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When you're a fresh lich, things seem a bit scary at first, but you soon get over it. You have potential, you have moxie, you're gonna haunt some underground caves, acquire loot from fallen adventurers, gain fame and stature and boss around everyone. Fresh Lich Dude, CEO (Cavebound Executive Overlord). That's gonna be you. And then reality starts to kick in over centuries. Your immortal beloved decided not to take part in the immortality ritual and found happiness with someone else, followed by a splendid natural death. You find that cave trolls are dumb as rocks, goblins are smart but annoying as hell to deal with for long durations, and dire wolves seem more interested in trying to yank off your arm bones than they are in being your loyal minions. And none of them listen to you, anyway, no matter how much gold and how many rubies you flaunt. And then, eventually, even they all die off. You're all alone, except for the occasional dalliances with succubi that go nowhere. You have no soul for them to steal, and it doesn't matter how good the sex might be, since you don't feel poo poo except anxiety that your bone might break in two. Oh sure, it's impossible, you're a goddamn immortal lich. But the universe is just...so big. So empty. So cold. So full of unspoken impossibilities that, in an infinite expanse of time and space, could become possible. You try to get philosophical. At least you have domain over this cave, and no one can take that from you. You are the cave, and it is you, and that's as true as A=A (you think). Except the adventurers don't come. Living humans are too busy doing everything but coming to try and destroy you. Oh sure, a few tried. They succumbed to exposure, to starvation, to sickness, to being torn apart by dire wolves long before they ever tried to cast a fireball at you. And finally, jaded bitterness sets in. The lich gig doesn't work out. No one cares that you get up at 6:00 AM and bath in the magma pools to keep trim, that you spend hours getting your appearance just right, and that you spend even more hours polishing your throne and spell staff so they gleam luminously. And so, you give up. You put away the robe and the staff, quit swimming in the magma pools, and just stop being lichy. And now, today, you're still around. Immortality, remember? It's all you can really do these days to sit on your throne in your underwear, channel surfing through basic cable for syndicated TV show reruns, watching the occasional lich cat video on your smartbone. The odd explorer comes by; you just look at them, gesture over your bony shoulder at the broom closet where you keep the few treasures you have left, and just ignore them. Who sheds a tear for the failed lich that has given up? ---------------- |
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Jul 12, 2017 05:46
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| # ¿ Apr 24, 2024 03:13 |
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