Elzabeth turned her cold gaze to the mage while an evil grin turned her lips. Of all these would be heroes, he alone would understand the true value of what she was about to demand; “His spell books.” They all knew those books would be a great prize for any wizard, but Galen was the only one among them who really understood how dangerous they could be in the wrong hands… but were hers the right hands? “Centuries upon centuries of arcane knowledge and the gods know what secrets of the Netherese,” Galen challenged, “perhaps enough to make you almost as powerful and dangerous as he is, what could you offer that’s worth risking that?” “His phylactery,” Elzabeth announced with no small measure of conceit. “Destroy it and you destroy him. But without knowing what it is, you have no chance of defeating him, and you’d be fortunate if he just kills you. Of course, if he does, he’ll probably raise you as undead to replace those you cost him… They were the heroes who came before you!” They all shuttered at the thought, but knew the witch was right. If they failed, death was the best they could hope for, and the alternative was too horrible to imagine! Aeron scanned his eyes across his companions, who each nodded in consent, even Galen, although he still looked apprehensive. “Very well,” he addressed Elzabeth in a voice still tinged with skepticism, “if we succeed, you get your prize. So how do we destroy him?” A wicked grin turned her lips and her eyes beamed with triumph, the first real sign of emotion they had seen from her as she strutted forward. “He carries a device, a metal rod topped with a cold, blue flame. That’s his phylactery… Destroy it and you destroy him!” “You’re certain the rod is his phylactery?” Galen demanded, his training had not included the process to becoming a lich, but he knew the device in which they stored their sole was usually a locket or small box. “It’s the only thing he is never without. Even when he…” her voice trailed off as the shadows of past torments washed across her face and she swallowed the words she would not speak. “He’s still a man, and still delights in the ways men have always dominated women.” They all looked at her with shock, repulsion and pity, each envisioning similar scenes of the things the lich had made her do to entertain him, which she had said she would not speak of. Elzabeth scowled at the look on their faces, as angry at herself for showing them her weakness, as at them for daring to pity her. “He’s distracted right now with a new plaything, a huntress who wandered too close,” she sneered. “But he’ll expect me to report on your demise and if I don’t appear soon, he’ll come looking for you himself.”