Deep within the Graveyard was a little Mausoleum.

Unlike its neglected surroundings, its grey marble walls were clean. Six trimmed rose bushes neatly lined each side, and the iron gates were free from rust and grime. The hinges never squeaked.

Inside, a cheerfully painted yellow door led down a flight of stone steps to a cozy vault with a warm fireplace and candles artfully placed along the walls and on the round table which took up most of the room. The table was encircled by four chairs and was draped in a lace cloth.

There were four teacups perched on saucers of fine bone china, each rimmed with gold and bearing a patterned band of meticulously painted lavender flowers. A matching teapot, milk jug, and sugar bowl sat in the middle of the table.

Three of the saucers also carried a little shortbread Biscuit, while the fourth was held by an Undead Zombie dressed in a floral dress and knitted wool shawl. Her grey hair was neatly curled, and her make-up carefully applied.

Upon hearing a chime as Worm claimed the Graveyard, she set her Biscuit down. Then picked up her knitting needles while snatching a ball of bright orange wool from a basket at her feet. “Well,” she rasped through pursed lips as a Notification advised her of the new Owner of the Graveyard. “Here we go again.”

“Oh, don’t be so negative, Edna,” said the smallest Zombie, not looking up from the tiny little pink Baby Booty she was knitting. “Perhaps this one will stay for Afternoon Tea.”

Petal squatted in front of the little Dungeon.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” She waited, not expecting a reply. “I’m looking for Worm. Have you seen him?”

Behind her, the wind slithered through the trees, tickling their leaves.

She looked over her shoulder, peering up to where the sun was setting behind a grumpy little hill. Above the hill, a few wisps of cloud streaked like grey ribbons, their bellies etched with gold. Anyone else would think it was beautiful.

Petal could only think of the dangers lurking in the gathering shadows in preparation for nightfall.

Getting to her feet, her sword held loose in her fist, she turned from the Dungeon and began trudging towards the trees, her eyes searching for any sign of the missing Necromancer.

Behind her, the Dungeon who used to be a man called Eric shouted at her to come back and talk to him. Unfortunately, he’d yet to allocate any points into his Presence stats so she couldn’t hear a thing.

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Cordelia frowned.

There are two kinds of frowns a woman can wear. One is a delicate crease which hints at a demure sense of confusion. It causes others to want to assist and summons feelings of camaraderie if not affection.

The other is an ugly thing which inspires a sudden urge to flee the area lest a murderous rage is unleashed like a thunderous storm.

It was this frown which formed a mask on the Vampire’s face as she watched Daisy knit.

Daisy, for her part, hummed contentedly as she waited.

Waited for the storm she knew was coming.

Amusement rippled through the Undead Servant’s body. No matter how fierce the Vampire thought she could be, she was nothing compared to her Master.

His storm had been raging since the night she’d been Raised.

Holding up the almost-completed Wool Beanie, she eyed it critically. She’d used pink wool for the most part but had also blended in white to form little white skulls in a dainty pattern. When finished, the Wool Beanie would provide a bonus to warmth.

She couldn’t wait to give it to her Master.

She was sure he was going to love it and wear it everywhere.

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Worm stood in the doorway, his eyes wide.

“Come in, Dear,” Matilda said without looking up from her knitting. “And close the door behind you. You’re letting in the cold air.”

“It’s not good for our sinuses,” Gertrude explained.

“You don’t have to tell him that,” Matilda said with a click of her teeth.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s not very ladylike, is it? Talking about such personal bodily functions is something you should only do with people you’re well acquainted with.”

Sally, the smallest of the Zombies, snorted. “You’re so old-fashioned, Tildy. These days, the Living talk about everything. They have no shame. You remember when Horace used to visit? He’d talk about the Pimples on his bottom for hours.”

Edna cleared her throat. “Aren’t any of you going to offer him a Cup of Tea?”

“I knew it,” Worm muttered as his fantasy of revenge slowly faded away. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

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Compel Undead was an option in his Graveyard Keeper menu, but it was greyed out.

As was Raise Army of Undead.

There were, however, several options and bonuses related to Production.

As he stood in the doorway, he scrolled through them with a growing feeling of dread and frustration which almost brought tears to his eyes.

Knitting.

He’d gained bonuses for himself and his Minions to Knitting.

Cheerfully, the System advised he could apply more temporary bonuses to this stat by participating in Tea Parties.

He slumped, leaning heavily against the door.

