from us. I thought back to the night I had dinner at Brethslan’s house and the comment that Professor Plimor made about the half-elves on the island. I worried that my head would end up on a platter, so I decided that I would forgo walks in the forest for a while. I’d take George to the beach so he could look at the ocean, instead. He’d likely be open to the idea.
I was ecstatic when my feet touched the edges of Tatum; it was a nice feeling knowing that I was safe, that my head was still a perfectly functioning head. I looked back at the tropical forest, at the seemingly endless thicket of trees and shrubs. There were people in that forest, hiding among the never-ending branches and leaves. That much, I knew.