Magic Murder Cube Marine

“Guys, we may have a little bit of a problem. One problem, to be specific. Ah, ha, ha.” Said Vinny the vampire. “I was just sitting there thinking about how the howling of the wolves was like sweet music. You know how I like them creatures of the night. Anyways, Steel Fang was doing his thing, then he exploded!”

Vinny’s fellow vampires shuddered. Steel Fang was a powerful ally. He would be missed, along with his wonderful singing voice.

“Did you see the one responsible? Ah, ha, ha?” Asked Tony Two Fangs.

“Yeah, it was a big fuckin’ wizard on a white horse. He was headed down the old road towards Brexis.” Vinny cracked his knuckles. “We might have to take care of him if he decides to do a detour and come visit us.”

The old wizard tower they called home had been reclaimed by the Dark Forest centuries ago. Almost nobody lived there willingly because of the curse. According to local legends, anyone who lived in the tower for more than one year met a horrible death. (Ah, ha, ha!)

Vinny thought the curse was bullshit. They had been there for a whole year, and nothing bad had happened so far. “I say we take the fight to him. There's one, two, three, four of us. That's four high level vampires. I think we can take him. Ah, ha, ha.”

As if to prove him wrong, someone started banging on the front door. When nobody answered, a man's voice called out to them. “Are you coke zero drinking sissies, the ‘Dark Forest Vampire Mafia’ or somebody else?”

“Who wants to know?” Vinny asked.

There was a sound of splintering wood from down below as the door was bashed off its hinges. “My name’s Francis. Now, are you boys gonna come down and fight, or am I gonna have to come up and get you?”

“I'd be a lot more respectful if I was you! There's only one of you. Ah, ha, ha.” Vinny rolled up the sleeves of his combination opera jacket and jogging suit. “But there's one, two, three-”

He never got to four, because that was when Francis came up the stairs. Then some math happened.

Chuck watched the old wizard tower with interest. Light poured out of every window and crack, then it went dark again.

A moment later he got a notification about a quest being completed and some sweet XP. As a mount, he was technically part of Francis’ party. And since for whatever reason Francis wasn't getting XP for killing things, it all went to him.

“One, two, three, four. Four dead vampires! Ah, ha, ha!” Chuck laughed. He could get used to this.

***

“I’ll bet you are wondering why I am keeping you alive.” The dread lich Zed the Undead told the young faun chained in front of his throne.

“No, not really.” Replied Willow. Zed the Undead had killed the rest of her party and she wasn’t feeling like humoring the megalomaniacal lich. “But I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

“Well, you guessed wrong!” Cackled the glowing green skeleton held together by necromantic energy and enthusiasm.

“Oh, thank Hades.” Willow relaxed a bit. She hated monologues, and for whatever reason the villains always liked to abduct or capture her. So she had heard a lot of them. It would be nice to-

“So you see, I need your blood!” Zed the Undead couldn’t help himself, he had to show her how amazingly clever and powerful he was.

Willow had mixed feelings about what was happening. Nine times out of ten when a villain started on a long speech, it began with their plans, and usually ended with their death. Willow very much enjoyed living. But as a Death Cleric she wasn’t as concerned about dying.

It was just a fade to black, a spin on the wheel of reincarnation, and off she went. Being young was the worst part. Nobody listened to her when she was under forty-five. But it was so fucking boring hearing the villains go on and on about their plans. It was like dating an artist.

“So, where is your soul jar?” Willow asked, breaking his flow. Every lich had a soul jar to store their essence in case something bad happened. Usually they kept it close. Which was really stupid. Why reappear at the same place your last body was destroyed? It was a much better idea to appear somewhere else. “I’ll bet it’s super easy to find.”

“And you would be wrong again! Because I have chosen security through obscurity.” Zed the Undead cackled. His flaming yellow eyes instantly betrayed him as he looked at an ornate jar on a drinks cart next to his throne. Liches didn’t need to drink, or eat, or breathe. The only reason he had a drinks cart was to hide his soulkeeper. Zed’s security through obscurity was about as subtle as a magical billboard.

“Neat. So if I was to ask for a last drink. Maybe one from that gem covered bottle with the wide mouth, the one that looks a lot more like a jar, you would be cool with that. Right?” The faun, who was absolutely sick of Zed’s shit, asked.

“Haha, yes. You could drink from that, if you liked pickle juice.” Zed said, apparently unaware of how popular pickle brine had become.

“Oh, I love pickle juice. In fact, I could go for some fae whiskey with a pickle juice chaser. Why don’t you be a dear and pour me a shot?” Willow gestured towards the cart.

“I would, but I’m busy. Like, so busy. I have this really great plan.” Zed looked at her pleadingly. He needed to tell her about his plan. He’d been working on it for centuries.

There was a sound of glass clinking against glass and both the lich and the faun turned to see Francis rummaging through the drinks cart. “Got any amaretto?” He asked.

“WHAT?” Zed the Dead stood up. He tried to summon his undead hordes, but for some reason they were not responding. He wondered if his telepathy was on the fritz again or maybe another wight had wandered in and taken them. (It wasn’t the first time he lost control of his minions due to a wight out.)

“Amaretto.” Francis repeated. “It’s usually in a square bottle and tastes like almonds. You mix it with sweet and sour mix then add a little sprite. It’s really good.”

Francis didn’t think he would find any amaretto so he continued rummaging around the cart. He picked up the barely disguised soul jar. Scrawled across the top was the arcane rune for “pickles”. (There were arcane runes for everything. Many great mages had accidentally cast “Summon Greater Lemon” because they were in a hurry.)

He gave the lid a twist and there was a horrible sound as Zed the Undead’s neck snapped. Francis looked inside the jar. “Those are some fancy looking pickles. You must shop at Whole Foods.” He grabbed a cocktail skewer off the cart and tried to stab one of the glowing green orbs.

Zed twisted his head back to the correct orientation. “Alright, that’s it. No more Mr. Nice Lich.” He waved his hands and a line of green energy shot towards Francis. It bounced off harmlessly. Eleven Deflect was no joke.

The wooden skewer broke but Francis was undeterred from his quest for briny deliciousness. He tipped back the jar and took a sip. “Woah! That’s some damn fine pickle juice!” It was refreshing and invigorating (probably because of the electrolytes). Francis chugged the contents of the jar without a second thought.

Zed looked on in horror as the human consumed his soul and washed it down with a half-jar of elven moonshine. Then, as per usual, System needed to do some math.