The mausoleum was surprisingly new, clean and well made. As the small party of adventurers began their approach, Taryn was struck once again at the fact that it missed out on every possible opportunity to be unnecessarily scary. Finished in white stone that may or may not possibly have been marble, there was a simple inscription on the entrance.

There remained a rather disturbing absence of undead attacks, but as they got to within a ten foot radius of the crypt, Taryn swore softly as the wound in his chest opened up once again and he began bleeding freely.

"On your guard, lads," he said, his voice taut with anxiety. "He's started up again." He indicated the spreading crimson stain on his chest.

Yet now, at least, there were no undead attackers moving towards them, although a deathly hush settled over the entire graveyard. Even the birdsong faded into nothing, as though the birds were too afraid to interrupt the blanket of death that had been laid across the place.

Every nerve ending in Taryn's body began to tingle as he took tentative step after step towards the door of the crypt. Just like the first time, it was not locked and the door swung open easily.

It still didn't creak.

Two seconds later, a blast of air burst from the now-open door. It was red-hot and reeked of death and decay and the nightmares of the afterlife. It spread to encompass all three of the adventurers, oppressive and terrifying. For Wurzag, it would remind him sharply of the sense of fear he had gotten from Taryn when the young mage had demonstrated his ability to cast that particular spell with great effectiveness.

A dark, seething mist writhed in the air, spreading out across the churchyard, deadening light as well as sound. Apart from one sound.

There were words carried in that gust of foul air. A single sentence that was laden with doom, threaded with threat and extraordinarily intimidating.

"Embrace your deaths for they are imminent."

Taryn, fighting hard against the urge to turn tail and run looked over his shoulder. What he saw made his jaw drop.

"We have to go in," he said, wretchedly. "We have no choice."

Behind Wurzag and Thal a vast army of the undead was lurching towards them. It may have been a genuinely huge army of undead warriors, or it may have been an illusion cast by the lich to convince them of the overwhelming odds. But the indication was obvious. Behind lay death. Ahead lay death.

It was the proverbial rock and hard place.

With sudden clarity, Taryn suddenly realised that he had had enough. He no longer wanted any part of this lich's interference in his life. He was suddenly completely and utterly sick of Suraklin.

"This ends. Now."

Having so said, the young mage whispered words of magic and summoned forth the fire elemental that had served him well when he and Wurzag had fought those bandits. It seemed easier this time; less effort was required on his part and within a few short seconds, the ball of fire had been manipulated into shape and burst forth in a flare of light on their undead attackers. The non-illusory undead almost instantly burst into flames, but it was this that could now at least mark them as genuine targets.

It did not, of course, stop their advance. They were mindless killing machines and they continued closing in.

Taryn watched his fire elemental dancing its ballet of death amongst the enemy impassively. He felt no guilt for the destruction of these foul creatures. None whatsoever. He withdrew the fire elemental, drawing it back to himself with a movement of his hands. He caressed the ball of flame lovingly, then turned and loosed the fireball into the crypt.

Your power grows, Pallerion. How I shall enjoy inhabiting your body...youth and strength. Come then. Let us settle this.

"Once and for all, Suraklin," acknowledged the mage.

He pulled the mace from his back and clutched it firmly (and inexpertly) in both hands.

"We go inside," he shouted without turning round. "There is a flight of steps downward, then the door to the crypt proper. I have no idea what's going to happen, but I hope to all the gods of the land that we can talk about it afterwards."

Then he did look round and he flashed them the smile that had so marked his attitude up until this point of his life.

"Let's do it. I want a steak when we get back, and several tankards of mead. Medium rare, if you need to know."

Thal observed the mausoleum silently for a while. But after a few minutes, he could hold back no longer.

"This is by far the least scary evil lair I have ever seen," Thal said. Then they were met by a blast of hot air. "I stand corrected... My god is that what undead smell like? It smells like somebody uses this place as an outhouse."

Then the undead came. They had had no trouble with undead dring the entire final leg of the journey. Frankly, Thal would have preferred to keep it that way. But it was not to be. Thal was about to dig in and fight when a fire elemental decided to beat him to it. The Elf was about to object, but then he saw the sheer number of undead and decided otherwise.

He turned as Taryn said that they were to enter the creepily non-creepy mausoleum. Thal nodded and entered behind Taryn, with Akan right behind him. Thal mumbled a few words and the Protection from Shadows spell was cast on the group. Akan cracked his knuckles, preparing to use his mastery of hand to hand combat.

"You want us to come with you Taryn, or should we stay down here and hold of these undead?" Thal asked, suddenly somber and serious. "It's your mission, your choice. We're going to have to fight the undead anyway. If this lich is as strong as you say we wont be able to defeat him before the undead reach us. Once again, though. Your choice."

Thalinis was fully prepared to take on the horde of undead as long as he had some help from Wurzag and stayed just inside the door to bottleneck to undead. He was also ready to go lich hunting. Ultimately, it was up to Taryn.

Wurzag glared at the monument and then back at the advancing wave of undead. Thal was right, the mausoleum did not bear any of the hallmarks of villainy and would not have looked out of place in the Lomedor cemetery. The fact that a great and malevolent evil festered deep within its heart would have gone entirely unnoticed had it not been for the wave of pure corruption that spewed from the open doorway. The half-orc wrinkled his nose in disgust and spat, there was something about it that reminded him of fear, visceral, monstrous fear. There was something familiar in its feel however, an echo of terror remembered and Wurzag knew how to beat it. He stared into the dark gullet of hell and grinned.

"Bring it on ye stinky git," he growled at the gloomy pit and then turned to his two companions. "I reckon," he started to say, but was interrupted by Taryn's unleashing of the fire elemental. The destruction that followed was impressive and thinned the ranks of shambling dead considerably but could not altogether stem the unholy tide. The party was caught in a slowly constricting net of undead and the only options were fight or flight, flight into the depths of the tomb where the vile conjurer lurked.

