Dear Diary: School Is No Place For A Necromancer

Year 331, Twelfth Age
Highsun, Day 21

Dear diary,

My father's mad at me again. It's school, of course. My report scroll came home.

Okay, so I'm behind in Advanced Treasure Counting and I'm failing Cooking. Oh, and Coach is threatening to hold me back if I don't at least start hitting the targets when we practice throwing. I mean, yeah. I guess I can see why he'd be mad. But it's not like asked to go to school.

"You're the smartest kind in your class! You could do this easily if you'd just apply yourself!" Well, yeah, but that's sort of my point. Cooking and Treasure Counting? My intellect and my time could be spent on far more important things. There are ancient books out there, just full of forbidden knowledge and waiting for me unlock their secrets. Instead, I'm staring at a pan full of scrambled eggs and wondering if I could reanimate them into some sort of oregano-flavored undead slime-monster.

But when I try to explain about how nothing we're learning in school is truly important, Dad just gets this look on his face like... like he really wants to start screaming at me but doesn't think it'll do any good. He won't listen.

I give up.

I guess I could start hitting things for Coach. I mean, I hate him. All he does is shout a lot and lecture us on how important sports are and how they Prepare You For Life. (Can you imagine, diary? I'm trying to explore the fathomless secrets of Death itself, he thinks sports will prepare me for life?) But I could do it. And the treasure stuff is pretty easy, when I pay attention. Some of the stuff with the interest and the economics is even kind of interesting.

But there's no way I'm ever going to be a decent cook. Maybe I could create some kind of undead servitor to do my cooking projects for me? There's an idea.

Later, dear diary. I have to go do research.