Tired Of Death

Quick Authors Note:

Dear readers, Firstly, let me thank you for supporting Tired of Death so far, it is much appreciated.

So, the chapter that just finished is, in fact, the last chapter of the book Tired of Death: Overlord. Now, Tired of Death is the book that I'm contracted for with WebNovel, so by rights I should shut up shop and mark this as complete.

However, I feel that would be letting down my readers, those of you who have endured this sorry tale of undeath so far. So, whilst I'm under no obligation to WebNovel1 to do this, I'm going to carry on!

Wooo! I hear you say. Well, maybe. Perhaps you're saying, damn, just as I thought I could go and read something decent somewhere else. In any case, let me just try and reassure you a smidgeon:

What follows is actually the Next in the Series of the ToD saga (yes, I've decided to make it a saga, 'cos that sounds cooler). It's sort of a sequel in a way, but I think Next in the Series is actually a better description.

Whilst it does not follow (directly) on from Overlord, references to what has gone before are certainly there. 

That said, I've written it in such a way that it can be read as a stand alone book too. Still, if you proceed you will encounter answers to questions that you may have thought about in ToD, but have not been thus far addressed. 

Whilst you may, initially, miss your favourite characters that you've become familiar with up to this point, I would ask you to be slightly patient, as there are many more, equally (un)lovable ones to come. In fact, throwing what little modesty I have out of the window, I'd go so far as to say that this new work is better than what has gone before. Upon re-reading it, (whilst editing it, polishing it and so on,) I've actually laughed at parts myself. 

So, please give it a try. The first bit's below. 

Oh, just one more thing. At the time of writing this intro, I'm approaching 70,000 words written, and so I will be pushing out chapters at a reasonable rate. However, at some point it's likely I'll catch up to where I am still writing it, so I apologise in advance for that. 

All feedback (done constructively) is welcomed, and I am also very happy to receive ideas about what could happen in the book as well! I've been known to weave reader suggestions into my stories quite a lot. I like a challenge, and it helps inspire me and thus write more.

Right, enough of all this waffle, I'm probably boring you to tears. Without further ado, let me introduce...

Urt's Journey  A (Further) tale of undeath, adventure and even... love!

Ch1 - Mudrut.1

"Rise! Rise! Rise! I command thee RISE!" Urt waved one hand over the corpse in the prescribed fashion and threw the Redroot powder with the other.

Nothing happened.

"Rise damn you! Rise and do my bidding." 

The corpse failed to do any such thing.

"You will rise!" screamed Urt, losing his temper. 

The body twitched and, for a brief moment, the eyes opened. Urt could have sworn a moment of panic passed over the dead man's face, but then it was gone, and the body slumped back and remained still. Again.

"Curses!" 

The necromancer's apprentice punched the stomach of the corpse, which resulted in no change at all. It remained dead, counter to everything that was good and natural. Or at least evil and unnatural, which was the situation here.

"No luck then boss?" a voice said. 

"It must have been the Redroot powder," he replied. "Too old."

"Yeah, and I'll sprout a body and do the tango."

"Shut your face you!" Urt swung round and pointed a finger at the partially rotten head sitting on the table next to him. 

"Oh, that's it. Take it out on your only friend in the world. Like it's my fault." The detached noggin rolled its eyes. 

"You are not my friend," the young necromancer scowled, brushing back a lock of dark hair that had fallen down over his eyes. "You are the first of my army. My undead army of world domination."

"The head of it I hope."

"Original."

"I like to help where I can."

"Well, you can come with me and help me look for more Redroot."

"You know it wasn't the…"

"Shut up."

"Yes boss."

Urt stepped back from his latest failed attempt and heaved a deep sigh. If he was honest with himself, it probably wasn't the root. It was the same thing that stopped him raising anything larger than a frog. The same thing that had prevented him from raising anything worthwhile since…

"Hey, if you're finished with the body, do you mind passing me over a bit of brain?" Horace, his heady companion, smacked what remained of his lips.

Urt ignored the zombie head and looked around his small living quarters. It was a depressing place, even for someone who was supposed to live in depressing places. The small chamber barely had room for his work bench, which was pushed up against the wall. Behind him, close enough for him to fall over if he took a step back, was a narrow bunk. A single window looked out over the marshland that served as scenery in this part of the world. It was a tiny space. 

"We work with what we have," he muttered, sitting on his bed, which squeaked and sagged in the middle.

"Don't get down boss," said Horace, in an overly cheerful voice. "You'll get he hang of it one day, and then it'll be world domination in no time at all. Zombies all over the place, obeying your every whim."

"I appreciate the sentiment," Urt sighed. "But I'll be undead and a lich before that happens at this rate. Maybe old Mangle was wrong about me."

"No, he might have been mad and deranged, but he knew his stuff. If he said you had power, then you have power."

 "Maybe he realized he was wrong. Maybe that's why he disappeared." 

"Come on now. We've been over this so many times," Horace said. "He ran into an angry badger or fell into the swamp or something. There are million things that could have happened to him."

Urt smiled and scratched his head, wondering if badgers were that ferocious. He'd never seen one, so he couldn't estimate how likely it was that Mangle had fallen prey to one of the beasts. He shrugged. "We all do what we can," he murmured.

"That's the spirit! Come on, let's get rid of this useless body and find some Redroot shall we? I could use some fresh air anyway, it's not good to be stuck indoors so long. Bad for the complexion."

Urt rolled his eyes, but stood up. "Very well, let's go for a walk." 

Maybe he'd get lucky and fall into a muddy hole and drown.

Stalking through the swamp, Horace swinging in a pouch hanging from his hip, calmed Urt down a little. It was good to get out of the shack for a while. A change of scenery, even if the scenery consisted mainly of stinking plant life and fetid pools of water, did him good. 

The odd scaly head broke the surface of the murky liquid at intervals, but the 'gators knew he wasn't food. Uncomfortable things happened to the creatures that had tried, and the lesson had been learned by the survivors. Even the mosquitoes and bugs kept away from him, he was powerful enough to repulse those at least. 

"…boss? Boss! Are you listening to me? What's the point in having me along if you don't pay attention?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Urt looked down at the head. "Sorry Horace, I was miles away. What is it?"

"Over there," the zombie said, rolling his eyes. "Redroot. You do still want some I presume?

"Oh, yes. Thanks." Urt scanned the area and located the ugly brown plants. Sauntering over he squatted down and plucked the toadstool shaped growths out of the ground. They resisted, as if reluctant to come, but a good tug freed them from the earth. 

The crop harvested, he stood up and took a deep breath. The methane in the air lifted his spirits. If there was any place more suited to Necromancy, he didn't know where it was. Actually, he pondered as he started walking once more, that really was true. Most of his young a.d.u.l.t life had been spent in this place, under the harsh guidance of mad Mangle, his old master. Mangle had insisted he had power, great power, despite the more recent failed attempts to raise.

Squelching through the bog, Urt wrinkled his forehead. It seemed that as he grew older he grew less able to raise anything. There had been a time, once, when he was very young, he'd performed great magic. That was when Mangle had found him, or shortly after anyway, when his village has expelled him in fear, so Mangle had explained. He shook his head. It was all such a long time ago, he couldn't remember anything other than living in the swamp. He certainly couldn't remember any village. 

Sighing, he plodded on. Maybe it was time to take some kind of action.  Legal disclaimer there.Er, chapter 1.