"I reckon," he started again once the dance of chaos had ended, "Dat we go where yooz go. You dunt know wot is in der any more den I do. If yooz go wanderin' in to find a hunerd zombies waitin' den yooz ain't gonna stand a chance, so get in der an we will follow an cover ye back. Once we're in me an Thal will close dat door and block it up wiv wot ever we can find."

The surviving monsters ambled closer, their rotting, outstretched hands curved into rending claws that would pull flesh from bone without pity or compunction. The only sounds to disturb the scene were the rustling of the breeze and the eerie shuffle of the undead as they drew ever closer to the little party. No battle cry escaped their lips, no screams of defiance, just the blank, stony silence of the grave. The green-skin shuddered and wondered if the tormented souls within had any awareness of what they were doing. If so, the horror of their existence must have driven them to madness. Destruction would be a kindness.

"Besides," Wurzag shot Taryn a toothy grin, "I ain't carried yez all dis way to get dun in by some stinky zombie so if yez fink I'm gonna let ye go down der alone ye got anuver fing coming!" He flapped a hand at the yawning doorway, "Now lets move!"

Taryn felt the first genuine twinges of genuine fear as he put his left foot over the threshold of Suraklin's lair. Until now, he had merely been visualising the horror that had awaited him at the end of this journey. Now every sense was filled with fear. His brain urged him to flee whilst he still could, but he knew that he could not.

That he would not.

He nodded grimly at first Thal and then Wurzag and taking a deep breath plunged into the heart of the crypt.

When, mere moments later, his companions had crossed the threshold, the outer door slammed shut with an ominous bang that echoed through the interior of the crypt. It nearly made Taryn's heart stop.

At least those undead are on the outside, now.

Yeah, but they'll still be there when you come back.

If you have nothing useful to contribute...

Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up.

Still talking to yourself, little mage?

An unnatural darkness covered them like a blanket, blinding them to the way ahead. Taryn's instant response was to counter by summoning forth his fire elemental to light the way ahead. He was successful - but it was obvious to them all that the elemental was struggling to fight against the lich's more powerful dark magic. It was small and weak, but threw out just enough light that they could at least see where they were stepping.

There was a flight of steps leading downwards, a door at the very end of it. Taryn reached back into his memories. "There's a corridor beyond there," he said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the interior of the tomb. "There are about six burial chambers off the corridor and one at the top end. In due accordance with the laws of arrogance, our quarry lives in the top one."

He flashed a smile, but there was no humour in it.

Hefting the mace in his hand as they began descending the stairs, Taryn felt the dual weight of trying to keep his fire elemental in existence against the lich's overpowering darkness and the weight of the sheer presence of the powerful undead lord. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead and he reached up to wipe it clear.

Hey, gods of Ea? I know that I'm not exactly the model of good behaviour, or even slightly-better-than-bad behaviour, but if any of you have got a spare dose of extreme good luck, I wouldn't say no right now.

It was eerily silent at the bottom of the stairs. Taryn wished it weren't. He wished the lich was inside his head mocking him endlessly. He wished that he were mentally begging Suraklin to shut up.

But all he was treated to was silence.

The sweat continued to pour down his face as he struggled to keep his composure.

This battle at least was one he could win.

"You still with me?" he shot back at his companions.

Thal followed Taryn into the lair, and they were immediately blinded by darkness. Taryn conjured up a fire elemental to light their way, but it didn't help much. Thal, thankfully, had the ability to see in the dark, which was coming in very handy right about now. Unfortunately, Akan was not so lucky, and he walked into the first wall that they came near.

"My goodness you're clumsy," Thal commented.

"Well not all of us have night vision," Akan shot back, rubbing his nose.

The Elf chuckled before moving up next to Taryn. "Of course we're with you. But let me take the lead," he said. "I can see just as well in the dark as I can in the light." Just then, his vision went dark. "Damn lich stole my night vision!" Thal said indignantly. "Okay, Taryn, you can kill the bastard, but at least let me get in a few shots at him first."

Thal looked around in the dim, dank, darkness. Fear was beginning to extend its icy fingers towards him, but he fought it off. His darkness defense spell was certainly helping, and he hoped it was helping the rest of the party as well. If they succumbed to fear, it would be over. They had to stay diligent and strong, or else they had no hope of defeating this nasty little undead bugger who seemed to not be able to just put this whole "Taryn's soul" issue behind him.

"If I may spout an inspirational cliche," Thal said, not actually asking for permission. "Let's rock and roll." With that, he whipped out his katana, gave his friends a reassuring smile, and slowly faded from view right before their eyes.

Wurzag slammed the door of the tomb closed with a crash that reverberated around the dank interior. Instantly the world was plunged into darkness and the half-orc groped frantically for the nearest wall to avoid a painful fall down the steep stairs. A moment later the gloom was forced into retreat by Taryn's summoned elemental and Wurzag looked around for something to jam the door. His eyes fell upon the unlit iron sconces set into the walls and with a wrench he tore one free before ramming it home into the door latch. It would not withstand a concerted effort, but if fortune smiled then the lich would shortly have more to worry about shortly than the summoning of a few minions.

"Right den," he rumbled into the shadows, "I dunt fink dat will 'old 'em for too long so we best get a move on unless we wanna 'ave zombies chewin' on our 'eels." He stomped down the stairs and paused in front of the door. No sound came from beyond, no ominous breathing, no shuffling of undead feet, not even the whisper of an ethereal breeze. The place was quite literally as dead as a tomb. He had been about to agree with the half-elf's assessment that they 'rock and roll' when the fellow quite literally disappeared. Wurzag stared at the spot that had, only a moment ago, been filled with Thalinis. Baffled he prodded experimentally at the vacant air and encountered something soft and warm but altogether transparent. "Now dat," the green skin said with a wry grin, "is a neat trick." He turned his attention back toward the offending portal and scratched his chin.

