The screams died away as Elzabeth entered her master’s chamber, he had been too vigorous with his new toy, who hung in midair, unconscious as he settled down on his throne of long faded ornate stone. “What took so long?” he demanded with a scowl; the blue flame topped metal rod laid across his lap almost casually, but still held firmly in his grasp. “They were strong, master,” she replied coldly, despite serving him for years now, the aura of dread about him still made her heart quake, but she would not let him see her fear… or her anticipation. “They cost you many of your guards.” “Bring their remains before me and they will take the place of those they took from me,” he commanded. Each time a band fools stormed his lichdom it cost him more of his servants, and it seemed these would be heroes were the strongest yet. But they would pay for the havoc they had wrought with their eternal suffering; he would raise them as undead and they would serve him as the ones they had destroyed had. He looked past Elzabeth to the nubile body of the hapless girl who wandered too close and fell to his orc pets and was now the latest of his toys, and her eyes followed his. “It seems you’ve been otherwise occupied anyway, master,” she sneered. This one had endured more than most; she was young strong and comely, but Elzabeth knew the lich was starting to tire of her. “Be mindful of your place,” he turned his horrid stare back to the witch. She was starting to become too sure of herself, and he would have to remind her that she lived at his pleasure. “You could take her place… and she yours!” Elzabeth dropped to her knees, as searing pain ripped through her. She had pushed him too far this time, but there was hope that she would be free of him in mere moments. As her screams replaced his new toy’s the companions moved; Aeron and Tarl charged, knowing that they had less chance than Nykira’s arrows of actually reaching the lich, but hoping that they could distract him from the true threat. Faeryl summoned Eilistraee’s blessing, seizing the silver amulet at her throat and casting out a wave of holey energy that rippled through the chamber, striking the zombies that huddled in the darkness and blasting their desiccated flesh to dust. With a cry of rage and surprise, A’mon Sol turned his eyes from Elzabeth toward them as he rose to meet their threat. It had been nearly a thousand years since anyone had entered his inner sanctum without his will, and he was at once stunned outraged and invigorated! An arrow struck his withered heart, carrying a blast of magical force that sent him staggering back into his throne and, although the missile’s target had stopped beating two thousand years before, it was suddenly alive with fear that his existence was actually at risk!