No sexual content
Written from a lich’s point of view, ~3400 words.
Little bit different from my usual style, but I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you like it!
I stared at the advertisement on the village corner shop’s notice board and chewed my lip.
“Excuse me,” someone grumbled behind me, and I grunted a vague apology and stepped aside so that the colossal minotaur could pass by in the narrow aisle between the shelves and the wall. They jostled me as they stepped by with their shopping basket full of vegetables, and I felt my shoulder clunk slightly out of place. It doesn’t take much these days, but I still winced and surreptitiously shunted it back where it should have been.
Glancing around, I caught sight of a small werewolf cub staring up at me, and I snorted slightly at the hungry glint in his eyes. I looked to the cub’s mother and grinned. “I’d appreciate it if you told your adorable little cub that these bones are not for chewing…”
“I’m so sorry,” she snickered, equal parts amused and horrified.
“It’s fine,” I smiled. “One of the, admittedly rather numerous, downsides of being a lich is that lots of little ones seem to mistake me for a chew toy.” I’d always rather that happen than the looks of horror that often grace the faces of small children at the sight of me. Although the time a gnoll stole my tibia and ran off with it was less fun, but the silver replacement was at least fun to cast.
As they left, I stared down at my withered, atrophied hands. Barely held together with the remnants of sinew and skin that would long ago have vanished were it not for my magic, they looked truly disgusting to me. I should have thought about that before confining my soul to a phylactery and burying it in a place only I knew, but somehow the idea of living forever seemed more important as a teenager than the aesthetic that came along with it… I should have dug that phylactery up and destroyed it long ago. I’d outlived my natural span of years several times over, and yet here I lingered on; a shambling, desiccated corpse. At least I smelled of incense and the crackle of magic, rather than decay. What the other undead must have to go through during their morning ablutions I didn’t like to imagine. Except vampires. They have it easy, I’m sure.
At just shy of a thousand years old, I had very little skin left, with my legs now mostly just bare, dry bone (except for the silver one), and the odd tatter of skin on my ribcage and over my chest, and up in a swathe over my neck and up one half of my face. I still looked like I should be in an Indiana Jones movie though. Hell, maybe if my next job didn’t work I could go to Hollywood and see if they need another extra for the Walking Dead or something.
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