"Dunt sound like 'e as got any mates in der," the green-skin muttered quietly, "but den if der is a whole bunch of burial chambers around da place den 'e ain't gonna 'ave to look far for friends." He waved Froat over to the door. "Put dat nose to some use an give us a sniff," he said to the lupine and the creature hastened to obey. It cautiously pressed its snout to the base of the portal and snuffled around for a few moments before shaking it's bestial head in the negative. As far as it could tell there were no foes lurking beyond the door. Wurzag shrugged, "oh well, dis fing knows we're commin' so der ain't no point in creepin' around an whisperin'. I say da sooner we gets der da sooner we can kick 'is 'ead in, keep da element of surprise an all dat."

Satisfied that his plan was a good one and not concerned with whether or not the door was locked the half-orc gave the aged wood a solid kick. Latch and hinges exploded from the anchoring stone with a resounding crack and the wreckage tumbled to the ground. Wurzag glanced at Thal and Taryn, grinned and then surged into the corridor. Apart from a choking cloud of dust, old cobwebs and the stink of dark magic the hall was empty.

"Well dat was disappointing," Wurzag grumbled, and he stomped off in the direction of the final crypt.

Taryn had grown up around mages. Invisibility was nothing new to him, but yet he still felt the old thrill of excitement at seeing another perform magic in his presence. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard. He wasn't even going to pretend that he felt brave and ready for the showdown, because he was, quite frankly, on the verge of wetting himself.

"You can get in as many shots as you like my friend," he said, "but all you'll do is just annoy him. This..." He hefted Suraklin's Bane. "This is the only thing that's going to do the job for good."

Turning to Wurzag, he watched as the half-orc kicked the door, which disintegrated almost immediately. Absently, Taryn noted that rot had set in with great alacrity over the seven years since he'd last been here. It felt faintly prosaic, almost a reflection of how his own sense of balance had eroded along with it.

The plan's already gone wrong. You were going to go in there first and these two would back you up. Instead, look at you. You coward. You're letting them go in first and take the heat.

No! It's not that! They're going in first because...

Well?

Because they're my friends.

"And I'm not going to let them die," Taryn muttered aloud and quickened his pace, reaching and overtaking the half-orc with surprising speed and agility as he headed to the door that led the way to Suraklin's prison-tomb.

The silence was abruptly shattered by a booming voice, filled with the sepulchral doom of ages.

"Taryanderon DeVere Pallerion, I tire of this sneaking around. It is time for me to collect the rest of my payment from you. Enter this room now and your ending will be swift. I am not without mercy."

"You might not be without mercy," said Taryn, who unable to resist the power in - what was effectively his master's - voice had begun to feel the urge to sink to his knees and acquiesce to all that was asked of him. "But very, very soon, I'm hoping that you're going to be without an existence."

"Brave words, little mage, yet foolish. You have not the power and physical strength to defeat me. Enter."

There was a pause.

"Now."

Sweat was running down Taryn's face in rivulets and his breathing felt like fire in his chest as he tried to resist the draw of the lich's invitation, but he could fight it no longer. All the years he had put distance between himself and Suraklin, he had managed the draw back to this place. But now, with only a few inches of oak between himself and an undead being he had called back into power, he could resist no longer.

"Remember me well," was all he said to Wurzag as he stepped up to the door and, reaching for the handle, turned it and pushed the door in.

What happened next could not be explained easily. Within a heartbeat, Taryn felt himself snatched by the wrists and hauled bodily in through the door which then slammed shut behind him.

No amount of kicking was going to shift this door.

"Welcome, my other visitors. Enjoy the hospitality of my personal guard."

Somewhere, down the far end of the corridor, a horrible moaning noise began to carry towards Wurzag.

* * *

Minutes, maybe hours passed before the unnatural dark lifted from Taryn's eyes and he found himself standing apparently alone in the tomb where he had first encountered Suraklin seven years ago. He looked around, wildly, clutching the mace. Against the door, which had slammed shut, there was a huge, dried blood stain. His own blood - from where the lich had sliced into him with its claws seven years ago and claimed part of his soul for ever more.

Taryn knew that he hadn't truly lost a part of his soul; it was a mere euphemism to compensate for the dark rot that had set in. His soul, once in perfect balance, was forever tarnished - and it had been a coping mechanism for him to box it up and parcel it away as a single thing.

Taryn mustered up every ounce of courage he possessed and moved to stand in the middle of the room. His heart was pounding so hard that he could barely hear his own voice as he spoke.

"Hiding, Suraklin? Come out here and face me."

"No, my little mage. I am merely watching."

Taryn spun on the spot and found himself face-to-face with the creature of his nightmares. Bile rose in his throat at the things foul stench, but his eyes were drawn automatically to the hand that was rapidly closing the distance to his throat.

Taryn was no warrior. He was agile and had exceptionally fast reflexes, but the moment of hesitation cost him as the lich's hand closed around his throat and slammed him up against the door through which he had just come.

"Welcome home, my little one." The thing's face, such as it was, contorted into a parody of a grin and it extended its hand, claws out, in Taryn's direction. "Remember this feeling?"

On the other side of the door, all that could be heard of this exchange was the agonised scream that came from Taryn's lungs.

Thal watched as Taryn bustled past Wurzag and into the room. He was about to enter behind the mage when the door slammed in front of him. Well that's obnoxious, Thal thought to himself. He kicked the door hard with his invisible foot, but the door did not budge. Magic. He knew its presence all too well, and it was definitely present on the door. He was about to try some other means of opening the door when he heard a loud moan behind him. He spun quickly and saw an army of zombies rising from their tombs and lurching towards Thal and Wurzag.

"It looks like the blasted undead bugger sent us some of his friends to play with," Thal's disembodied whispered to Wurzag. "You keep them occupied in the front and I'll go around the side. Once they start dropping without any sign of an attacker, maybe they'll get scared."

