"Henry Venora III, one of our best Dukes, died two hundred sixteen years ago on this day." He replied. The Lich rolled his eyes and walked forward, awkwardly as all Liches did, placing his cold hands on Alistair's back. "No, try again," the man mused. The Venora shrugged his shoulders. "Emilia Anhalt of Lesterly founded the village of Lesterly today. It has since then served as a hub of farmer's markets and musical talents in North Venora. This was about sixty or seventy years ago. I think." He scratched his forehead, trying to recall whether it was in the sixties or seventies . . .
"No. It's my God sodding birthday, you wiseass. Well, my mortal birthday. My rebirthday, like when I became a Lich, was on the 19th of Cylus. You missed it. Too bad, Ellasin and I had a wild party to celebrate." That caught Alistair's attention, and he turned his head in genuine curiosity. "Holy - did you really? Get Ellasin to party?"
"Of course not," the Highborn replied. Shittin' Damien was always trying to play Alistair for a fool, and of course he succeeded most of the time because he couldn't exactly constantly be trying to prove his instructor wrong. Like when the man told him all of these crazy outlandish things a Necromancer could do - the man just had to believe it, because otherwise he might miss an important lesson. Of course, Liches couldn't really levitate horses with their pinky and they couldn't really infuse an undead body with a potato seed instead of a functioning well. But the damn nutter Damien would try to convince him of these things anyway, just to tease him at their next Coven get-together. Whenever the hell those were.
So, whatever. No Ellasin partying, no potato minions, and no levitating horses. More importantly he wished to know what sort of bullshit Damien had in store for his day of 'first birth'.
"I want a pony," he said. "A pony?" Alistair replied. "A soddin' pony? I don't really have that sort of money available to me, to just gift you a pony." The man scoffed. His master was such a doofus. Alistair was sure that this, too, was just another bullshit jest.
"You're a bloody Necromancer, Alistair. Just go kill one and reanimate it. I'll accept an undead pony." The man had to laugh. Undead pony. Now that was something little toddler girls could aspire to. But of course, that was impossible. Alistair didn't have the physical strength to just haul a dead pony back to his lair and reanimate it. And if he reanimated it, the pony would be under his command, not Damien's. Now he knew the man was jesting.
Before he could say anything though, Damien spoke.
"I'm shitting you. I don't really want a pony," he admitted. Alistair rolled his eyes. Of course. "But I do have an undead horse, and I think you could use one too. Undead horses are very stylish, you see. They're a fashion statement to all the other Necromancers. Even my transport is dead. Very fashionable." He said this with such an obnoxious look on his face that the student could only scoff. "Next thing you'll tell me to reanimate a cow so that I can have undead leather satchels," he said sarcastically. Damien merely nodded. "Brilliant idea, actually."