“Why me?” His voice was a moist whimper. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Matilda glanced up from her knitting and offered a look which might have been sympathetic. “There there, Dear. It won’t seem so bad after a nice Cup of Tea and a Biscuit, will it?”

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There were no spare seats, so Worm sat on an overturned bucket. His head barely reached to look over the table and made him feel like a child surrounded by Grandmothers.

It wasn’t a nostalgic feeling, nor a positive one. But the Cup of Tea in his hand was admittedly comforting. And he had to admit the taste of sweet shortbread wasn’t all bad.

“Graveyards are supposed to be places of power for Necromancers,” he said, trying not to sigh again. “Why is this one so different?”

The click clack of their knitting needles never stopped. He noticed the small basket at Edna’s feet had almost filled with socks they’d knitted since he’d arrived. Sally’s hands in particular seemed to blur and she had dumped in three little Booties in just a few minutes.

“This is the Graveyard for the Alma Peake Knitting Circle, Dear.” Edna shrugged without dropping a stitch. “It’s not some crude old Graveyard where just anybody can be buried, you know.”

“We’re the largest Knitting Circle in the world,” Sally said. “When I was Living, we had almost fifty-one members.”

“It was fifty-three when I was Living,” Getrude said with a smug chuckle.

“I’m sure it’s much bigger now,” Sally countered.

“Ladies,” Edna growled. “We agreed it was impolite to compare sizes at the table.”

“Sorry,” Sally said sheepishly, sharing a nod with Gertrude.

Worm took another bite of his Biscuit. This time, he sighed.

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When Edna Entwhistle knitted a pair of black Mittens for Marcus Mortwight’s Five Hundredth Year as a Lich, she hadn’t expected anything in return. It was merely a gift to mark the occasion.

However, the Lich had been so taken with them and their bonuses to Warmth and Necromancy, that he offered payment if she would supply him with a few more pairs in assorted shades of black.

Payment would not be in the form of Gold, however.

Instead, he offered to Enchant the Alma Peake Knitting Circle’s Graveyard to ensure its inhabitants were able to continue doing the one thing they loved more than anything else.

Knitting.

On top of that, he guaranteed the Graveyard remained forever Locked Out so no nasty Necromancers with dreams of World Domination could warp its occupants into Undead Monstrosities or build Necromantic structures on its Hallowed Ground.

It was a generous offer but, in Marcus Mortwight’s eyes, it was worth it.

His Mittens, after all, were so warm and fluffy.

The only time he wasn’t wearing a pair of Edna’s Mittens was when he was burned at the stake. He’d taken them off and handed them to his Executioner. “I have committed many crimes,” he told the man. “But I will not harm a single thread of these magnificent Accessories.”

For this act alone, Edna Entwhistle would forever call him a Gentleman.

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Worm nibbled on his second Biscuit as he listened to Edna’s story of the Graveyard’s origins.

He’d read many books on Marcus Mortwight. The Necromancer had been a legend and many of his Techniques and Skills were Banned. This was always a good sign of someone worth learning about.

But in all the history books he’d read of the Necromancer, he’d never read one which referenced any Wool Mittens or the Alma Peake Knitting Circle.

“Well,” he said, sipping some Tea. “What am I going to do with you all, then?”

Gertrude grinned mischievously before Edna snapped quickly; “Mind your tongue, Gertrude Grangeflower. This is a Knitting Circle, not a place of ill repute.”

Gertrude’s mouth closed with a click.

Sally giggled.

Worm shuddered and decided it was time to leave.

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Petal wiped her sword clean as she watched the dark shape emerge out of the fog.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “I thought you got lost in the Woods.”

Worm grunted. “I found a Graveyard.”

“Congratulations,” she said, not understanding the significance.

Still disturbed and disappointed, her sarcasm went over his head. “Thanks.”

“Well, I found a pack of Werewolves,” she said. “There’s probably more skulking about, too.”

“Really?” He looked up as a howl echoed through the forest. An evil grin spread across his face, surprising the Mercenary. “Good. Let’s kill a few on the way home.”

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The first duel Worm ever fought was with William Wolfsblood the Third.

Barely five weeks into his first year at the Mage Tower, William had rushed into the Library where Worm was trying to study and slammed his hand down on the table. “I challenge thee to a duel!”

Shocked, Worm hadn’t known what to say. But, as a member of Nobility, he’d been compelled to always accept a Duel even if he didn’t know why.

Two days later, on a field just outside town, he’d find his answer as he faced his challenger.

