Most of the common folk are perfectly content to simply cower before a necromancer and his undead horde. Well, "content" may not be the word they would use, but they still cower all the same, never appreciating the necromancer's effort. That's the problem with peasants, really. They see one shambling army of the unliving and think they've seen it all. No respect for the craft. They complain when you burn down their village with a horde of flaming skeletons because you destroyed their livelihood. What about the necromancer's livelihood? Do they have any idea how much it costs to assemble even the measliest of armies of death? Or do they figure that all necromancers are rich? It's not like skeletons are made out of money. The job prospects aren't that great, either. No opportunity for advancement either, particularly if you're still alive. Liches are all the craze these days. You can't even land a TA at a necromancer school unless you're at least four hundred.
The point is, it's not easy being a necromancer. It's all fun at games at first, sure, but once you get to about a hundred or so staggering piles of rot and magic, time spent on logistics eats away at time spent reanimating things and being evil. Most necromancers pass off a lot of these tasks on apprentices, but those are hard to come by for a young practitioner of the art. The only option remaining, then, is to seek the assistance of one of the more intelligent varieties of undead. They tend to be expensive to make, yet cheap to hire, as the inability to experience most of life's pleasures tends to reduce one's cost of unliving. To facilitate these arrangements, it is not uncommon for necromantic associations to hold little get-togethers, generally scheduled around nights of necromantic auspice.
It was for one of these very events that Theodore was now preparing for. His army of death was small, but growing quickly, a hopeful contender in the competitive world of necromantic superiority. He had struck out at the last few get-togethers, so he was particularly anxious. He dirtied his hair for the fourth time today, applying a carefully crafted mix of grave dust and burnt sacrifices to his shaggy black hair while trying his best to keep his robes a pristine, shining black. He had no idea how the older guys did it. The disheveled-yet-formal look was more difficult than he had imagined. At least he had the pallid complexion down this time. He tanned well, the result of a life spent training with the sword before donning the robe of the necromancer. That, coupled with his love of the great outdoors, had made him stick out uncomfortably as the most life-like person in the room the last time he went looking for an undead assistant. He hadn't seen the sun in months, but his hard work paid off: if he stood still, he could easily be mistaken for a marble statue, or possibly a drowned corpse.
Ted buttoned up his robe as he watched himself in the mirror. His robes were loose, intentionally hiding his muscular body, as necromancers were expected to be as lanky as possible. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he donned his hood and made for the door, nearly forgetting his staff -- a twisted collection of exotic bones bound with sinew and topped with a skull -- on his way out. He had yet to master the delicate art of astral projection, so he was forced to travel in-person. Fortunately, the meeting was not far away, an ancient cathedral, long abandoned before the Nordrhein Association of Necromancers had made it their headquarters. He mounted his steed, a young nightmare named Eadweard, and flew off into the sunset.
They arrived a few hours later, a scant quarter hour before the start of festivities. The ride had been easy and cool, so a few shakes and a little magic was all it took for Ted to neaten up his robes. He adjusted his hood, making sure that everything above the mouth would be hidden by shadow. The mysteriously shadowy hood was a relatively new invention, having been popularized by the again-late former lich Shadeskull the Fallen after his ascendance to the Council of Necromancers. The hood was uncomfortable, but such was the price of fashion. After making sure Eadweard disappeared safely into the night, he stepped through the rotten doors of the cathedral, hoping that the extra time would aid in his search.
The cathedral would have been grand, had it been maintained by anyone other than necromancers. The rows of pews had been torn out and replaced with large, open areas, often covered with arcane writings and glyphs. Indefatigable, the undead did not require vast amounts of seating. Piles of bones and the smell of rotting flesh permeated the interior, a thick coat of (artificial) dust covering every available surface, spare the organ in the back. Contrary to popular belief, bones, dust, and spiderwebs provide no benefit for organs. In fact, too much detritus could attract rats, which may well eat the bellows. Being evil isn't as easy as it seems.
Only a few of the unliving had yet arrived, and fewer necromancers. A few pairs were already forming, and even some trios. Not all undead minions were exclusive, some being held like a timeshare between two or more necromancers. Death knights, in particular, were rarely used outside of battle. As such, their services were often split between as many as a dozen necromancers, a surprisingly important factor leading to the relative rarity of undead invasions. It took a lot of preparation to amass and direct in army in only a month. It was a little-known fact that this scheduling was often responsible for the sudden retreat or dissipation of entire armies. Most of the living would claim that it was the power of some god or hero. Necromancers, for their part, did little to correct this assumption.