"Or maybe they don't have brainds, so it isn't possible for them to be afraid," Akan supplied, rather unhelpfully.

Thal rolled his eyes, but since he was invisible, nobody could actually see it. The Elf crept quietly around to the side of the door through which the zombies would enter. As soon as the first one got through, he performed a quick cranium amputation, causing the headless zombie to crumple to the floor. He continued in this fashion until the zombies began to pour through in greater numbers. After a few seconds there were ten of them in the room with Thal, Wurzag, Akan, and Froat, and there were plenty more brain-munching freaks in the room beyond.

"Wurzag," Thal called. "You ready to send this ugly creeps back where they came from?"

The half-orc watched as the door slammed shut in his face and stood for several long moments with a expression of puzzlement plainly across his face. Then, with an inarticulate growl he threw himself at the offending portal. The sturdy wood reverberated with a crash under the impact but did not so much as tilt in its frame. Wurzag stood stunned for a moment, shocked that his assault had not yielded more of a result, then he roared in fury and began to batter at the door in a rage that bordered on frenzy. At a base level he was aware of Thal's strategic advice but he had no interest in the undead minions that approached, only that his friend was trapped in a room with a monster that had every intention of slaughtering him.

And he was not there to help.

He continued to hammer at the door until his anger was interrupted by a very human scream of pain from beyond. He stood stock still for a moment as the cry faded away, his chest heaving and the blood pounding in his temples. There were several heavy impacts behind him as Thal did his best to stem the tide that approached but somehow it didn't seem to matter. The only other sound to disturb the eerie quiet of the tomb was the incessant shuffling of undead feet as the zombie army poured into the hall. No further noise broke the silent from beyond, no other cries or curses.

Taryn was no warrior and he faced a monster who possessed power that far exceeded his own. It was very likely that he was dead.

Wurzag snarled, a deep bass sound that rumbled from the very depths of his chest and a terrible red ruin filled his eyes. Then, with a wordless howl of fury he flung himself at the door, bodily battering at it as if sheer force of will could push the substance of his being through the offending barrier. There was no give in it whatsoever but he did not intend to let that stop him, he would tear down the surrounding walls if he had to, such was his single minded ferocity. He probably would have continued to hammer away at the door until dropped from exhaustion, but unchecked, and in huge numbers the zombies had pressed their way in to the hall despite Thal's valiant efforts.

A frigid claw closed around his shoulder and tugged at the exposed flesh with a deathless strength. In a towering rage the half-orc whirled on the sea of monsters and began to hack at their rotting bodies, his massive sword crushing bones, splitting skulls and severing limbs. From somewhere beyond the press he heard the elf call some words of encouragement but they were lost to the all-consuming crimson madness that had claimed his mind and vision. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Froat clawing at the monstrosities with a similar berserk frenzy and for several heartbeats it looked as though the pair of crazed warriors could hold the tide at bay. The zombies however did not know fear, nor did they know pain, and for every creature that fell twitching to the ground two more stepped up to take its place. Even those with mutilated limbs and shattered bones continued to fight on, the dark magic that pulsed within them driving them ever onward.

Wurzag saw Froat go down under a seething mass of monsters and cried out in indignation. He punched the jaw from the closest zombie, pulverised the pelvis of the next and decapitated a third with a vicious back-swing in an effort to rescue his fallen familiar. Then the blade lodged in the chest cavity of a stumbling corpse and Wurzag found himself momentarily paralyzed amidst a clutching, clawing press of dead flesh. They ripped at his clothing, tore at his skin and bit at his limbs with monstrous tenacity. His weapon was dragged from his grasp and his legs were kicked from under him and he felt the warmth of his own blood begin to flow from the numerous wounds.

Darkness hovered at the edges of his vision like the wings of a carrion crow.

Then something nearby exploded and his attackers stumbled under the sudden wash of heat. Between the legs of a staggering zombie Wurzag saw Froat surge from beneath the press of its attackers, a great, billowing cloud of flames boiling from between its jaws in a wash of orange that consumed the monsters like dry brands. He also saw his sword laying discarded on the ground and he scuttled across on hands and knees to retrieve it. The horde was in temporary disarray, and Wurzag managed to drag himself erect. He was bleeding from a dozen injuries and his clothing hung in tatters. One eye was swollen shut and blood oozed steadily from a gash on his brow yet still he stood defiant.

With another roar of rage and indignation he peered around for signs of his friends and then plunged back toward the offending door.

Yes, Taryn remembered all too clearly how it had felt, the lich's claw piercing through his body and ripping his flesh asunder. And it felt every bit as bad the second time. The scream that left his lips was one of genuine agony, fear and laced through it was an undercurrent of furious indignation.

The lich seemed to sense the latter fact and withdrew its claw from Taryn's chest, where it had pierced just below his heart once before. Blood sprayed from the mage in a crimson fountain, staining the lich's face before he was dropped, unceremoniously to the floor in a heap.

Suraklin's Bane clattered from his grip, the sound harsh and grating in the echoing tomb. In pain and anguish, Taryn raised his head to look once again on the evil creature that he had unwillingly unleashed to torment his existence seven years previously.

Seven foot of putrid undead creature prowled the crypt, head erect, stink of a thousand years of decay clouding around it like a dust bowl, burning eyes never once leaving him.

"It is time, little one, for the sacrifice. Your blood, your flesh, my rise to full power."

Taryn remembered with a flash the words of seven years ago.

"...I require a sacrifice to bring me to full corporeal strength. A simple sacrifice made up of two things. Your blood, which will nullify the blood magic placed on this crypt by your great-great uncle. And more deliciously, when I have spilled every last drop of your blood, I will feast on your flesh, so that I may gain full form.”

