By Kate Ghanston

Corwyn the Burgundy, a renowned necromancer, stepped into the hall. The assemblage of men and dwarves stopped their conversations and looked up at him.

“Gentle folk,” Corwyn addressed the crowd, “you are all here because you have been selected for the privilege of constructing my home.”

A murmur of assent washed across the room.

Corwyn continued, “To continue on this assignment, and the accompanying pay differential, you must also gain my approval. To gain that approval you must sign a confidentiality agreement.”

Before any could interrupt, he pressed on, “I do not wish to impugn anyone’s honor or imply that anyone is untrustworthy but I cannot treat some individuals differently from the rest so you will all be treated the same.”

That was met with stunned silence.

“Let me state that all I want is for the secrets built into my dwelling to remain secret,” Corwyn assured the crowd. ”That said allow me to summarize the contract: You will not disclose any of the proprietary knowledge gained while working on my home or your immortal soul will be forfeit to me.”

A low rumbling of disgust started from the back of the chamber.

“Let me reiterate, I want my secrets, not your souls. Now, any who do not wish to sign the contract will be reassigned to other projects.”

Corwyn let the din die down, “The foremen will organize a queue for you all to be admitted to see me.”

He swept out of the room into a waiting antechamber where the Ghost of Pamela Hardt, once a revered paladin, waited.

“You really going to take their souls?” she asked.

Corwyn shook his head and touched a gloved hand to her cheek, demonstrating his ability to touch her ghostly form. “I just want them to think I can and thus be too fearful of that to betray my secrets,” he said simply.

“Remind me never to play poker with you,” she staked shaking her head in disbelief.