Baddie Bingo

Rosalind had been peacefully napping most of the time until now; she was not particularly happy about being in undead central; she just preferred it to what was to come. But the collapse of a kingdom? That usually involved a dead king and all related individuals. She was a related individual and really didn’t like the sound of that.

“What do you mean the destruction of the kingdom?” She snapped in a voice so sharp that it made scalpel makers jealous. “Why are you trying to kill the kingdom?”

At that, the lich laughed. “I am the champion Mitch; I was used by the kingdom, then one work-related injury, and they laid me off and had me killed.”

“Oooft, that would do it alright, but I don’t recall the name, and most decisions like that reach my ears.”

“Why would that be? If I find out you were involved in my downfall, I’ll......... actually, I’ll do that anyway, maybe...... nope that’s on the list too.”

Rosalind had no clue what this or that were, but given the context, she was going to say they weren’t good.

“So what was this injury anyway?” Mibbet asked, showing as per usual all the tact of a runaway carriage. “I’m going to say in the circumstances, it wasn’t something like a boo-boo. Healing magic exists that can normally patch non-terminal stuff up; I read a bit of it.”

“And if it was terminal? Then what?”

“I don’t really know; usually, a terminal wound means retiring, one way or another, guessing from this conversation that it didn’t stick?”

“Nope, the sword did though, right through the old ribcage; I liked my ribcage; it had sentimental value”, Mitch whined like he was talking about a pair of shoes he’d worn out. Then put back in the pile (as you do) where he would forever be forgetting they were knackered and try putting them on. But Mibbet really didn’t think that bodies usually worked that way, despite learning the hard way that not all bodies are permanent things.

“OK, so illegal discrimination, under the construct liberation act of... well Tuesday actually.” Rosalind chimed in.

“I have no idea what you are rambling about here, so I’m going to go on telling you my plan, then you will be invited, by which I mean converted into one of my undead armies, wait, no, I’m going to keep you all here to witness the defeat and collapse of your kingdom. Then you’ll become part of my undead army.” Mitch gloated, falling into the oldest villain trap out there, monologuing. The leading cause of evil scheme failure across the world. Of course, Mibbet, Rosalind and the others weren’t going to tell him that, while he was being a gloaty git, he wasn’t turning them into bone puppets (or bad taste overkill decor, this place was seriously in need of an interior designer, or at the least a thorough cleansing of dark magic.) So they let him ramble as long as he wished.

Sir Leeroy, meanwhile, seeming determined to hit every cliche on the way down, glared at Mitch. “You’ll never get away with this, fiend.” He snarled. “Release us at once, and we’ll help you get a peaceful rest, The Prin..... I mean, The Lady doesn’t deserve to suffer like this.”

“And I did?” Snarled Mitch, “think I’ll pass on you lot “, helping” me back into a gr...... wait a minute, you started to say something then stopped and said The Lady, now what did you say?”

“No, I didn’t; I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Sir Leeroy stammered, doing his absolute best to undo, or at least mitigate, the damage his big gob had just caused. Unfortunately, he was about as good at lying as a kid caught eating somebody else's chocolate by a parent. Any time he tried to speak a mistruth, he looked as guilty as a puppy in a puddle surrounded by half-eaten shoes. Really it was just as well he got the guard role, as the politics of a noble house would have been completely catastrophic under his care.

“Yes, you do, you said the Prin...... then rephrased, and I don’t think you meant the principal or the printmaker. She’s a Princess, isn’t she?”

“Noooo, whatever gave you that idea?” Sir Leeroy tried, but his face really wasn’t fooling anybody; he really was just an extraordinarily honest man and, by extension, an absolutely terrible liar.

Mitch cackled. “A Princess right here on my doorstep? This really is too rich. Oh well, time to show you what is going to happen to your precious kingdom.” At that, he started walking away, gesturing for the skeletons to follow.

Elvira, meanwhile, was quite ready to punch Sir Leeroy one, but for now, she hadn’t been found out, and she and the others followed Mitch (after some pointy motivation.)

************************************************************************

“Behold, my undead army, primed and ready to sweep this land until your precious kingdom falls to ruin.” Mitch gloated.

“Please tell me you didn’t just say behold,” Rosalind said (scared Rosalind is stabby Rosalind, but in current circumstances, the sharpest tool in her arsenal was her tongue.)

“Uh, hello? Giant undead army here.”

“Just because you lead a horde doesn’t excuse being a walking cliche. Seriously did you buy an evil villains flashcard set or something? Because it seems to me you’re fitting every cliche on the Villain bingo. Spikey throne, skulls, ominous music.”

“Seems you have lost your mind, hardly surprising really, pity though, I was so looking forward to making you see just how badly your kind have treated the undead by letting you experience it firsthand.”

“Wait a minute, time out here,” Mibbet said, trying her best to keep her voice neutral (Mibbet was better at the whole not annoying your captor's thing, but given that they were in the same body as a person who really sucked at it that didn’t really help her much.) “You mean to tell me that you’re doing this for undead rights?”

“Well... mostly for petty revenge, but yeah.. that’s part of it too, but soon my undead army will destroy the Burg-akin Empire once and for all.”

Something about that name clicked in Rosalind’s head, “WAIT, WHAT?”