“My Lord! My Lord!” The Lich King Necavir glanced up from a tome as one of his lesser minions scurried into his throne room. “A man dressed in a silver chain mail has approached the gate!”

Humph, must be one of those impudent Hunters… “Sound the alarms,” he calmly answered, “Alert the guards. Make sure that he never reaches this chamber.”

“Yes master, thy will be-,” the minions voice sharply cut off as a silver-tipped bolt pierced his throat. His body went rigid as he opened his mouth, silently gasping for air. He collapsed to the floor in a pool of his own blood. Behind him stood a man wearing a black wide brimmed hat, covering his face in shadow. He wore a belt made of the hides of those he’d slain, scales and skin stretched into a wide loop. On the buckle was a picture of a skull being cleaved in two by a sword, the mark of the Hunters. Lowering his crossbow, he stepped over the corpse. His ragged cloak trailed behind him as he strode forward.

“Lich King Necavir!” the man said, drawing his sword as he approached the dais. “I am Jarek Deathsbane, captain of the Hunters. In the name of Pravus Dare, Punisher of Death, I shall slay you to rid this world of your evil!

“Bah!” the lich mocked. “Do you honestly think that one man can defeat me? I shall send you crawling back to your “god” so you can beg for his forgiveness!”

“That is where you are mistaken,” an elegant voice spoke from the shadows. A man wearing silver and black robes bearing the mark of the Hunters walked over to stand next to Jarek. His gnarled wooden staff made a hollow Thunk! sound as it hit the floor. “I, Ameloren Danicen, Arch-wizard of the Hunters, will use my magic to banish you into the oblivion from which you came.”

“Oh, so now there are two of you,“ Necavir confidently replied. “That just means two more souls to be devoured.”

“Make that three,” a more feminine voice replied from his other side. A young woman, not much more than a girl, garbed in tight fitting leather sauntered over to stand at Jarek’s right. Two long knifes in black sheaths swung at her hips. Her ears had slight, almost indistinguishable, point to them. “I, Kithilien Shadowstalker, Nightblade of the Hunters, will use my twin blades to cut open your heart and reveal the blackness that lurks within.”

“Numbers do not matter!” the Lich said falteringly, a trace of fear appearing in his eyes. “I shall destroy you all and feed your corpses to the dogs of hell!”

“Boss, can we just kill him already?” a deep voice asked from behind the arrayed Hunters. A man wearing heavy plate mail lumbered forward and folded his arms across his chest. The huge war hammer slung across his back crackled like the sound of lightning in a storm. “I’m Braden Danicen, the brute force of the Hunters, and I’m hear to smash that corpse you call a body to pieces.”

“’Bout time you showed up Braden,” Jarek replied cleaning the gore off his sword. “But yes, now we can kill him.” Leaning over, he murmured something to Kithilien. With a barely noticeable nod and a mischievous grin, she disappeared into the shadows.

“Braden!” Jarek yelled. “Your with me. Ameloren, stay back and try to give us some support with your spells. Go!!”

Jarek and Braden charged the bone throne, Braden roaring a fierce battle cry as he unshackled his war hammer from his back. They were but a few feet away from the lich when Necavir cried out, “You fools! Did you honestly think I would just lie down and die?! You have fallen into my trap!” Seemingly out of nowhere, five skeleton warriors wielding huge claymores appeared in front of the lich. “Go my servants,” Necavir shouted maniacally. “Go and destroy my enemies!”

The skeleton warriors slowly advanced upon Jarek and Braden, like a lion that has just cornered his prey. A cold red light emitted from their empty eye sockets. “Braden,” Jarek yelled. “You take the three on the right and I’ll take the remaining two.”

“Right,” Braden replied, and began to charge the three warriors. With a great Clang! hammer met sword. The force of the impact sent shockwaves throughout the room. With speed that belied his great size, Braden shoved up the skeleton’s guard and dealt a crushing blow into its ribcage. Dropping its sword, it fell to the ground. Spinning around, Braden parried just in time to block a blow that would have left him headless. The skeleton went on the offense, slashing and stabbing with superhuman strength. Braden blocked each attack, biding his time until he saw an opening. Finally, he saw it. With a great bellow of rage, he brought his hammer with destructive force onto his foe’s sword, its blade shattering on impact. The skeleton’s eyes flashed in surprise as it looked from the shards on the floor to the hilt in its bony grasp, all that were left of the once great sword. It looked up just in time to see Braden’s war hammer smash into its skull.

Braden whirred around to fight his last opponent…and saw that it wasn’t there. He was looking around suspiciously when he felt a foot smash into his leg. Like a great oak tree, he tumbled to the ground. He looked up to see the last skeleton warrior towering over him, poised to strike. The warrior was just about deliver the final blow when Jarek’s blade sliced its head off.

“Thanks,” Braden said as Jarek helped him up. “I owe you one.”

“I think you owe me more than one,” Jarek replied good-naturedly. “Remember that time in the cemetery when we were surrounded by vampires?”

“Uh, Jarek,” Braden replied with dread in his voice.

“What?”

“We’ve got company.”

In front of the throne was an army of skeletons, wielding swords, axes, and spears, even weapons that hadn’t been used for ages. With a sigh, Jarek wearily said, “Here we go again.”

“Let me take care of this Jarek,” Ameloren said, pushing himself past the two fighters.