The Wolfsblood banner planted in the soil was a Werewolf feasting on a Warrior. It was a proud and haughty thing meant to invoke Fear as it flapped in the frosty morning wind.

As a Necromancer, he was immune to the minor Fear caused by the Wolfsblood crest, but it still made him shudder to know he was facing a man who could Shift at any time into the form of a Werewolf.

Not that William would need to.

Worm’s duelling experience had been limited and, though his Intelligence stat was high enough to cast spells which might have worried William, as a First Year student, Worm’s actual range of Spells was quite limited.

William, on the other hand, was a Third Year who loved duelling and quickly popped a Shield to block Worm’s Necromantic Ray and then proceeded to bludgeon him repeatedly with a gauntleted fist.

Worm gurgled in the mud, curling up onto his side as William bounced happily toward his betrothed who had been watching the beating with her piercing gaze.

Looking up from where he lay, he locked eyes with her.

Aurora Angeline Astorwood smirked back at him and accepted William’s hand.

“I’d hoped he’d be more of a challenge,” William said, clearly disappointed. “I know you wanted to see my Werewolf form.”

“Oh, I very much did,” Aurora said with a socialite’s giggle. “I do so love Werewolfs. Their fur must feel so warm. Maybe you’ll let me pet you later?”

Their laughter mocked him as they left him there.

Alone.

Spitting mud and blood.

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Petal was mildly disturbed by the absolute glee with which Worm hunted and killed every Werewolf he could find.

He used only his most powerful Rot spells which delivered slow and lingering deaths to his prey. Then, when they stopped moving, he’d swoop down and Skin them with a clinical efficiency she’d never expected him to have.

Sometimes, she was sure he was giggling.

After Skinning them, he’d take their Fangs and Claws. Then he’d dismember and bottle their remains in a seemingly endless stream of glass containers he pulled from his Inventory.

While she’d seen more gruesome things in her life, she couldn’t say she’d seen anyone take such grim pleasure in it before.

Looking up, he seemed to notice her discomfort and his cheeks reddened slightly.

“I hate Werewolfs,” he said.

“So I see.”

“No,” he said, stuffing another heart into a jar. “You really don’t.”

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Eric felt a presence approaching.

Far from threatening, it felt enthused and happy.

Hello?

“Greetings, Great Dungeon! My name is Dina Silverfoot, and I was Selected to be your Dungeon Fairy.”

Really? That’s amazing! Worm said I’d get one! Are you going to help me with all these Choices I have to make?

“Oh, definitely! I can’t wait to help you Grow and Evolve! It’s been my dream since I was very little.”

Eric calmed as her words worked to soothe his fears and anxiety. Something about her presence just felt… right. It was like they were meant to be together. If he’d still had a mouth, he’d have smiled at her.

She moved closer to him, holding out her hand to touch his Entrance.

A pop-up flashed in front of him asking if he wanted to accept Dina Silverfoot as his Dungeon Fairy.

Before he could accept, another flash whipped past his Field of Influence and Dina let out a shriek as she was swept away.

There was a loud wet crunch.

The pop-up dissolved.

Hello? Dina? Dina, are you there?

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Lord Pinkytoes purred.

Fairies, he thought, were delicious.

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Daisy looked up from the Beanie she was knitting as her Master approached.

He looked happy, which was a welcome change. She hoped it would continue. Maybe then he’d just forget all about what had happened to him in the Capital and move on.

Sometimes she wanted to shake some sense into him, but, though her Raising was unique, it wasn’t unique enough that she could harm him in any way.

He loomed over her, his hand reaching into his Inventory.

“There were Werewolfs in the Woods,” he said. Then leaned down to peer so deep into her eyes that she felt her Undead Heart skip a beat as she imagined him kissing her. “Emphasis on were.”

A mountain of furs and jarred Werewolf organs poured out of his Inventory in front of her.

Her eyes widened at the sight.

Clapping her hands together, she gave a quick squeal before snatching one of the furs and pressing it hard against her cheek. “Oh! I love Werewolfs!” She fluttered her eyelashes at him happily. “Oh, it’s so snuggly! Thank you, Master! I’ll make you a nice warm coat out of one of them. And maybe a blanket? Then I’ll sell the rest for you. I’m going back into town tomorrow, so I can do that.”

Worm’s eyes thinned to dangerous slits.

Necromancer and Undead Servant both held their breaths.

Then he whirled with a snarl and stalked back out into the night.