Wart stood on a ledge overlooking a valley in the mountains. Although clouds blocked the view almost completely, the lich enjoyed the sight nonetheless. A chilling wind blew at his back, howling as if to scare away its unwelcome guest. Wart of course, thought nothing of it. The lich enjoyed it, if anything. He was high up in the mountains. The air was thin and cold, and snow was beginning to fall. The air was at a temperature that most races would start to freeze to death at. But since Wart was already among the dead, he had nothing to fear from cold weather.

As the lich looked off into the distance, he contemplated his life. Wart remembered how and when he was brought back into the world of the living. A rogue necromancer, whose name he had long forgotten, resurected him, in hopes of finding an undead servant and bodyguard. He had gotten his wish, and named his new slave, Wart. The necromancer gifted the lich with a scythe, to help him in his tasks, whether they be defending the necromancer from those who hated him, or getting rid of failed abominations created from the necromancer's twisted mind. The lich spent a lifetime in unwilling servitude to the necromancer, doing menial tasks and favors, and warding off those that the necromancer had wronged in some way. But after nearly fifty years of servitude, the necromancer drew close to his last breath, and released Wart from his hold. And at the second he was released, Wart regained a hatred he had taken with him to the grave, and without words or emotion, the lich drew his scythe, and made the last seconds of the necromancer, very painful ones. This was one of few of Wart's happy memories.

And of his first life, Wart has little to no memory of. When he was risen all that was written on his grave was Missed by few, and mourned by less.. The name on the gravestone had been crudely scratched out by the necromancer, Wart had found out. Whatever grasp on humanity the lich had had, the necromancer had taken away. And so by that man's actions, Wart was driven to the destruction of all races such as vampires, and undead. And necromancers were to die with them.

The chilling wind ceased, and a long silence followed. From behind, Wart heard the snow crunch under someone's foot, interupting the lich's thoughts. Figuring that it was a local troll, or an orc, the lich drew his scythe, preparing for a fight.