The classroom wasn't a classroom in the traditional sense. It was more like a whimsical mash-up of a botanical garden, a wizard's junkyard, and a medieval torture chamber.
Vines crawled along the cracked stone walls, occasionally twitching like they had places to be.
Overhead, a chandelier made entirely of glowing mushrooms illuminated the room, casting an eerie, flickering green light.
The air smelled faintly of ozone and burnt toast—an ominous sign.
I stood in a circle with what could only be described as a rogues' gallery of magical rejects.
To my left was a goblin chewing bubblegum and scowling like the universe owed him money.
To my right, a troll whose idea of subtlety was the five-foot warhammer slung across his back. And directly across from me stood a ghost who kept phasing in and out of the material plane.