The young mage pulled himself into an upright sitting position. His face was covered in his own blood from the fountain that had spurted forth from him, but he did not care.

Outside, he could hear the sounds of pitched battle and it sent a soaring sense of triumph through him. He had battled against overwhelming odds to get this far. He still had a chance. He still had the mace and he was still conscious.

"You understand, of course," said Taryn, his voice far stronger than he could ever have anticipated it being at this moment. "You understand that I can't allow that to happen. See, I reckon that Arda isn't ready for your particular brand of evil just yet. I think the world should be left alone for just a little bit longer."

He shifted his eyes sideways to look at the mace. It was out of his grasp right this moment and any sudden move towards it would see the lich swoop on him like a vulture.

"What is this? Bravado? You were not so sure of yourself before, were you, little mage? You were full of promises. You swore to me that you would return to this place with my phylactery, yet you have not. You destroyed it."

Inasmuch as it was possible for something so mind-bogglingly evil to sound amused, the lich sounded amused right now.

"How did you achieve that? You are a mage of little consequence. Your power is strong, but by no means great. You have a swift, quick mind, but you are lazy. How did you destroy my phylactery?

"I got lucky."

The lich looked up at the door, suddenly and its foul features wrinkled with obvious effort as it maintained a control on the mass of attacking undead on the other side of the door. It was long enough to allow Taryn to scoot a few inches closer to the mace. He froze when Suraklin's gaze returned to him.

The lich raised its blood-stained claw to its gaping maw of a mouth and to Taryn's disgust, licked the mage's blood from its hand. Taryn turned his face to the side, sickened by the sight.

"You are young and you are in your prime. It is delicious. Have you realised yet, Taryanderon DeVere Pallerion? Have you realised that I can keep you alive for as long as I want? That I can force your puny human body to regenerate blood enough to feed me throughout eternity? I feel almost saddened that I will be forced to rip your flesh open and eat your liver, your blood is an exquisite vintage."

Taryn swallowed hard and made a movement which brought him from sitting to his knees, his head bowed. Tears formed in his eyes and he blinked them away angrily.

For once, my friend, I don't blame you for being frightened.

You're not going to call me a big girl's blouse like you normally do?

I think on the whole, probably not.

Any words of advice? You're usually so loquacious.

Taryn, my boy, I have eight of them.

Spill.

'Stick the pointy end in the bad guy'.

The mage couldn't help himself. His inner monologue could still react with an unfailing sense of humour and it gave him a little more strength. His head raised up so that his eyes met those of Suraklin's.

"By what witchery did you destroy my phylactery?"

"I had help."

"Those pathetic fleshbags outside my door? Pah! They will soon be as dead as you are. Although I may reward them for delivering you to me by setting them at the head of my army of undead." That peculiar smile-like expression flitted across Suraklin's foul features again as he looked up to the door once more, brow furrowed in concentration.

Just a few ... inches ... more...

He could feel his strength starting to fail and knew that he had to make his strike soon. Impulsively, he tried leaning across to pick the mace up, but the lich moved far faster than could be comprehended. It grabbed Taryn by the shoulder and literally threw him the entire distance across the crypt. He slammed into the opposite wall and slid stupidly down it, dazed and stunned.

It is said that at the moment of death, your life flashes before your eyes. Taryn discovered what that meant as a veritable tidal wave of memories charged through his inner vision, temporarily blinding him to anything that was going on around him. Words spoken by him or to him by those who had touched his life, precious moments, foolish moments, moments that had come and gone in a heartbeat but yet which had stayed with him all his life.

Redemption is not an easy path to walk, Taryn.

“The Gods damn it, I’ll sell my soul if it means I can taste adventure.”

Be careful what you wish, Taryn. It may just come true.

“Consider this a down payment, Pallerion."

"This is the pinnacle of your career. You will amount to nothing, boy. Do you hear me? Nothing."

"On reflection, going out and getting rat-arsed last night may not have been the best of plans."

“Your timing was most unfortunate, sir, I can’t begin to imagine what you must have thought, ha ha, seeing your beautiful young wife in another man’s arms."

"That's one hell of an arm you have there, Aunt Min."

"Two against twelve, Wurzag? That's hardly fair odds, is it? Do you think I should tie one of your hands behind your back?"

If I 'ave to carry yez to da bloody end an frow yez at dat undead git I'll see dis fing to da finish now lets GO!"

His life, it seemed, wasn't quite over.

Taryn's head snapped up again, his vision slowly returning to normal. Taking advantage of the fact that his quarry had been temporarily stunned, the lich had moved to stand before the door and was muttering arcane words of forbidden magic, bringing forth more of its foul minions.

"Hey, Suraklin."

The lich, evidently surprised at the fact that Taryn had recovered so swiftly, spun round in time to see the young man get to his feet and move to stand right in front of it. It sneered nastily at him.

"Once more," said Taryn, his voice low and dangerous. "This time with feeling."

"I tire of your flapping lips and never-ending talk. I believe I will commence with your throat and your voice box."

That evil clawed hand came lashing out towards him once more and once again closed around his throat. Stars appeared in his vision as the lich drew back the other hand and then punched him, full on in the face. He heard a definite crack as his cheekbone splintered and howled in pain. Then Suraklin threw him once again to the ground.

Virtually right on top of Suraklin's Bane.

It would only take a connection of the mace with the lich, that was all it would take. But as Taryn's hands closed around the weapon and he staggered for the last time to his feet, he discovered that he barely had the strength to lift it, let alone swing it.

"What is this?" Undeniable amusement. "The weakling wants to fight? Go on then, mage. I am yours."

The lich threw its hands up in mock surrender and Taryn tried desperately to swing the mace at it. He overshot, stumbled and fell. The lich's laughter, high pitched and filled to the brim with pure evil filled his ears, carried out into the hallway where Wurzag, Thal and Akan were fighting.

"Game over, little mage," said Suraklin, bending down over the prostrate Taryn.

