The Academy for Necromantic Arts at Sanghaim was, admittedly, rather nice. It had been a bit worse for wear when he had studied there, but now it practically thrummed with magic. The few students he had encountered on his trek through the halls all seemed promising. Some had retinues of skeletons or well stitched flesh golems following behind them, some had larger undead acting as mounts, one student had even had a Mohrg trailing behind him, its long jawed tongue hanging out as it trundled along. He paid his respects to the more promising ones he found, and they returned them with deep bows and curious questions on how he had acquired such odd appendages and, upon their realization that he was exactly who they thought he was, several pleads and offered bribes for his secret to his Dolls.

He accepted the praise graciously, and refused the bribes, as that secret would follow him to immortality.

He continued wandering the halls, reminiscing of his younger days with a fondness that was matched only by that which he had for fine alcohols.

Eventually he was met by a tall man, his head uncovered unlike the others he had met and his long braided copper-colored hair just beginning to become peppered with gray. He was dressed in what appeared to be the garb of a professor altered to suit his needs, the normally long flowing sleeves cut off at the shoulders and the billowing coat cut at the knees, many straps and chains hanging from it suspending different bubbling vials and pieces of most likely magical jewelry. His face was young looking, crows feet just beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes.

For several moments they looked at each other, eyes squinted and minds churning as each tried to remember the other.

Eventually, the professor-like man spoke, his tone lackadaisical and filled with nostalgia.

"Xesfort Soric, double major in Flesh Theory and Undead Commerce with a minor in Corpse Calling. It's been a good 15 years since you graced these halls, what are you here for now?" He spoke, tone shifting to almost suspicion as his eyes narrowed further.

"How good to see you as well, Deputy Headmaster March," Soric began, his irritation obvious as he was interrupted by the now known March.

"Its just professor now, Soric. They replaced me with some fop of a Demilich that probably got to where he is now with assistance from a demon." March's voice was edging into anger now, the previously unnoticeable tension in the hall increasing to the point passing students began to choke on their breath.

Suddenly, the pressure lessened, the once choking students now gulping heavy breaths as they lay on the floor. March smiled at him, before walking ahead and beckoning him to follow.

"Now, I'm not sure how your memory has faired in these years Soric, but do you remember the apprenticeship trials we held in your graduating year?" March asked, a thin eyebrow rose curiously.

"Ah, yes. I believe I placed rather highly in that little tournament. Had points deducted for using my sword I do believe." Soric said, his near skeletal jaw clacking as he spoke and an air of reminiscence about him.

"Yes, well, this year I would like for the prize to be a bit different. Instead of apprenticing with one of the professors here in the city, I would like for you to take one of them with you. I've heard of your shop. In fact I've gone out of my way to procure more than a few of your nicer products over the years for both myself and my nephew when he was younger." March spoke, his cat-like eyes gaining a sort of glimmer as he spoke of his nephew.

"Ah, I see. You will of course allow me to test them as I please and take a look at their personal workshops? And of course, I'll need to be reimbursed. I do not take apprentices, and will require payment of some kind." He said as he ran his skeletal hand over the handle and sheath of his blade, the red runes inscribed upon it glowing lightly as his fingers brushed them. It wouldn't do to anger one of the more powerful vampires in the city, so his anxiety was not out of place.

A sour look crossed the vampire's face, a low grumble leaving his mouth before he sighed and spoke.

"I assume you are aware of my nephew? I mentioned him earlier, and he is one of the more…. handy people in the city. He's pulled in numerous bounties and donated them to the school out of sheer goodwill. I am willing to give you him as an escort for so long as you have one of my students as an apprentice." March began to mutter before speaking up and repeating himself, his displeasure evident.

"Hmm. I will take the boy as sufficient payment for my taking the apprentice. Now, let us go and inspe-" Soric began to speak before the sight of Callum, emerald passage scarf wrapped around the high iron collar he wore, walking beside a young cloaked man with long flowing black hair and ritualistic tattoos inscribed across his face and arms, a crude breastplate of leather across his chest and a painful looking mace held in his hand. They walked together, speaking amicably with each other as they came toward the elder pair.

"Bel-er Vortimer, who's your friend here?" March asked, his thin eyebrow once more raised in question.

"Oh, Uncle Vanch! This is Callum. He was in the library and got lost looking for the section on souls and reincarnation. I was heading there so I decided to show him the way and we hit it off." The younger man said, his face turning upwards into a grin that showed a few too many teeth for a human being.

Callum nodded along with the younger man, his armor giving the occasional clank and bang as he did so.

"I've been doing a little research and what I've found so far is promising." The cleric said, his voice both echoed and muffled by the collar and scarf that covered the lower half of his face.

"So," Soric began, "I believe we were heading to the practice hall to examine some of my prospective apprentices?"

"Yes, we were. Allow me to collect my retinue from my office and we'll be on our way. Would you two like to accompany us?" March said as he stepped into one of the larger doors in the hallway. A few moments of indistinct shouting and a crash or two later March came out from the door cracking his knuckles, and behind him came a large stitched creature, a battleaxe at its hip and a suit of crude armor that could have been mistaken for the same weathered skin covering its torso, and behind that creature came a gaggle of pale-haired and gray-skinned vampires, each dressed in their own versions of the student uniform.

"Now then, shall we be off?" March said, his voice pleasant despite the bruises that littered his knuckles.

The ragtag band continued down the hallway, down a few flights of stairs, and eventually arrived in a massive quartz lined room. In the center a man garbed in the robes of a professor grappled with the Mohrg Soric had seen earlier. The creature seemed to have gone out of control and begun to rampage.

Sighing, Soric cracked the knuckles on his skeletal hand before stepping into the fray and slamming the palm of the bony limb into the Mohrg's face, crushing the jawed tongue back down its gullet as his hand crackled with unholy energy. The energy coursed through the body of the undead before the wormlike main body exploded in a shower of gore and half-digested flesh.

"Lesson number one of controlling powerful undead: If you create them they will follow your orders absolutely. If you attempt to command them they will rebel against you and you. Will. Die." Soric said angrily as he turned on the student cowering several feet away, his half-rotted jaw looking even more menacing then usual as he glared down at the sniveling brat.

The professor, a Half-Orc with his tusks engraved with silver and gold and numerous tattoos and scars upon his uncovered chest looked at the quasi-lich oddly before laughing uproariously.

"Xesfort Soric! I remember you well!" He choked out between laughs, his voice gravelly and like sandpaper on their ears.

"Hmm? Oh! Krizz Korolik! I haven't seen you since we fought in the apprenticeship tournament, how have you been?" Soric said, his tone one of surprise and general happiness to see an old friend.

"Ah, I replaced the old combat instructor here. These little snots need to learn how to fight man to man eventually right?" The half-breed said as he wiped a tear from his eye, gray skin ruddy with sweat and encrusted grime from a day of fighting. Calling an end to the class and reprimanding the students that had done poorly, the group dismissed themselves to the nearby dining hall where they discussed with each other at length which students would be ready for apprenticeship and which would not be by the time they were prepared to leave. They spoke long into the night before they all retired to their quarters for the night; agreements made and deals set. Vortimer would join the group when they set out to leave, and those interested would find tutelage at the school in a number of subjects.