Chance of a Ghost

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.

"Really, you'll take me?"

"Well, we haven't discussed a price yet, but-"

"Free! All I want is a place to live and something to do. I've been alone for so long."

With a grin and a pronouncement, a deal was made on the spot. Ted was excited to finally have an assistant, but Sophia was in her own world. Her jaded appearance washed away, replaced by barely contained excitement. She talked so much, one would have feared she would have passed out, had she the need to breathe. He rode back to his lair silently as she floated with him, practically pouring out the story of her unlife as he struggled to keep up. True to her word, her unlife had been exceptionally boring, though Ted believed the ghost had at least earned an attentive listener. After all, she was working for free. Sophia clearly had no talent for haunting, as she ended up helping lost children or cleaning up dirty rooms more often than not. Apparently she had mastered telekinesis, so she would at least be able to contribute in that regard. In spite of her egregiously uninteresting stories, her excitement was contagious and Ted found himself responding and sharing stories of his own before he knew it. She must have been an incredible person in life if she could make a story about helping serve tea to a blind woman interesting. If nothing else, his dark and lonely days of rusting scimitars for skeletons and sizing replacement bones were over.

By the time they arrived at his home, Ted was starving, cold, and had a growing headache. Mercifully, the stories stopped as Sophia took the time to scout out his home. He knew she was a ghost, but it was still a little unsettling to watch her blithely disregard doors and walls as she ran around, prodding everything she saw with invisible force. He tried not to bring work home, but she managed to collect almost every trinket of his craft he left lying around the cottage and interrogate him about their various utilities. She did actually find some items he had been looking for, though, so he bit his tongue and tried to stay pleasant. While she was busy ransacking his house, he took the opportunity to make himself a meal, having lost his last some time ago. He offered her a plate as well, out of courtesy, and she declined politely, being a ghost.

As a consequence of living in the middle of nowhere, necromancers rarely dined well, usually simple stews made from whatever they could grow and what meat wandered accidentally into a trap or a pit of skeletons. Ted was no different in this regard, finding himself munching on hard bread and stew as he sat in silence at his small table. It was then that he realized Sophia was not talking. He looked up, curious as to her whereabouts and the cause of her silence, when he saw her "sitting" in a chair across from him, watching him eat. A spoon rose to his face as he watched her watching him, pondering where this was going. He swallowed and she sighed, slumping into her chair. She answered him before he could ask, claiming that she wished she could still eat. He tried to console her, assuring her that the food was somehow simultaneously bland and foul-tasting, yet it did little to lift her mood. Silence returned as he poured his leftovers back into the pot, his appetite waning rapidly. He wanted to cheer her up, but was at a loss for how to do so. It was then that he remembered a failed project he had worked on years ago, something that may help. He excused himself and made the short walk to his lair, making certain he was not being followed. It was going to be a surprise.

One of the few sources of legitimate income for necromancers was in offering goods and services in defense against other necromancers. Nobility and particularly well-to-do merchants often warded their sleeping areas against the undead and their burial places against necromancy in general. Laws had always been rather unclear as to whether killing the zombie of a king was regicide, so it was in everyone's best interest that bodies be well-protected. Ted had worked on such devices for some time, partially succeeding in making a material that no undead, no matter how powerful could rip or float through. Unfortunately, the cloth was ludicrously toxic to humans and tended to dissolve bones, so it was generally of little use. Wearing thick leather gloves, he retrieved the cloth, a square of roughly blanket size from a sealed chest and returned with a smug grin and a plan.

When Ted re-entered his home, he saw Sophia still in her chair, back to the door as she watched the low flames of the still-burning cooking fire. Unfolding the blanket, he approached her quietly before throwing it over her head and wrapping it around her body. She fell through her chair, screeching as she caught herself halfway through the floor, blanket now caught on the back of her seat. She shot him a look of annoyance before poking idly at the cloth, clearly surprised that it responded to her touch.

"It's for you. It's a little something I made years ago. It's not safe for the living, but you should be fine. If you want, I can make some gloves or something out of it. Maybe throw it over you head and cut little eye holes so you can dress up like a ghost."

A stupid smile grew slowly over his face as he said it, clearly impressed by his own sense of humor. Sophia stared blankly back at him before bursting into laughter, more at his attempt to cheer her up than the joke. She stood into the blanket, tenting it with her arms while attempting to make spooky ghost sounds. Her lack of skill at normal ghost activity clearly was not limited to haunting, as she sounded more like an out-of-tune accordion falling down the stairs inside a tuba than anything that could be remotely considered scary. Still, she was enjoying herself as she started to wander around, knocking over her chair and the table while alternately wailing and snorting with suppressed laughter. When she grew tired of her ghost impression, she freed her head and tied the blanket around herself like a shawl. She gave flashed an earnest smile and thanked him as she returned to her seat, now actually sitting upon the cloth. She shifted uncomfortably, obviously unused to tactile feedback. Despite her discomfort, she did seem to be enjoying herself.

Time passed as the two sat by the fire in silence. Unlike before, it was a comfortable silence, one shared between new friends. Eventually, Sophia yawned and stood, claiming that the day had been eventful and she needed to rest. Ted was unsure how to respond, trying instead to determine if she was pulling his leg. When she saw his confusion she assured him that while ghosts do not need to sleep, they do benefit from resting and recuperating the energy they used to manifest and control their supernatural form and power. Finished with her explanation, she picked out a spot on the floor and spread out the blanket before turning to wish her new employer good night.

She paused when she saw his expression, looking as though she had suddenly sprouted another head. She looked down to see what was amiss when she realized she was naked. With the realization, she grabbed at the blanket, forgetting that she was still standing atop it and somehow managing to upend herself in the process. She scrambled to regain her modesty, clutching the blanket over her modest bust.

"I simply forgot to project my clothing. It's not a part of me or anything, and I just forgot. And stop staring at me like that."

That was much easier said than done. The more she tried to cover herself, the more alluring her luminescent skin was. Her whole body glowed red as his eyes worked her over, her ghostly body apparently still able to express embarrassment. Speaking of embarrassment, it was then that Ted noticed the growing bulge in his pants. His realization seemed to draw her attention to the spot, his tenting clearly not unnoticed. For a time, they simply stared at each other as though slowly drawing imaginary lots to determine who would be forced to speak first. Despite his best efforts, the stiffness in his pants only grew. If he tried to cover himself now, he would be admitting defeat, something he would not do on his first day of having an assistant. If covering himself was admitting defeat, then the surest route to victory was to do the opposite. Without thinking, he sprung into action, dropping his trousers to the ground. His member sprang free from the stifling confines of his pants to stand proudly at attention, pointing directly at the surprised ghost.