Lich on a Quest Ping List:

The QUEST of Many Likes
Story thread coming soon!

Lore:
They say vampires, necromancers and monsters were a myth...
This dragon has a very monstrous secret, and the only one who knows it is Bard. Or so he hopes.
There's a vibe of death around him. Most swear they catch little whiffs of a necrotic smell when within talking range of him. Otherwise, he's trying to cover it up with cologne, typically a mix of stargazer lily and rose smells.

In a dark, damp cave, the smell of death and decay almost completely overtakes the natural smells of heavy earth and mushrooms. Some of the mushrooms glowed softly, casting a lazy light over an urn.
A very decorated urn that would make mortal stomachs turn and flip. The vile aura urged away any animal that wandered close and made most plants wilt. Most seeds shriveled up before germinating.
Dark magic pulsed like a heartbeat inside the urn. Runes lit up and faded in seeming random order. Inside is the heart of a lich that now possesses this wildclaw.

A brown tundra with green wings entered, curling and folding his wings up to his sides. He just arrived, and not a moment later, a wildclaw emerged from deeper within. The dim light made his maroon hide darker, almost black.
"Thank you for coming," the wildclaw bowed low.
"Please, no need to bow so low," the tundra replied softly. Bard, the tree-bound. "You wished to ask me of a favor?"
"Yes," the wildclaw rose to his normal height. "I would like to ask your help in protecting..." He wrung his hands nervously.
"It is ok," Bard reassured him. "I could smell your kind from many miles away. I know you are a lich." Bard kept his tone soft and even.

A weight lifted off the wildclaw's shoulders, "You do not know how much I appreciate just being heard."
They went deeper into the cave. The sun's light shrank to the size of an ant before they made a left-hand turn. As they went a little deeper and further, Bard's paisley and fern markings glowed with the mushrooms. Finally, they came to the lich's chamber that held his phylactery. Bard never wavered.
"It is exquisite," Bard admired the urn. "What language is this?"
"I-" the lich laughed nervously, "I would rather not hand out my secrets."
"My apologies," Bard offered a slight bow of his head. "I did not mean to pry. What is it you'd like to ask of me?"
"Protection... of my phylactery." When given a bewildered and curious look from the tundra, the lich continued, "Of course, I would be in your debt so long as it remains safe."