The storm howled through the forest, the wind blew up a maelstrom of leaves, obscuring vision. Rain lashed down in sheets, it seemed that even nature wanted to turn him from his quest. Varek didn’t care, he didn’t care about anything anymore, except revenge. He shuddered as he remembered that fateful night. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth spreading through out the small hut, it wasn’t a grand place to live but it was home. The children were fast asleep, two sons both in their teens, they would make fine lumberjacks one day or so he had thought. His wife sat beside him smiling, he loved her now as much as he had when he had first seen her all those years ago. Although the wind was gale outside, inside they were warm, warm and together. A loud bang reverberated from the door, Varek leapt to his feet but he was too late, the door splintered under the pressure exerte! d on it and the hideous apparition confronted them. Seven feet tall, rotting flesh hung from its bones, the smell of decay and corruption filled the air, the lord of death had come. The Lich strode into the room, knocking Varek to the floor with an effortless blow. He had tried to fight it but the evil being had lived for many decades, its powers were strong while he was weak. The screams of his family mixed with the blood in his ears and he knew no more.

When he had come too his hut had been destroyed, somehow his body while unconscious had escaped a fatal wound. His body had survived but his heart had not, his wife lay dead, a look of terror on her face. Varek had let out a how,; it had not been human, filled with rage and anguish all who heard it were filled with fear.

Shaking his head Varek thought about the task at hand, soon his family would be remembered, when that Lich lay dead at his feet, only then could he rest. He sniffed, he had never even found the bodies of his sons, now the grief threatened to overwhelm him, and something was going to pay. Thoughtfully he rubbed his rusty ring-mail, although old and cheap it was the best he could afford and he would need all the protection he could get. The sharp edges irrated his skin, he hoped it would not distract him too much. Hefting his large axe he made ready to meet his enemy. That axe, how many trees had he felled with it, how many dinners had that axe provided? Now it was his only link to his past, the past to which he could never return.

Trammel and Felucca gave the only light in the night sky, though to a veteran woodsman it mattered not to Varek, he knew this land well. Pushing aside the bush he stared at his destination, the graveyard. This graveyard had been left for years, abandoned between Vesper and Cove. However not everyone had abandoned it, not the Lich. The gates were rusty, not surprisingly there was nobody to oil it. Varek cringed as he opened the gate; the sound was loud enough to raise the dead he thought. He laughed that was exactly what he wanted anyway!

He made his way through the grave yard, the dead could not scare him tonight, his only interest lay at the back. He reached the large crypt and gaped in awe. The large structure showed no signs of weathering, he knew this was the power of the Lich, the power that he was here to destroy. Surprisingly the doors were neither barred nor locked, and swung open suspiciously easily or so Varek thought, pausing only to light his lantern he ventured into the blackness.

The blackness, all around him, blanketing the light like some hungry creature, devouring the sound of his footsteps and making him feel small. In the corner water began the drip through the ceiling. The drips echoed through out the room, filling his ears, filling his mind. Why was he here? He couldn’t fight the creature, he couldn’t fight fear! “NO!” he shouted, his voice echoing around him. Shaking his head as though he had been slapped he continued onwards. “Downwards” he though, “I’m going downwards.” Large cobwebs covered the path, although they were easily pushed aside he couldn’t help but wonder how the Lich got past them without breaking them. A few steps on told him the answer; behind him a thousand eyes gleamed from the dark as they spun new webs. The thought of such spiders filled him with revulsion, but his path was downwards and he could worry about them later.

The dank pathway evened out into a large room, dried blood encrusted the floor and the walls, and cloven skull censors burnt things that Varek would rather not know. Large paintings covered the wall, shown death, corruption and the doom of Britiania. Bones littered the floor, some were chipped and broken, somewhere complete skeletons. Rusty armour and weapons lines one wall, enough to equip a small army mused Varek. Despite all these distractions Varek could only see one thing, the altar. On the altar lay the Lich, its chest never rising for it had lost the need to breath when it embraced undeath. Varek was surprised, he had expected guards and magical wards, this seemed too easy.

