The Penny Lich Volume 1: A Fantasy Sitcom

By Tyler Clawson

You've heard the story of light overcoming darkness, and the farm boy that became a hero. The great gods of myth coming down and fighting the primordial evil that lays within the heart of everyman. This is not that story. Elliot is a Cleric who has kept his head down working for the Magecore, and he likes it that way. When he has to fill in for

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Odd Empire
• Release date: Jun 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736461822

Book preview

1.png

Copyright © 2022 by T.W. Clawson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2022

ISBN Ebook - 978-1-7364618-2-2

Paperback - 978-1-7364618-3-9

The Odd Empire

675 NW 2nd Ave

Canby, OR, 97013

www.TWClawson.com

Front cover art by:

Katsiaryna Navolotskaya

keyvei.carrd.co

Penny Lich Logo designed by:

Barbara Guttman

www.marteani.art

This book, and really this whole series is dedicated to my son, Alistair. I hope that everything good that comes from it will be a light in your life.

To begin with,

Standing just outside the Penny Lich, a great old tavern in the city of Valeward, it’s two story windows filled with candle light in the dark night, and a welcoming sign of a warn hooded skeleton offering a glass of ale, Elliot, Sycilia and Aarik, stand preparing their initiative for an encounter. .

So, how do we do this? Aarik asks from under his hood. Elliot? Is there a procedure or something that the Magecore has for these kinds of things?

Elliot’s glasses shift down as he turns quickly. He wears the basic outfit of a peaceful cleric, though he has a cobalt scarf around his neck shimmering with golden patterns. Yes, in fact we do have a procedure. I have never really been a part of it, though, ‘cause...

Right, The hooded man says, pointing at all of Elliot’s slender body. Sorry.

Please, don’t apologize to me for my own body, Aarik, Elliot says, slightly annoyed. But with you and Sycilia, I think we can manage.

Sycilia is a brawny young woman, whose muscles speak a thousand stories, and her scars speak a thousand more. Her white hair is dreaded and pinned up to reveal an undercut and several more scars.

He’s right though, you’re not really the godly warrior we expected to work with, so what do we do? Sycilia asks, her hand on her sword hilt.

Well, hold on now, ok? Elliot says reluctantly, He pushes his glasses back up. First we have to keep from throwing up. You two good on that?

Yeah, The other two say, matter of factly. Are you good? They ask him.

Nope, Elliot says, Nope. I’m not. Gonna just- Elliot goes to a bush, vomits and says a quick prayer. The other two watch him, slight concern washing over them. Elliot fixes his hair, readjusts his glasses then begins again. Ok, so first, before we can try to subdue him, we need to have him prove that he has a magic item. And once that happens, then and only then can you...

The door to the Penny Lich is open and Sycilia is already through it, Hey! Scab! I hear you got a magic weapon!

What the Inferno? Elliot says to Aarik.

You told her what she had to do, now she’s doing it.

Hey, where’s the fop-doodle who’s been going around saying he has... the magical... forest sword, thingy.

Elliot sighs and sees many iron and leather clad people sitting and drinking in peace.

What’s it called again, Elliot? Sycilia hits him on the chest as he comes up next to her.

Trying to hide that she knocked the wind out of him, he takes his glasses off, wiping them down. It’s, it’s, uh the bla- glaah. It’s the Blade of Mable. We’ve heard reports that the owner of the Penny Lich has in their possession the artifact which comes from the Valley below. The Valley Sentry has reported it stolen and we’ve come to look into...

Who the hell has it? Sycilia shouts.

Who wants to know? A voice rings out from the patrons.

We’re the freaking Valeward Magecore, Sycilia says, holding up a scroll with the insignia of the Magecore on it. The bartender clicks his teeth. Sycilia looks at him with daggers in her eyes. You.

Hadvar. Elliot says as he walks over.

What? She asks.

His name, Elliot replies, It’s Hadvar. Been serving here since the wars. How ya doing Hadvar?

The man with hair in a knot and a salt and pepper beard wipes down a glass. Can I get you something, miss?

Yeah, the guy that says he has a magical weapon?

You could try talking to the new owner of the Penny Lich.

And who would that be? Elliot asks. Hadvar, never slowing his cleaning process, nods at the crowd.

They look out to see a wild elf standing on the table in the middle of the room, a massive sword sticking into the wood top, and him leaning on the blade that is as tall as he is. He is belly high and balding. His hair rings the back of his head coming into a chinstrap beard. His body is covered in tattoos, covered only in a kilt and boots.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Elliot adjusts his glasses.

Who’s that?

It’s Noodle.

Aarik snorts a laugh. You said that it’s supposed to be scary.

Where’d you get that sword, Sap Sprout?