There had been many physical sensations in Taryn's life, some of the pleasant and enjoyable, others less so. But the feeling of the lich's ultra-sharp claw scything through the soft flesh of his abdomen, the feeling of blood as it washed over his hands and the feeling that his insides were about to become his outsides had to rank amongst the most horrible things he had ever experienced.

The lich was gutting him.

Another howl of agony left his lips and he clutched at his stomach, now pouring his life's blood onto the floor of the crypt, releasing once more Suraklin's Bane.

"You are SO like Aneuryn," said Suraklin, actually sounding annoyed. "HE took forever to die as well!"

Taryn's vision was starting to go black around the edges. In moments, he would die and the lich would endure. He had to find one last burst of strength that would let him do it. His mind flashed through every one of the people he had come into contact with over the last seven years, trying to find the one thing that would give him the power to end it.

He found not one thing, but four.

Wurzag. Clumsy, awkward, misfit that he was. Brave and idiotic in equal measure.

Thal and Akan. Outspoken, blunt, inappropriately funny - just his sort of of people.

And finally, Leandra. His beloved baby sister, for whom he had once stated for the record that he would gladly die if it meant she would live.

And it was the combined strength, love and friendship of those four people that saw the dying mage pick up the mace with one hand, practically hold his stomach together with the other and swing it with full force at the lich's back.

"Pointy end," he said, his voice choking with his own blood. "Bad guy."

At the moment of impact, the lich's absolute and utter devastated shock was more than heard. It was tangible. It was thing of nightmares. It was a scream, it was a stench, it was a rumble of underground spirits and above everything else, it was filled with utter hatred.

Taryn dropped the mace and stood his ground, both hands now gripping at his stomach. The lich seemed to shrink in front of his eyes.

"Lothlómendil sends her love," he said as Suraklin staggered backwards, staring at him incredulously through those burning eyes that would haunt him no longer. Deep, deep down, he couldn't suppress his inner monologue.

Was that IT? That was a bit easy, wasn't it?

Shut. Up.

Shutting up.

There was a long moment of silence and then the lich quite literally exploded with the loudest sound Taryn had ever heard. The explosion was threaded with the lich's scream of abject fury at the fact that it had been defeated and carried round the mausoleum, out into the graveyard surrounding it, across the Land of the Dead and was then just as equally silent.

The undead attackers simply stopped, those in the corridor finding themselves knee-deep in rotting, unanimated corpes. The magic on the door to Suraklin's crypt lifted, although it remained shut.

And a young mage, tears flowing freely down his face now sank to his knees and gave a beatific little smile.

"Got you, you bastard."

Then his eyes closed and he collapsed to the floor.

Thal kept fighting as hard as he could, but there was only so much four companions could do against a never ending army of zombies. The Elf gripped his sword and plunged into the middle of the group of undead. He thanked the gods for invisibility, and the fact that the undead would be dropping dead around him without so much as a clue that they were about to die. He swung his sword in an arc around him, slicing through five demons in one turn. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment that his invisibility wore off.

He found himself face to face with an exceptionally disgusting zombie. The creature had half of an eye in the left socket, and his brain was spilling out of his head. Both arms were intact, however, and the zombie used them both to grab Thal in a bear hug. The creature squeezed with incredible strength for a decaying freak, causing Thal to grunt in pain. He gripped his sword tighter, and smashed the pommel into the zombie's exposed brain. The creature screamed so loudly and high-pitched that Thal fell to the ground, covering his ears with his hands, dropping his sword.

Within seconds, a group of zombies swarmed around him, jumping on him, clawing at his face and body, tearing his clothes. Within seconds, Thal felt deep cuts and gashes being torn into his skin.

Seing this, Akan became enraged. Though he and Thal fought all the time, in truth, Akan respected, and was incredibly loyal to Thal, and not only because he was charged to by Threnody.

The monk calmly and deliberately made his way towards Thal, swiftly punching and kicking any zombie who got too close to him. After a few mintes of fighting his way through the horde weaponlessly, he reached Thal. Well, he reached the pile of zombies on top of Thal. Akan began to pull zombies off of his friend, punching each of them as hard as he could in the face as he removed them from the pile. Finally, the zombies were all off of the Elf, and all knocked out or dead on the ground.

Shakily, Thal stood, blood dripping from his left arm and his chest. His armor was torn open at his chest, revealing a large gash slicing from his left shoulder all the way to his right hipbone. Thal knew it would hurt like crazy later, but at that moment, all he could think of was taking as many zombies down as he possibly could.

The Elf rolled to his left, sweeping up his sword as he did so. He popped to his feet in the middle of five zombies. He looked quickly around, and smirked. There was a fire in his eyes the likes of which have never been seen before in an Elf. He let the anger and rage flow through him. His leg muscles tightened and released, sending him flying through the air at one of the surrounding zombies. He drove his blade through the zombie's chest, sending blood and bile flying through the air. He planted one foot against the zombie's chest and pulled his blade out as hard as he could, spinning around as he did so, and decapitating a second zombie.

Unfortunately, zombies felt no fear or apprehension, and they just kept coming. Thal had no idea how long he and Wurzag would be able to hold off this never-ending swarm of undead.

Just as these thoughts entered his minds, the zombies got smart and decided to start attacking him in groups, all at the same time. He fought hard, killing three or four out of every group of six that attacked him, but that simply was not enough. Eventually, he became overwhelmed and went to the ground again, covered in zombies for the second time in ten minutes. This time, Akan was too busy being dog-piled by his own group of zombies to help.

Thal felt his back being clawed at by shart nails. To an observer from the outside, it would seem that the zombies were being slashed on the back by an invisible blade. In truth, Thal was casting Inflict Minor Wounds at a feverish pace. He knew casting this much magic could kill him, but if he didn't he would die anyway, and he saw no other alternative.