Death knights, however, were far from what Ted was looking for. Not only were they too busy, but they generally refused to deal with the day-to-day grind of owning an undead horde. For the time being, Ted was content to lead his army himself, a small holdover from his former life as a military man. Vampires were hard for mortals to control, their powers of seduction often turning them from servant to master. Mummies excelled at tedious work, yet had exceptionally poor communication skills. They also tended to be high-maintenance. It seemed a wight would be his best bet. Unfortunately, none had yet to arrive, so he settled into one of the few chairs scattered about the floor and waited.
To Ted's chagrin, it became quickly clear that he was not the only person who had considered this. The few wights that showed up were quickly surrounded by necromancers. In a crowd, Ted had little to distinguish himself, so he was relegated to watching the other necromancers ply their trade. Some offered treasure, while others sought to attract a servant with only their name and reputation. More often than not, the apparent winner had chosen instead to display his mastery of the arcane arts. Apparently, wights were attracted most to the skill of their potential master. At the very least, he had gained some valuable information from tonight. As the night drug on with little progress, he decided it was time for a drink, approaching the bartender and ordering the strongest drink he had that was still safe for mortal consumption. Unsurprisingly, it was terrible. However, alcohol is alcohol, and it was going to be a slow night.
Three drinks in, Ted was looking for a bathroom. Whatever that stuff was, it was not agreeing with him, alcohol or not. He was beginning to suspect it may have been some kind of poison when he finally made it to a wash basin. He knelt before it, trying his best to hold in his dinner. His mind briefly wandered back to the words of his former commanding officer, who had warned him that studying healing would have been more useful to a soldier than necromancy. Ted briefly feared that the man had been correct until he reminded himself that he was merely a little ill, and that his commanding officer was now Skeleton #28 and stowed away in an old barrel under his lair. On second thought, Ted was definitely right. He moaned to himself in discomfort, a mournful, chilling sound that surprised him as it came out. That is, until he realized he was not alone. He spun, nearly losing the contents of his stomach as he did so. Sure enough, a figure stood behind him, nearly invisible as it squirmed uncomfortably to and fro. A ghost.
Ted waved casually at the interloper before turning and emptying the night's spoils into the basin. He felt a soft tingling sensation across his back and turned his eyes to see the ghost, slightly more visible now, rubbing his back as he heaved. Though he did appreciate the gesture, her insubstantial hands did little to help him. The ghost flickered a light pink and retreated slightly when he told her, leaving him to finish his business. A few minutes later, he rinsed the taste from his mouth with a nearby jug of water and turned to leave, surprised to see the ghost still standing next to him. She was completely visible now, a shimmering mist of white that hovered a few inches off the ground. She was captivating, more beautiful in death than any woman he had ever seen in life. Her features were delicate but refined, the unliving image of a fantastical princess. Ankle-length white hair wrapped around her legs, hinting that her noble appearance may well reflect a noble bearing. She was petite but shapely, giving her a youthful appearance that did not match the weight of ages in her expression. Her clothing too betrayed her age, a long and lacy party dress from an age gone by that waved gently in its own breeze, as insubstantial as the one who wore it. Her face bore a look of concerned compounded with the profound loneliness of undeath, yet it only served to highlight her gentle beauty.
Ghosts were a rare find at an event like this, their ethereal nature often making manual tasks far more complex. She was, however, his best lead of the night. Moreover, she was gorgeous, and totally his type. Dead, that is. He straightened in an instant, presenting his hand as he introduced himself. They both stared at his outstretched hand until he withdrew it, wishing desperately that robes had pockets. Why the hell was magic so damn impractical? He broke out of his embarrassment as she introduced herself, her voice unsteady as she fought to suppress an amused smile.
She identified herself as Sophia, though she could remember precious little else from her mortal life. Her brief introduction was met with silence as the gears turned for Ted. He had never met a ghost before, and was at a bit of a loss. Mercifully, Sophia continued the conversation, making small talk. When she asked if Ted had yet found himself a minion, he quickly regretted letting her steer the conversation. He responded lamely that he had not yet found a suitable partner. Come to think of it, what was she even doing here? He hadn't seen her in the main room, not to mention she was the first ghost he had ever seen. Weren't they usually solitary? For a moment, she looked as though she might turn and flee. Instead, she answered stiffly that she was bored with haunting the family castle and had chosen to set out on her own, looking for a more interesting way to pass the ages. She went on, saying that most ghosts generally avoided such meetings, as necromancers generally rejected ghosts outright or worse, forced them into more useful, corporeal forms. She said that she hated the idea and decided to sneak in to see how things were going, and bumped into him almost immediately.
It was late and Ted was still feeling the effects of...whatever it was that he had most recently ingested. The way he saw it, he was in a no-lose scenario and decided to ask the ghost to name her price. Immediately upon doing so, he regretted opening a negotiation on such a weak foot, but her look of surprise and excitement told him he had little to fear from the ghost's negotiation skills.
