Warvolt had gone a few days without a 'meal'. He felt his strength beginning to withdraw, and knew he had to eat. He was in the middle of a forest, but he could sense a group nearby. He pressed towards them, he could feel thier energies.

Finally, though the trees, he could see thier energy. He sensed thier direction shift towards him, and layed where he was, his head exposed above a revolting heap. The party was passing by, and one of the band yelped at what he thought to be a corpse. Most payed no attention, but once the young one started to lag behind, staring at the dead pile. The lich made his move. He tackled the yound scout, cupping his mouth with his rotten claw.

"And now you die, young lad." the lich whispered, cracking his staff over the boy's head. It didn't kill him, but he was now unconcoius. He heard something behind him and jerked his head up, and looked over his shoulder.