After a few moments of spellcasting, Thal became too tired to do any more. He simply went limp under the sheer weight of the zombies above him. Just as he was sure that he was done for, the zombies suddenly stopped clawing and slashing him. For a few minutes, Thal just lay there, not moving, barely breathing. Finally, he mustered the strength to push himself up through the pile of undead above him. He burst through the bodies and into the still not-so-fresh air.

He looked down at himself. He was completely covered in blood, most of it his own, but not all. The gash on his chest was burning so intensely, that he had to fight to stay concious and upright. He was knee-deep in re-killed zombies, and found it hard to move. He sank to his knees, bracing his hands against the squishy, dead bodies of the zombies around him.

"Wurzag? You still here, buddy?" Thal called out. He realized that Taryn must have killed the Lich, but at what costs to himself, and to Thal and Wurzag?

There were just too many corpses between him and the door. At first he hacked them apart with reckless abandon, paying for every step with the mutilated flesh of the dead. It was clear however that the monsters were not only working for their downfall, but also to prevent any further attempts to breach the crypt. In the serene core of his rage-addled mind Wurzag recognised that as a good thing; it meant that the Lich was still occupied, that against all the odds Taryn was still alive. He gave the closest zombie a manic grin and plunged his sword through its sagging face before kicking the creature away into the throng.

He became aware of Akan ploughing through the horde like a galleon as he made a bee-line for a particularly tight knot of undead and guessed that Thal must have run out of invisibility juice, though he could not see the half-elf through the press of bodies. The fact that the occasional creature still fell lifeless from the mass testified to the ranger's survival, though how long that state of affairs would continue was questionable for them all.

A claw raked his back like a trail of ice-fire and he snarled and severed the offending limb with an overhead cut. More hands closed in, their clammy grasp as cold and foetid as the grave. The half-orc slashed frenziedly at the renewed assault but injury, the days of hard travel and the relentless onslaught were beginning to take their toll on his endurance and more and more of the attacks slipped through to snag at his unprotected body. He felled a zombie with a cut that split it from shoulder to groin and opened the skull of another with the follow up-swing. Both slumped soundlessly back into the mass in a welter of gore and Wurzag stepped forward to confront the next line.

A moment later the monster behind him was torn apart by a flurry of claws and Froat appeared. The lupine glowed ferociously, though its crimson fur was matted with blood. Wurzag could not tell whether the creature was injured or not, its hide displayed no outward signs of injury but the blistering scarlet glow that filled its eyes seemed much diminished. This battle was taking its toll on them both.

Wurzag flashed his lupine partner a grin and pressed forward. With Froat to watch his back he could concentrate on the important task of pushing toward the door. For a few short moments the pair made good progress, the familiar shredded anything that dared too close to its claws and teeth while Wurzag systematically dismembered those ahead. The action became mechanical; blade down, parry, blade up, cut, step. His muscles burned from the strain but brute, stubborn will refused to let him surrender and the possibility of retreat was as unthinkable as it was improbable.

The situation did not last however, whatever force guided the will of the undead was clearly capable of extolling its minions to even greater feats of sacrifice. They massed just beyond the reach of his sword and then surged forward as one. The half-orc impaled the first on the massive blade but then found it twisted painfully from his grasp by the tumbling body. It's companions closed in, their hideous talons eager for the kill. At his back Froat was similarly overwhelmed, though the lupine continued to bite and claw even as it fell.

"FROAT!" The half-orc yelled in rage as a dozen hands closed about him, and then his cry was choked short by a set of deathless fingers that fastened around his throat. For the second time, Wurzag went berserk, though no amount of thrashing would free him from the constricting grip and by increments the world started to go fuzzy. His eyes bulged and his lungs shrieked at him for breath that he was unable to draw. The edges of his vision filled with whirled with darkness and a great roaring filled his ears.

He had not imagined death to be like this.

Suddenly, and with a great wash of relief the pressure released. Wurzag staggered and fell to his hands and knees were he stay gasping for breath for several long moments. When his focus returned he found himself looking down into the disgusting face of a corpse, its face frozen in a rictus of death. He spat into the monster's face and then got shakily to his feet. The hall was filled with the dead, a great stinking carpet of mangled flesh and bone. None of them moved. Behind him the pile of bodies stirred and Froat clambered out, its lupine visage dull and exhausted. For several heart-beats the reality of it refused to sink in. Seconds ago they had been on the cusp of death and now they apparently stood on a field of victory.

He completed his full turn and spied Thal and Akan staggering up out of the mass, equally bewildered. Wurzag looked at the elf, his visage bloodied and his armour torn and ragged and then he looked down at himself. Then he began to laugh. The involuntary mirth hurt his ribs but he laughed anyway, eventually doubling up with hysteria.

They had won.

He looked back at Thal and roared in exultation. "YEAH!" He cried with joy, "dat's wot you get!" His humour subsided and he found his gaze fixed on the door that had formerly resisted his efforts. His grin evaporated as quickly as his mood. "Ah fuggit! Taryn!" Despite his bone weariness the half-orc crossed the room with a celerity that defied his great size and this time the portal yielded in a great explosion of flying debris.

The scene of horror that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs. A crumpled mass of rags lay at the center of the hall and might once have been filled by significant body, but Wurzag cared nothing for that. Slumped against one wall and soaked in a spreading pool of his own blood lay Taryn. Wurzag raced over to his fallen friend and knelt beside him, all his knowledge of healing racing to the fore. The boy still had a pulse, his heart still beat and blood still pumped through his veins though that thread was weak and fragile. The more of his life that spilled on to the ground the faster he would slip away. He needed bandaging and he needed it now.

Wurzag looked down at his soiled, shredded clothing and despaired.

"THAL!" He bellowed, "GET IN 'ERE NOW! I NEED YE CLOTHES!"

