Thought exercise 2: A vampire and a lich walk into a tavern...

[Ban]

Deep in a dark forest lies a tavern. Humans have not been in these parts for decades, yet each and every morning the tavern's swept clean and each night its candles are lit. One such night a storm rages over the forest of such wrath its rain strips the woodland bedding away in thick streams of mud, whilst lightning lashes at the tree tops.

A traveling vampire sees light flickering through the trees. Through weather and woe they find their way to the tavern and take off their sodden coat to dry. To their surprise they see a lich sitting by the hearth.

The night is long and so is the day, the storm has no sign of stopping any time soon. During their time stuck together, what do these two undead talk about? How would a lich and a vampire's undead philosophies differ? What points of contention would they have? I.E What justifications do they have for living their unlives the way they do? What role do mortals serve? What views might they have on immortality? What views on eachother's state of being? Would there be envy, ambivalence, curiosity or disgust?

Note 1: You may interpret the prompt in any way you wish, but what I would like to read is what your interpretation of a vampire and a lich's undead philosophies would be.
Note 2: My interpretation of the vampire and the lich are your standard classical Dracula vampire and your standard D&D-style Lich. You are more than free to choose other versions of both creatures.

 

[Orc Knight]

It was an inn named the Inn With No Name, which the sodden Secondborn grumbled at. A mortifying attempt at humor. As they reached for the door it came open by itself. This was not unusual in of itself. Stepping in out of the seemingly apocalyptic rain, the Secondborn looked around the inn. It was soft, glowy and warm. The sort of comfortable that came from a hunting lodge complete with taxidermied heads and a plush bear rug. Though some of the mounted heads were quite exotic, and were the Secondborn not a Secondborn, they'd be quite disturbing. There was a full bar with a giant scarab above it and a kitchen in the back being tended by something. At the door stood someone who was clearly named Jeeves, though with a skeletal smile.

"Oh do close the door Jeeves and let them in." Came a surprisingly deep voice. "The Old Ones are at it again aren't they? I heard their cults were warring." The door was politely closed and the Secondborn stood dripping on a finely weaved rug.

"It is apocalyptic." The Secondborn answered hesitantly as they looked towards the voice. A large comfortable looking arm chair was facing the hearth with legs up on a leg rest in fuzzy slippers. The Secondborn swept off their hat, revealing a cadaverous face, pale skin and black eyes with red flicks in them and long, lank black hair. Red coat also came off to show dark clothes plastered to a skeletal body.

"Hang up your coat. This'll be the third apocalypse this month then." The person, if that's what they were, seemed nonplussed about the amount of apocalypses.

"The third?" The Secondborn asked.

"Oh yes. So, chianti and liver or a straight red then?"

"I don't drink wine." There was a chuckle.

"I know. So, chianti or straight red? Oh, don't bother. Take a seat and Jeeves shall serve you." The curious Secondborn found a another comfortable armchair had appeared. "You need to dry off I imagine. The storms of Dagon can chill even those of us no longer attached to the mortal coil." The Secondborn rolled it's eyes and inside their head there was a slight chuckle. Sitting themselves down they looked to their host. Wrapped in what was presumably a fine silk robe, with golden and silver threads within it. A friendly visage, of kingly continence and with eyeglasses over glowing jade eyes and a thin gold band on his bald head. On his chest was a golden scarab and lifting up from the darkness beside the chair a slim hound that watched the Secondborn with glowing red eyes. A table appeared at his side and a fine stemmed glass was sat on it by Jeeves along with a plate of livers and beans.

"Only the finest for my guests." The king said with a genial grin. They smelled the blood in the wine glass and fangs grew out from thin and cracked lips. Carefully they lifted it up the glass and took a sip, restraining themselves.

"What are you?" They asked.

"I am the Lich King Khemet the Chura." If the Secondborn could faint anymore, they would have.

 

[Orc Knight]

"Lich?" There was fear in the Secondborn's voice. "You're, you-"

"Dead?" Khemet the Chura said with a chuckle. Clearly he was enjoying this. "We've let the Old Ones think we are. We are simply biding our time. Waiting for our time. As we will rise again, we always do. Unlike your poor kind, robbed of soul and sent to ash with a suitably sharp stick unless you manage to live your life, such as it is, until you are but like statues."

