The solution to the age old problem of sticking your hand in the cooking jar and getting caught is simpler than most people realize. Yes, cookies are tasty. That is an undeniable fact. Yes, taking as many cookies as possible leads to maximum possible cookie gains. However, taking an excess amount of cookies runs the risk of the ethereal void creature noticing that someone has been stealing its void cookies. A good thief knows the best way to not get vaporized is to gradually take the void cookies over a long period of time.

Mopping the floor was not what I expected when I signed up to be Alric’s apprentice. Apparently, undead flesh horrors left a stench and rotting flesh that counteracted any attempt to actually have clean floors. Was this the real reason I wasn’t murdered on the spot? I wondered. Did my life hinge on clean floors of a decrepit Catacomb?

My existential crisis was cut short as George came stomping in, making sure to spread as much of his rotting flesh on the ground as possible. I scowled at the undead rotting abomination.

“Stop that George! Don’t you have better things to fail miserably at?”

“I’ll stomp when I want to, wherever I want to, at any time I want to. Before you showed up, I could stomp around with no consequences. I was Master’s chosen, you know. When he finds out your true worth, you’ll plummet back into being a worthless low life. Being his apprentice means absolutely nothing.”

“Look, I wasn’t the one who sealed your mouth shut. I’ve done nothing to you, if anything you’ve pulled me out of my life, and thrust me into this.” I mimed towards my disgusting ragged clothes and unreliable broom.

“And you should be on your knees thanking me. Your life before this was just as insignificant as a Mulberry Beetle.”

“The tiny blue ones with the pincers?”

“No. No. The green ones that get eaten by frogs.”

“Ah, ok.”

Besides George’s large lexicon of bug knowledge, he had no redeemable qualities in my opinion. He was mean spirited, incompetent bundle of rotting flesh as far as I was concerned. It had been three days of cleaning the interior. If not for George, it would’ve taken two days. There was not a world where I’d work with that sniveling coward.

As I looked around, I felt a sense of pride. The dusty interior was now clean enough where in any rundown home it would be just barely livable. The crooked stone walls shined a dull gray, the black ichor now completely removed. No longer did my shoes soak up a slimy mysterious liquid that coated the floor. The handles of the large torches lighting up the dark lair were still covered in grime and grease, but as far as I was concerned that didn’t count towards the catacomb being dirty.

I knocked on the wooden door that hid Alric’s, um, ‘office’, although not too hard as to unhinge the door from its loose hinges. Bang! Ding! “Blang!” I let out an audible sigh as I heard the frantic shuffling of furniture. Minutes passed but eventually Alric swung the door wide open.

“My apprentice, please come in.”

Although Alric was a wiry looking man, he was very much alive. His hair was completely black, his eyes were an unnatural violet hue. I didn’t know why they were that color, but I knew it wasn’t natural. On his left cheek, a scar ran down all the way to his chin. His cheekbones were well defined and bony.

It wasn’t Alric, however, that caught my attention. Piles of scattered notes haphazardly covered his table; metal contraptions whirred and hummed. Some machines sounded pleased, others cried out in pain. Beakers aggressively boiled viscous liquids of various colors. On the floor, drawn in blood, was a summoning circle.

I had yet to read Lothar’s guide on how to avoid painful and certain death, so I was none the wiser to why Alric’s summoning circle was a dangerous hazard. What I did know was that the way blood moved on its own was mesmerizing and distracting.

“Arthur! Stop staring at the summoning circle and sit down before I chop your fingers off,” yelled an angry, possibly deranged Alric.

I jolted.

“Sorry!”

I sat myself in a plain wooden chair. Alric sat himself in his plain wooden chair with a small cushion.

“I finished cleaning up the Catacombs,” I stated.

“Even the torches? What sort of dark magic did you use to clean those?”

“Those don’t count.”

“Fair enough.” Alric paused. “I guess you’re wondering what’s next. Sorcery? Alchemy? Summoning? In due time, you’ll learn all of those important skills. But neglecting the basics will only harm your development. It is after all, the fastest upstart necromancers who fall the quickest.”

“So you’re telling me to do more sweeping?” I asked dubiously.

“No, well yes, but not until the Catacomb builds up some dirt. Sweeping is a life skill, not a Necromancer skill. Fetching, however, is a key skill any good Necromancer needs.”

“And what will I be fetching?”

“That is not a concern of yours. This is fetching not knowing.”

“Then how will I know what to fetch?”

“George will go with you and show you. Once you go with him you’ll understand. I trust you'll make it back in one piece. Anything less would be unfitting of my apprentice.”

I scowled. George showing me anything was the last thing I wanted. He was mean. He was cruel. He dirtied the floors that I cleaned.

“Does George have to come?”

“He certainly does. You’re not prepared to handle a fetch on your own, especially not such a dangerous and high stakes fetch. You’ll have to work together if you’re to make it out alive and George to make it out undead. Before you go though, I have something to teach you.”

“Magic?”

“Something far more practical.”

Alric reached into his drab gray cloak and pulled out a dagger. He handed it to me. It was a nasty little thing, sharper than any blade I’d ever seen. It was not a flashy dagger, its straight point was good for stabbing. It’s dull gray iron did not reflect much light.

“What exactly do you want to teach me?”

“To take a man’s life. Dead mancers are the mancers who are too good to get a little dirty, too good to do what’s necessary. Now stand up, and outstretch your arm. The one with the dagger in it.”

I stood up and stuck my arm out, stretching it as far as I could. Alric gently gripped my wrist and my bicep. He pulled and pushed my arm as if I was a puppet, letting me feel the movement. It was a thrusting motion.

I yelped as Alric kicked my shins.

“Put your feet into it! You need to push with your entire body.”

I bent my knees and stabbed.

I groaned as Alric kicked the already slightly bruised shin.

“Don’t bend your knees like a hermit! Bend them like a warrior!”

This time I pivoted my ankle pushing forward with my front knee. I pushed my shoulder forward and extended the dagger as far as I possibly could. Then I tripped, smacking the ground. Clang! The dagger bounced across the cold stone floor as it slipped out of my hands.

Alric had a look of approval on his face, as if my clumsiness was something to be proud of.

“You’ll need to practice before you master a good stab, but you’re on the right track. Your form was good. Just remember to stay on your feet.”

“I’ll keep that in consideration,” I replied.

“Good. Once you master the stab, we can move on to more advanced techniques like the backstab or the desperate dagger throw. ” Alric said.

“Are you sure you’re not training me to be a back alley thug?”

“You certainly look the part. Have you gotten a chance to look at your reflection, Arthur?”

“No. Why?”

“The holy magic ravaged your body. You’ll need an excuse when you head back into town. Also you should come up with an alibi of sorts, something to hide your profession.”

I lunged out of Alric’s ‘office’, murdering the air. My thoughts turned to that evil priest and my scarred body. What exactly did I look like? How hideous was I that a necromancer even pointed it out?

My train of thought was stopped when I accidentally bumped into George. George looked unimpressed at the dagger I had accidentally stuck through his shoulder. I silently cursed. If I was paying attention, I could've stabbed him on purpose. A missed opportunity I supposed.

“I see your stabbing form fits that of a loser.”

“Like you could stab any better, George. Besides, I need to get good at stabbing for our fetch.”

“I’m aware. I’m not excited to work with you.”

“Likewise. So when do we leave? It’ll be nice to head back into town, even if only for a little bit.”

“At dawn.”

George pulled the dagger out of his shoulder and casually handed it to me, before hobbling down one of the meandering catacomb hallways. I hobbled down a different hallway before laying down and succumbing to sleep.