“Don’t hurt yourself little bro,” Braden worriedly replied. “Don’t try anything you can’t handle.”

“Trust me,” Ameloren confidently said. Rolling up his sleeves, the young mage stepped in front of the charging skeletons. He began to wave his arms through the passes and muttered in the arcane language that is magic. The air grew thick with tension as more power was built up. Finally, with a sharp command, Ameloren seemed to pick up all the energy in the air and hurl it at the enemy. Fire, hotter than the sun, erupted from both his hands and exploded into the ranks of skeletons. Some of them blew up and were scattered around the room. Others just ceased to exist. When the spell ended, all that remained of the army of skeleton warriors were broken pieces and piles of ash. Ameloren stood there surveying his work, and then suddenly staggered. “I’m fine,” He panted as Braden rushed over to support him. “Go kill the lich, the path is cleared.”

“Aye,” Braden replied. “Jarek, let’s take this bastard down.”

“Right behind you,” Jarek replied, raising his sword.

“Pah, so you destroyed my skeletons,” Necavir scoffed. Muttering something under his breath, he held out his hands and a quarterstaff appeared in them. “I’ll just take you mortals down myself!”

The two warriors fanned out, circling around the lich, waiting to see who would make the first move. Jarek lashed out, probing the extent of the lich’s defense. Just as fast the lich smacked Jarek’s blade away, spinning around just in time to block Braden’s wild attack. With a powerful swing, Necavir hit Braden in the stomach, sending the giant warrior flying away like a twig in a storm. The lich turned around to face Jarek, but stiffened before he could complete the motion. Looking down, he saw Jarek’s blade protruding from his stomach.

“You lose Necavir.” Jarek replied, cold as ice. But the lich just laughed. With the sound of bone and flesh being squished and slashed, the lich rotated himself on the blade to face Jarek. Jarek’s face lit up in surprise and confusion as the lich spat in his face.

“Jarek!” Ameloren shouted from across the room. “You must let go! He’s preparing a powerful spell, more powerful than even I can accomplish!”

Letting go of the blade, Jarek leaped of the dais just as Necavir unleashed his spell. An array of colors erupted from his hands, fire red, ice blue, lightning yellow, every element known to man blew over the spot where Jarek once stood. Rolling over to Ameloren, Jarek asked, “How the hell is that thing still moving? I stabbed him in the fornicating stomach!”

“Many wizards connect their souls to powerful magic items called phylacteries, before they transform themselves into immortal, undead liches. While that phylactery still remains intact, the lich cannot die.”

“So all we have to do is destroy this, this trinket?” Braden asked, stumbling over to Ameloren.

“Exactly. I’ll see if I can locate it.” Ameloren closed his eyes and began to chant. A short while later, his eye’s snapped open. “I can’t find it! He has some sort of anti-scrying spell placed on it!”

“I guess that means we’re on our own,” Jarek replied drawing small dagger he always carried concealed in his boot. Turning to Braden, he said, “Lets try something more effective this time. Will just charge him, all out offense!”

“Aye captain,” Braden replied. The two warriors charged the lich, but before they reached him, a dark, shadowy blur streaked in front of the lich. A moment later Kithilien appeared at the foot of the throne. “Braden! I’ve got it!”

“Toss it here Kit!” Braden replied.

But just as Kithilien tossed the amulet to Braden, Necavir released a second spell he’d been preparing during the lull in the fighting. A specter that radiated evil and malice flew out of the lich. Kithilien turned around in horror as the specter entered her body. With one last cry, she fell to the ground. The lich advanced on the fallen girl, quarterstaff held high. Suddenly, the lich staggered. Pieces of his body began to fall apart and disintegrate. The lich’s gaze cast about desperately. Finally his gaze landed on Braden’s open palm, where the necklace lay broken. With his body falling apart all around him, Necavir cried out, “You may have defeated me, but you shall never defeat my master!” With a loud Bang! The lich was gone. Suddenly the whole cavern began to rumble and pieces of the ceiling fell to the ground.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Jarek yelled as he dodged and ducked, trying to reach his abandoned sword. He sprang up the dais and snatched the weapon just before a boulder crashed down and crushed the throne. “Braden, grab Kit! Ameloren, do you have any ideas on how we’re supposed to get out of this hellhole?”

“I’m thinking I’m thinking!” Ameloren replied, nervous sweat dripping down his face.

“Well you’d better think fast, ‘cause this place is falling apart,” Braden said, carrying Kithilien pale body in his arms. Looking down at her, he said, “I don’t know how long she’ll last without a healer.”

“Thanks for the incentive,” Ameloren replied, his voice dripping sarcasm. From out of his pack, the mage pulled out an old, dusty, spell book. Scanning the text, the mage rapidly flipped through the pages. Finally, his eyes alighted on a spell. “Okay, I found one! Jarek think of a place that all of us are familiar with!”

“Headquarters of course.” Jarek instantly replied.

“No no no, HQ has an anti-teleportation field surrounding it. Where else?”

“What about Stendarr Keep? A city that big would have to have a healer of some degree.”

“Excellent, now think about Stendarr. Think of the buildings, people, everything!”

Ameloren began to chant. Their eyes began to blur as the crumbling cave around the circle began to warp and wave. Then, with a flash of light, the party was gone, with no sign of them ever setting foot into the throne room remaining. A moment later, the ceiling fell in, destroying the lair of the former Lich King Necavir.