Excerpt from "Undercover Lich"

Howdy folks!

Hard at work with some Weekly Roll and Warhammer comics, should have the first done today or tomorrow!

I've often thought about doing some writing and after recently finding my very old copy of Mogworld by Yahtzee Croshaw, I was inspired to give it a go and not just THINK endlessly about it. It's been nice to have as a little warmup to get my creative juices flowing.

So without further ado, please enjoy the very WIP first chapter of my side-side project: Undercover Lich, a story of a depressed lich abandoning his tower and giving adventuring a try to see what all the fuzz is about.

Stay excellent out there!

Peace and carrots!

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Chapter I

The large stained glass exploded inwards as about eighty kilograms of pure sex appeal burst through it and landed on the dirty stone floor. The man was, objectively and literally speaking, an exceptionally handsome motherfucker. His golden hair blew majestically in the breeze from the suddenly well ventilated window, his tanned skin miraculously unblemished by the thousands of glass shards raining around him. With piercing blue eyes, the man took in his surroundings, struck a dramatic stance, unsheathed his rapier with a flourish and smiled the type of roguish smile that could fluster trees. This man was the quintessential swashbuckling hero adventurer. Ten out of ten performance so far. 

“Hark, vile lich! I am Robertho DuBeau, prepare to die!” Twelve of out ten, the man had a VOICE, deep and smooth like a mountain covered in molasses, with an unidentifiable south Elradian accent. Man, I really needed to get out more.

My firebolt spell hit DuBeau square in the chest and, along with some scorched viscera and a suitably dramatic amount of blood, exited out of his back through a fist-sized hole. The adventurer fell like a puppet with its puppeteer brutally murdered. The body folded at the waist on the way down and smacked its face into the stone floor, leaving ol’ Bobo laying face down with his bum in the air. It’s hard to have a dignified death pose when your spinal column suddenly loses track of a few vertebrae. 

I chuckled malevolently, but it felt forced. I wasn’t feeling it today. I could feel my annoyance turning into anger and getting angry now would just ruin the rest of my evening. So I clamped down on it.

At this point, the rest of the adventurers came swinging through the window by way of a pair of ropes. The first was a squat Dwarf, almost completely encased in plate armor, wielding a massive warhammer. He had, as many of the more vain adventurers and would-be protagonists do, foregone his helmet. A questionable decision at the best of times but doubly so now. The Dwarf landed right in the largest concentration of dearly departed DuBeaus spilled lifeblood, slipped, did a 180 degree spin backwards and unceremoniously brained himself on stones below. This improved my mood a bit, slapstick being the most pure form of comedy.

The second companion was a female Wood Elf. Most likely some form of ranger. Let that image sink into your minds eye. Elf ranger. Jupp, that’d be her. Tight pants, stonewood armor piece, large longbow and a copious amount of leaves. Wonder if she glued them on herself. The elf maiden whipped out her bow mid-air and sent a trio of arrows flying in the blink of an eye. Two arrows thudded into my chest while the third embedded itself into my right shoulder as she deftly landed with what was probably an unnecessary roll. I wouldn’t know, I tried to do parkour lessons when I was twelve and shattered my collarbone.

“Fucker.” I snarled, the motes of good mood turning to dust. I contemptuously sent a firebolt at her with a flick of my wrist but the Elf did a summersault over the projectile. I sent two more her way immediately, which she managed to dance around with exaggerated flourish. Mid-spin, she once again fired a couple of arrows at me, one nailing me in the throat and the other hitting me where my heart would be. Okay, to be fair, it’s still there but along with all my other organs, it’s currently on a bit of a sabbatical.

I grunted, the noise slightly distorted by the arrows in my lungs and esophagus. Now I was getting annoyed.

Dodge this, fucker, I thought as I brought an incantation into my mind, flung my hand out, summoned Vilgrevaltz’s Wall of Force. I should really have said it out loud, it would have been cool. But then again, no one was around to hear it so what was the point. I sent the invisible wall hurtling towards her. She tried to dodge again but alas, the wall hit her like a mountain, shattering her bones, bursting her skin apart and turning her insides into outsides. An old painting of my dear great-great grandfather Michail was completely covered in gore. Old twat would probably like that, vampire piece of shit that he had been. Is? I should check in on him at some point.