Nonya business, Noodle says, and since you come into my establishment and break up a meeting of my union, I think it’s time you skedaddle before I cut ya’s in two.

Are you serious? Sycilia moves toward him. You own this place? A wild elf?

Sycilia, stop. Elliot says, putting his hand on her shoulder. If that really is the Blade of Mable, we don’t wanna piss him...

Oh, it’s real alright. Noodle interrupts. And I got half a mind to use it on you, little miss racist.

Whoa, I’m not racist.

You just questioned why a wild elf would own a bar. Seems kinda racist. Noodle responds.

No, I meant, more in general. Like it’s YOU... ok.

Unconvinced, Noodle spits back, But you specifically called me out for being a wild elf, and you even used Sap Sprout. That’s a slur.

A what?!

It’s a bit of an outdated term, for sure. Elliot says. You know, since we had the treaty of Dontellemont, it’s become more common to see their kind here in the city.

Their kind? Noodle begs, offended.

No, I mean, like it used to be impossible for you and your people to be in town, and now you know it’s... it’s great. You know, I love it, I love the diversity.

Get this lot. A bunch of racist magecore reclaimers walk into the bar.

We’re not racist, I think it’s great that you own this bar, Elliot says. Like, you’re making it, you’re the head of, you said a union? And you got that super cool sword. I think it’s great.

You ‘ear that, chaps? The skinny one thinks it’s great for me. This ‘ear is the Bandit’s Guild. And Yeah, I own the bar. Won it fair an’ square in a duel. Thanks to my lady, He kisses the sword, I can take anything I want. This sword will never let me get hurt.

Prove it. Sycilla says.

Wha? Noodle looks at her.

Prove it. If you can prove it, then I’ll admit I’m a racist, and I’ll give you my sword.

I don’t want your sword. I got my own.

How about my bow? It’s magic too. Aarik says. He holds it out and Noodle looks at it. Then up at Aarik.

Deal.

Deal.

A few minutes later,

The magic of The Blade of Mable says that it’s wielder can be anywhere, and in a moment of peril it will come to his rescue, Elliot says, reading from a scroll. Noodle stands at one end of the large tavern, and Aarik on the other, the sword still sitting in the table.

Aarik knocks an arrow, and preps to shoot the elf.

So if this sword somehow saves Noodle from Aarik’s arrow, then we know that at the very least it’s magical, if not the fabled Blade of Mable, Elliot finishes.

And then I can tackle him, Sycilia whispers, preparing herself.

Yes, then you can take him out.

Bag an elf on day one. She watches the sword.

Ready, Elliot says.

Aim.

Aarik aims the arrow. He has done this a thousand times, a thousand upon a thousand. He hopes the sword will be fast enough to deflect the arrow; he doesn’t want to kill Noodle, but he will. He’ll sink this arrow directly into the elf’s heart.

Fire!

Aarik is about to release the arrow, but something stops him. It’s not guilt or fear. Nor is it hesitation. Something keeps him from moving his hand the way it should, the way it has a thousand times before. It’s not emotion that keeps him from firing, it’s a pair of bloody severed hands hitting him in the face.

The Blade of Mable moves through the air, launching itself at the cleric and slicing through both wrists as he shouts fire, cutting them cleanly and perfectly so that by the time he finishes telling the archer to shoot, he no longer has hands.

AaaaaaaaHHHH!!! Elliot screams in pain and fear. Aarik looks over to see what’s happened and his eyes light up. Blood spills out of the gaping wounds all over the ground.

Elliot stands in agony and shock. What the F**K, What the F**K!?

Aarik screams as he runs over to the hands to grab them, NO! NO!, NO! NO! why?!

Sycilia begins to run toward Noodle as she saw the sword move, but she didn’t care where it went. She then turns at the last second to see Elliot missing his hands, and trips over her own foot. Noodle takes the chance and punches her in the stomach, doubling her over.

Oh, Sweet Deiner, Oh, Lord Og, Elliot says as he looks for help from Aarik. Aarik takes the hands and tries to put them back on Elliot’s body.

It’s gonna be ok, right? We can fix it, right? He weeps. Oh Divine, we can fix it, right? Blood continues to pour out and the crowd is in complete chaos. Use a healing spell to fix yourself! Aarik screams.

Elliot sobs and screams back, I have to use my HANDS to cast those spells!

That’s a terrible magic system!

The Temple of the Divine

Elliot, Sycilia, and Aarik are sitting in a temple of life. Sycillia’s face is bandaged, blood on her clothes, and red streaks of blood still shimmering in her short white hair. A look of absolute terror and exhaustion hangs off her. Her strong body twitches, and she cringes in pain. Hand on her