Mort woke. Or, more accurately, he was aware. He didn’t know where he was, only that it was cold and damp and he lay on something hard. Cautiously he moved a finger. Then his arm. So far, so good. He wasn’t dead. He tried to remember where he’d been. Slowly he remembered… An inn. A pub. Mort experimented some more. Toes? Wiggling. Right. He focused on his head. Neck? Working. OK, now we’re cooking with Goblin rocket fuel. He waited. Breathing continued to utterly fail to happen. He wasn’t holding his breath, either. He just wasn’t breathing. “Errrr…” he said out loud. …LICH. “I … I ate them” she said.