"At least I'm not in hiding." The Secondborn snarled.

"What need? Even your Elder's do not reach the power needed to fight the Old Ones on their own ground." He idly pet the hound at his side and Jeeves served him, from the smell, hot coco. "You are for all intents and purposes, not a player in this long game. Even if you've lived as long as I have, gaining the attention of the roaming abominations will merely make you another vassal of flesh or if you are turned to ash, one of those ash beasts they send to burn out the great champions in their cities."

"You brag a lot, Khemet. I am a Secondborn, seven centuries I've had since I was reborn. I walk those cities you speak of and it is only because of the Old Ones and their cults I was forced to leave. Their blood is sour, salty or rotting and they tend to smell of fish. And the mutants they create. And you can't bring them back to serve you." The Secondborn grimaced and drank more of the fine blood. Even with Khemet's hospitality now being questionable, he knew his blood.

"As far as you know, yes." Khemet still grinned. "The mortals are playthings to us all. Puppets on strings to dance to our tunes. Be it your Vampire Court, The Cults of the Old Ones, The Ring of Obsolescence or my own Church of the Raised. And I've walked this world six thousand years. Thrice banished back to the grave and thrice risen. Here I may sit and wait, building my magic and taking in the souls that my priests have brought for me."

"You don't exactly live life on the edge then." The Secondborn said. A large steel sickle sword was sitting beside Khemet's chair and even that had changed. There was a moment of fear as the Secondborn looked again at it. It was bones, old brown bones and the cushions of leather had faces that screamed silently. Looking at their own chair the Secondborn saw their own chair was the same way. The house was bones and sinew and Jeeves was a merely walking cadaver. Then it all went back to normal.

"I have no need to live on the edge, Secondborn. For I am a First Born. I came to unlife of my own will and by tearing it from the gods of the dead and making the damned my own. I've marched and rode into battle. Toppled kingdoms and empires. Created my own religion that to this day thrives. I can die and die again and I will come back. What of you, Secondborn?"

"I may not have as long of list as you. But I've been in such battles, often where a sharp stick could end me." The Secondborn smiled back, though not an assured smile, certainly, but a smile to match the host. "I have slain the slayers and drank the blood of the Hunters. I have destroyed churches and left cities in terror. I am the Unhinged Animal."

"I can't say the Secondborn aren't as grandiose as their fore bearers." There was another chuckle and the room seemed oddly warm. And Unhinged Animal heard the sound of a slow thump, thump, thump. Animal's skin seemed less pale and more, alive.

"What's happening?" Animal asked, suddenly feeling the need to breathe. With lungs that hadn't taken a breath in seven hundred years.

 

[Orc Knight]

"Destiny." Khemet said. "You could say, I'm putting a band together. And Destiny provides. Lo and behold, the monster responsible for the loss of many of my souls finds their way to mine."

Inside, the Secondborn host found itself screaming as it was suddenly pulled out and the original soul found itself anchored back in. Khemet stood beside them suddenly, holding the sword and in a full suit of armor, head crowned with an actual crown of sharp spikes with little skulls in it. The smile was still there.

"What did you do to me!?" The Animal cried out, feeling the chair and panic as the hound stood in front of them.

"I made you live again. Simply so I could take your soul and the demon. In return for the massacres in my church. Had to test it on someone. You worked out so perfectly. We'll meet again soon." There was a swish in the air and a spurt of blood and Khemet held up the skull like head by lank hair. The eyes were not empty though and in them both were two souls imprisoned behind them.

"First Born are ever more powerful." With a flick of the blade, blood splattered on the floor and the headless body lurched up. A green tint came to Khemet's face as he walked further into the inn. "And this shall be my greatest hits I believe. I think you'll do well on the drums."

Through the apocalyptic storm an evil laugh could be heard.

 

[Queshire]

While I don't have the same level of detail as Orc there, I've been wanting to do an actually virtuous, non-psychotic doctor type Necromancer that sees Necromancy as another tool for pushing back disease, wounds and death.

I'd probably go that route with the Lich.

The vampire... Hm... vampirism as a reward for the worthy? To maintain the skills and the works of the greatest artists, thinkers and statesmen of all time? But of course, with the risk of overpopulation if nobody ever died they'd have to be selective of just who they maintain.