Preface : It has long been believed that the undead do not feel the cold. That their dead nerves are as aware of the ice of the north, as they are to the desert sands of the Compassion Desert. While this may be true of skeletons and zombies, mummies have been observed to show a fondness for desert heat, and those few that have been found in colder climes have noticeable physical differences. One such example dwells in the tunnels near the Prism of Light. And then, there is the strange case of the lich…

Chapter One

Undead, ice cold hands rubbed together in a clumsy way. Fumbling at the pointed stick they had tried to hold, they adjusted their grasp, and tried again. And again. Finally, they got the hang of it, and a small plume of smoke arose from where the point of the stick twirled against the small log. A strained smile almost formed on the snow-white lips.

Then the lich remembered the next step. He had to blow on the embers. This proved difficult. His lungs had long since petrified, and bore numerous holes. Every breath – or whatever his undead state tried to simulate – was laboured with wheezing and rasping. Still, he tried. He blew and blew at the tip of the stick. Each time the ember vanished, he started the twirling again.

After about a week of this, even a lich’s immortal patience was exhausted.

“Curse and blast it! What’s a lich got to do to stay warm around here?” he yelled to nobody in particular.

“Ahem. Sir, if I might interject?” came a smooth voice from behind him. The lich paused. Who in their right mind would sneak up on a lich, and then be foolish enough to announce their presence? He turned slowly.

There stood a large, ghoulishly white figure in a lab coat.

“I, sir, am an alchemist. A researcher. My specialties are heat and cold. I have come in search of someone much like you. If I can help you, would you be willing to firstly, not slay me, and secondly, allow me to actually attempt to help?”

The lich stared at the giant, mouth wide open. This was probably the first conversation he’d had in over 70 years that didn’t consist of “yaargh, nooo, it’s ‘orrible, run fer yer lives lads!”

He nodded slowly, and beckoned that the icy giant follow him, back towards his home.

Somewhere in Britain, the Royal seer shuddered. It truly did feel as if someone had just walked over his grave, and they had cold feet.