QuillScribbler
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I have a character for my story who is an evil lich type, but is choosing to help a group of adventurers doing... good guy stuff for the most part. After writing two arcs, I've realized that the lich is too whimsical. I want him to be cold and a bit dark while also not killing the humor I'm going for. Here is a example.
Note for context: the lich wants to be a hero, more or less, and the group knew they are about to walk into an ambush.
Note for context: the lich wants to be a hero, more or less, and the group knew they are about to walk into an ambush.
I don't mind if the lich is a little whimsical here and there, but how can I go about showing that he is, in fact, an evil lich?As we ventured just five steps toward the border trees, the group came out of hiding for around the trees. Their clothes, grimy and caked with filth, hung off their frames. Six of them gripped rusted blades tightly, while two figures at the rear clutched bows, arrows notched and ready.
“Well, well, what have we here?” A rugged man, presumably their leader, swaggered forward. “No need to fret, little ones. We're the local tax collectors, and this, my friends, is a road tax. So, you best hand over all your coin... and whatever else you're carryin'. Be swift, and we’ll let you keep your knickers.”
“We're not on a road,” Elara remarked, her tone dripping with boredom.
“W-well, wherever the tax men go, the road tax follows,”
This was troublesome. If they were authentic tax collectors, my entire plan could crumble. Sure, I could still proceed, but beating up tax collectors lacked the same thrill as facing down bandits. I leaned toward Elara, whispering, “Do you think they're telling the truth?”
With an eye roll, she responded audibly, “No, Rex, they are not tax collectors.” Clearing her throat, she adopted a tone of mock desperation. “Oh, if only there were a hero here to save us. Wherever could we find one?”
That was my cue. Swiftly, I removed my mask, letting it tumble to the ground where a portal was waiting to catch it. “Fear not, for I am a hero!”
“By the gods, what is that thing!” the leader cried. Before he could react, I dashed to his side, landing a resounding 'justice chop' at the back of his neck. My hand connected with a satisfying crunch, and he slumped face-first into the dirt.
“The criminal has been incapacitated, ready for the lawmen to take him away!” I struck a pose, hiding my face with my right hand. The other bandits stood frozen in place.
Elara crouched down, poking my captive with a stick. “Yeah, he's dead.”
“What? That can’t be right. He's just sleeping!”
“Eternally, never to awaken again,” chimed in the hounds.
Elara glanced up at the other bandits. “Bubur, Nasi, kill anyone who tries to run.” At her command, the coats of the hounds burst into blue flames. “Rex, it seems to me that you require more practice with your 'justice chop.'”
“You are correct, child. A hero can't be expected to master everything at once, so I shall hone this skill within the next seven attempts.” I advanced toward the remaining bandits, who were slowly retreating, trying to maintain distance. “Come now, you vagabonds, and receive your justice!”
It took another five tries before I mastered the skill. Surprisingly, only one of them attempted to flee.