In his later years, Taryn would always deny that he regained consciousness immediately after the destruction of the lich that had haunted his living and waking moments for seven years. "I was out of it," he'd say, with that sort of very definite head-nodding that nobody dared question. "Can't remember anything about getting from the crypt back to my family's farm. Nothing."

That was, of course, a lie.

He stirred briefly into shallow wakefulness when Wurzag knelt down beside him and opened his eyes. That proved to be an exercise in futility: he was practically blinded by pain the second he stirred and whimpered slightly as Wurzag examined his injuries. It was a tiny noise, barely audible, but enough to indicate that he was presently conscious.

"Wurzag," he said, then coughed, weakly. When he coughed, the movement pumped more blood from the gaping wound that had sliced right through his leather armour and through his abdomen. More blood trickled from his mouth. All in all, Taryn Pallerion, the young man who always took such great pains with his appearance was not looking his best.

He tried to shift his position, but this proved to be more than he could manage. He was weaker than a day-old kitten and certainly as helpless. His eyes, vague and barely focusing, roamed around the crypt and came to rest on the pile of rags that had once contained Suraklin.

He'd done it.

Lothlómendil's will had been passed to him and he had carried it all the way here and embedded it in the lich's back.

He wondered, with the vague airiness of delirium, whether she would be pleased with him. His eyes roamed again and looked at the mace.

"Suraklin's Bane," he whispered, coughing again so that fresh blood pumped. "Let me hold it, Wurzag, please. And tell my sister...tell her..."

His eyes rolled back in his head and he began to mumble incoherently as his battered, bleeding body began to go into shock. He was losing blood at a frightening rate and his body temperature was beginning to drop.

A few seconds later he passed into unconsciousness again.

Thal saw Wurzag burst through the door at the other end of the hall and into the chamber where the screams had previously been coming from. He then heard Wurzag call to him, telling him that they needed his clothes. The first thought that entered Thal's head was Use your own damn clothes. But then he realized what they were needed for. Taryn must have been gravely wounded.

Thal immediately stood up and began to push his way through the pool of dead bodies around him. Unfortunately, wading through these dead undead was no simple task. Eventually, though, he made it to the open door. He stumbled through, tripping once or twice as he hurried as fast as he could through the haze that seemed to surround his vision. He spotted Wurzag and Taryn against the wall nearby and he ran to them, tearing off his armor and what was left of his tunic as he reached them. He slid next to Taryn and tore off a large piece of fabric from his former shirt. He began to wrap it tightly around Taryn's stomach wound. He was amazed at the sheer amount of blood all over the floor. It looked like a slaughterhouse.

Cringing at the pain and blood gushing from his own wound, Thal fervently wrapped Taryn's wound as best he could. They had to get him out of here before he died from loss of blood. They had to get him to a healer.

"Wurzag, do you think you can carry him out of here?" Thal asked. "We have to get him to a healer before he dies from blood loss."

Thal continued wrapping the wound with pieces of his shirt until it was completely covered. The fabric was soaked with blood already. Thal swore under his breath as his hands became drenched in blood as well.

"Wurzag, we have to get going now," Thal said desperately. "You grab him and I'll move as many of these corpses out of the way as I can. Akan, come help me."

The monk wordlessly complied and the two went out into the hallway. They began lifting zombie corpses and throwing them to the side. Akan lowered down and began pushing the zombies into the room where they came from. The two worked as hard as they could to clear a path for Wurzag to bring Taryn out of this retched mausoleum. Thal hoped the half-orc had enough strength to carry Taryn, because Thal knew that he, himself, was not strong enough to lift a fully grown man and carry him out of a tomb. Even if he didn't have a huge gash across his chest he wouldn't have been able to complete such a task. Wurzag was the only one who could do it.

((By the way, Thal is a full-blown elf, not a half-elf, Wurzag. Just letting you know for future reference))

((OOC: Sorry about that d00d! Somehow I had managed to convince myself you were a half-elf. I have amended my posts accordingly))

Wurzag stared numbly as Thal did his best to bind the hideous wounds and nodded mutely as the pair departed to begin clearing a path through the hall. He knelt beside the fallen mage and crossed the young man's arms across his bloodied chest. It was several moments before he realised that Taryn had said his name and he lowered his ear to his friends lips to listen to his whispered words. Once the young man lapsed into silence again the half-orc frowned. There would be no need for him to tell Leandra anything because Taryn would be able to tell her himself.

He scooped the inert mace from the floor and placed it gently across Taryn's chest. Then he folded the mage's hands across the hilt of the mighty weapon and examined him again. His flesh was waxy and ashen and his pulse weak. At this rate of deterioration he would not last the day, let alone survive to see an apothecary. The fact that the nearest habitation was Taryn's family home was also not lost on the green-skin. It had taken the pair over two days to reach the land of the dead, though their pace had been erratic and they had paused for rests.

Now it was two days that they simply did not possess.

Frantic now, Wurzag searched his knowledge of healing for something, anything that would help to sustain his friend for the journey. There were herbs that could numb the pain and others that could stem the flow of blood, but nothing that would mend the trauma he had already endured. None of them would be found within the desolation of Dori'ba however and they were already losing time. As gently as he was able the half-orc lifted his friend in his arms and jogged from the crypt. He paused only to retrieve his blade from a fallen zombie and then hurried on, picking his way swiftly between the hastily cleared dead.

"I got an idea," Wurzag muttered to Thal as he crossed the hall, "but we gotta get outa dis stinkin' Dori'ba place an we gotta do it now." He vaguely recalled the healer at the arena using something called Athelas to patch up some of the more severely wounded gladiators, but that the stuff was only found in the forests of the elves. He glanced back at his elven companion with forlorn hope. "Dunt spose ye got any Athelas on ye do ye?" He said through huffed breaths. He did not mention that he himself was mortally tired and his own injuries were more than evident. He would run all day and all night if he had to.

Taryn's life depended on it.