
by samdruryauthor
Mors Nocturna was a necromancer. A good one, actually. Min-maxed to perfection over six years of Thursday-night D&D sessions. The kind of character sheet you don't throw away. Then Mors wakes up in a dungeon. Not a metaphorical dungeon. A stone-walls-and-torchlight, something-is-growling-in-the-dark dungeon. And the stats floating in his vision look suspiciously familiar. He's got his spellbook. He's got a System that communicates exclusively in passive-aggressive notifications. He's got a companion AI named Save who seems to know more than she's saying. And he's got chickens. Undead chickens. Dickens, if you will. A lot of them. They follow him everywhere and he can't make them stop. Seven floors down. And whatever's behind the last door at the bottom, the System didn't ask if he agreed to it. Welcome back, Mors. Mind the Dickens.A darkly funny, emotionally sharp speculative fiction LitRPG about a necromancer, his undead chickens, and a dungeon that keeps rewarding him for every coping mechanism that’s killing him. For fans of lite litrpg, The Good Place, and speculative fiction like Station Eleven.
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