He climbed the altar, his feet slipping on the blood and other things best-left undiscribed. He raised his axe above his head, soon the Lich would be truly dead. “Too easy,” he muttered to himself, and he was right. It’s eyes snapped open, revealing empty cavities in its face, muttering a simple word the Lich sent Varek flying from the altar, his axe leaving his grasp and clattering into the darkness. Scrambling for his axe Varek clasped his hand around something, it was small and familiar. Looking up he saw what it was, and his heart filled with sadness. It was a small toy, it was his eldest son’s toy. Although he never played with it anymore, he had grown out of it. Varek recognised that small wooden sword. As well he might. He had carved it himself one summer, two in fact one for each son, the Lich must’ve ! taken it when it killed his family. This thought sent white-hot rage through his mind. Clasping the sword in one hand he charged the avatar of corruption.

Once, twice, three times! He struck with that small sword, filled with madness Varek cared not for what he was doing. The Lich looked at him, the way a man might study a delicacy before eating it. One backwards swing of its hand sent Varek flying again, the Lich was unharmed. Varek's back seared with agony. “His spine,” he thought “It was broken” He was helpless, helpless to save himself, unable to take revenge. He tried to raise his arm in futile defiance, to his surprise his arm lifted easily, come to think about it his whole body still moved. Rolling over he saw the source of his discomfort, he had landed on his axe. His rusty ring mail had prevented any serious injury but the blade dug into his back causing great pain. Heaving his protesting body once more he strode towards the Lich, “here it ends” he shouted, “no more will your foul presence defile this place!”

“Foolish mortal” the Lich mocked, “You cannot harm me”

“I can but die!” Screamed Varek, his face flushed with passion.

“There are fates worse than death,” the Lich muttered in an offhand manner that made Varek all together uneasy.

“Do your worst” spat Varek,

“Very well, a moment of defiance will give you an eternity of torture”

Once more the Lich grinned, the sight of that toothless mouth was disturbing but Varek didn’t even flinch, he was beyond death now, he was dead, his life had died with his family and now all he wanted was to get revenge. Even if the Lich killed him he would be with his wife again, fear had no part in his mind, either way he would win. He clove a mighty arc with his blade, cleaving the Lich’s rotten flesh from its bones, however it didn’t fall over and die, it began to chant. The chant itself was disturbing, it sent unnatural and unreasoning fear in Varek. The dark mist that rose from the Lich’s own blood was too much. “By the virtues!” Varek managed to stammer, his courage drained from his body, he knew he didn’t want to die, not now, not yet, he could run, runaway, bring help warn the others. The black mist began to take form, the form of Varek, this was the finial straw t! hat sent him scurrying into the dark, all thoughts for revenge lost.

He reached the exit only to be blocked by hands, dead hands, the flesh green and decaying, the bones moving by the will of another. Varek somehow knew what was comming next, he didn’t want to look up, he didn’t want to see what he knew he would. Slowly raising his head his eyes met dead eyes, the dead eyes of his sons. “Father!” they mocked him “Join us father!” Varek trembled, his sons were servants of this Lich, they were his, hot salty tears streamed down his face, the cruelty of this creature overwhelmed him. The Lich had robbed him of everything and now it was playing with him, cursing the ill-fated star that he was born under he braced his soul for what he knew he must do. He had to release his sons, their peace mattered more than his live, or revenge. He swung his great axe at his undead sons, aimed at their necks so that he might release both in one.

The blow never reached them, black streamers of pure evil magic entered his nostrils and mouth, it swam around him, holding, binding, clawing at his very soul. Images flashed through his skull. He saw the death of his wife. He saw the undead armies marching upon Trinsic. He saw brave defenders fighting, dieing, screaming in fear. He saw Trinsic fall, he saw Britiania been torn apart by warring factions. He saw what he somehow knew to be Minax the most evil woman ever to have lived walk the land once more, but worse of all he saw himself. He was leading those armies, an undead captain slave to an evil power much worse than death itself, the armies of the Lich. He knew he had failed, failed in the worst way possible, it would be he that would help the fall of his beloved country, he would serve the darkness he hated so much, one name echoed throughout his skull “Juo'nar”

Agony seared his body, the black streamers tore at his flesh, pulling it from his bones and devouring it hungrily. His mind exploded with pain, he saw his own inner organs, things no man should see. He felt fingers and maggots probing into him, black fire burnt his soul and he collapsed. What was now there had once been Varek, it was no more. Glad in golden armour the skeleton roared its loyalty oaths to Juo’nar, the Lich, his master. Together they would march on Trinisc, they would raise armies. They would crush the life from the living and bring darkness to the world, nothing could stop them. Something a small entity lurked in the back of the golden skeletons mind, something sobbed and wailed, something had utterly failed.