A sigh escaped my lips. Metaphorically, my actual lips had rotted away sometime in the past century. What a mess.

“Guys?” a thin reedy voice said. “Are you okay?”

I gingerly stepped around and over all the various offal spread out on the floor, desperately trying to not get my reading moccasins bloody, and made my way to the window. Three ropes dangled through the opening, evidently the party had climbed up the side of my tower, hooked their ropes at the parapet above to swing through the window. Impressive feat, considering we were about fifty meters above ground. I leaned out into the cool night air.

A wizard hung by her ankle from a fourth rope, trying to get her blue wizard robes out of her face so she could see. It was extra hard considering she was struggling to keep her pointy wizard hat on with one hand. Commendably, she had opted for pants underneath her robes, which did an admirable job preserving the remainder of her dignity. 

The wizard managed to get her robes out of her face and saw me. She gave a startled scream and proceeded to throw up every defensive spell she could, the air around her shimmering in layers of magical shields and wards. Decent work, if I was honest. No match for my own towering magical prowess of course but at this point, I REALLY wasn't feeling it. 

I sent a quick firebolt at rope the wizard dangled by, severing it about three meters above her tied foot.

With a startled “Whoop”, the wizard plummeted towards the ground below. 

I looked down, professional curiosity peeking out of my miasma of annoyance and simmering anger. Would she have a flying spell? A spell of Stop Momentum? Flying broom tucked away in an extradimensional pocket? Maybe a-

The heavy wet thud echoing from  below answered those questions with crushing finality. I could see the a blurry smudge at the base of the tower, right outside the front door. I put on my reading glasses and squinted down. Unsurprisingly, It really didn’t help. Strange how my ascent to lichdom hadn’t improved my eyesight. Especially considering I didn't have my original eyes anymore, them having burned away to leave a pair of glowing baleful orbs of magical energy peeking out of my sunken eye sockets instead.

I sighed.

What was the fucking point of becoming a lich, defeating death itself and have an eternity to do whatever the fuck you want, if you couldn't go a week without some wannabe hero fuckwit breaking into your wizard tower and fuck up a two century old stained glass window? Especially if the fuckers were cheated and bypassed twelve levels of undead minions, monsters and various EXPENSIVE traps.

I sighed again. Louder this time, in case the universe didn’t get the message the first time. I started removing the arrows stuck in my person. Barbed little bastards, messed up my leathery hide almost as much on the way out as in.

A knock at the large oaken doors. 

An ancient orc looked around the corner, his massive and already hunched form further closer to the ground by almost a century of age. His long white hair was tied back into a topknot, large muttonchops trimmed and small rheumy eyes regarding me from under a pair of dark bushy eyebrows. Not for the first time I wondered if he colored them and, if so, why he didn’t bother with the rest.

“Apologies fer the disturbance, Mastah. Ah ‘eard noises.” Vuld said dispassionately with a voice like shaking gravel in an empty beer cask. “Are ye in distress?”

“I’m fine, Vuld.” I gestured toward the dead adventurers littering my study and added sourly, “I appreciate the assistance.” 

“Many apologies, mastah .” Said Vuld, the butler bowing low, almost scrapping the floor with his tusks. “Ah came as soon as Ah cud”

That was fair, Vuld had the kind of running speed usually reserved for hard-shelled reptiles.

“Get this mess cleaned up”. I snapped. That felt wrong, wasn’t Vulds fault. I thought about apologizing but Vuld was already flourishing his wand, summoning cleaning supplies from somewhere in the corridor outside. I felt guilty, which annoyed me, which in turn made me not want to apologize. Would probably be weird if I apologized anyway.

I strode over to the large fireplace, aptly shaped as a screaming demon skull, and sat down in my reading chair. I picked up my discarded book, A. Newbie’s Guide to Understanding Eikonian Tragedies, and tried to remember where I left off.

I started to relax again, overall, this hadn’t gone that bad. Kept my temper, damage kept to a minimum.  I looked at the mess in the room, magically animated buckets, mops and brooms going to town. Most could be fixed with a bit of magic and minion elbow grease. I settled into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.

I looked over the top of the book and noticed that I’d stepped in some blood on my way to the chair, my reading moccasins trailing bloody footprints on the rich Veltarian carpet.

I promptly, and proverbially, lost my fucking shit.