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[Thrax]

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Bailos never had much trouble in finding people who could help him do what he wanted to do, be what he wanted them to be, or tell him what he wanted hear or know. One look in the dark abyss of his eyes, at his stern grimmace and unearthly but commanding presence, and most people wilted. But lately his patience had been sorely tested; he simply could not find anyone who could tell him, with any certainty, where the relic might have been buried no matter what he said to them, even with some smidgen of forced courtesy.

He decided to venture to the Abbey.

His memories of Yew were few and not fond. He always detested the place, except when it had been transformed into swampland by the misguided spell of the Meers. Now it was what it once was---a druid's paradise, teeming with myriads of plant and animal life---a mocking and cruel sneer in the face of those without such life, the undead. If walking among the towering Yew trees, whose enormous branches swayed in gentle breezes carrying a hint of honeysuckle, depressed him, then the thought of actually speaking to the supremely tedious scribes at the Abbey nearly sent him into trembling despair. That made him realize just how desperate he was. A few farmers and passers-by greeted him kindly as he made his way. Oh how he despised them! Rubes, every last one of them... unworthy of his gaze, much less a word or one second of his precious time.

He found the Abbey almost deserted, except for the scribes and those who supervised the Inn. He entered an antechamber and approached one of them, a middle-aged man wearing a dull brown flowing robe. "Excuse me. I seek knowledge. Where is the headmaster or rector?"

The man, who had been rearranging books on a shelf, turned to look at him. "He is upstairs. Ask for Nathaniel. He is the rector of the day," he replied in a weary monotone as he resumed his task. Without caring remotely what that meant, Bailos climbed the stone stairs, arbitrarily chose another chamber and entered it. At a table a man, who looked much like the one downstairs, sat writing in a book. He looked up and placed his pen down. "How may I help you?" he asked.

"Nathaniel. I am looking for him," Bailos replied, stepping closer to him. He threw his hood back, hoping the man would feel less intimidated, at least initially. "Are you he?"

"I am," Nathaniel answered. "Who are you? What do you want of me?"

Bailos could sense fear rising in the man. Inwardly, he smiled. "My name is Bailos. I seek knowledge---the location of a relic called the Ban-der-lak. Have you any information about it?"

Nathaniel nodded and rose from his seat and went to a nearby bookshelf. After touching the binding of several books, he found the one he wanted, drew it out and flipped through its pages. "We take pride in the fact that, despite what Britannian curators may say of themselves, we are the greatest keepers and depositors of lore in the realms. There is nothing you could ask about that I would not know something."

Bailos grinned. What about how it feels to have the life force sucked right out of you by the mere touch of my hand, he mused. Bet you don't know anything about that, would you? "Then I have come to the right place," he remarked, saving the witty thoughts for a better occasion.

Moments later Nathaniel had found his reference. "From what this says, an expedition went into what is now called Dungeon Deceit. Oddly enough, it says that the island there was once lush and green like the rest of the islands, but for some reason, and since the time of that relic, it is now covered in snow and ice." He looked up from the book to Bailos. "Do you think there is some correlation perhaps?"

Bailos shrugged. "Who can tell? Are you sure that is the place?"

"Absolutely," Nathaniel replied, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf. He returned to his seat. "Might I ask why you seek this information? It is my duty to report visitors here and their business."

"I am a loremaster like yourself. I am researching artifacts and relics and came across a reference to this object. I thank you for your time and your help." Placing the hood back over his head he left the Abbey.

Deceit was it? Good---a place where willing help would be easy to find.

Soon he was on his way back home to prepare for the journey.

[Deacon Drake]

---

His hand shook violently as his essence began to reject the form.

Hold out... Aras chanted it in his mind, over and over, trying to hold himself firm. The physical body he had worked for so long to create for himself was finally his, yet even with every concious degree of his own power he could muster, he couldn't hold the form for long.

Where is he when I need his help... He'd had to work to improve his own powers for so long. He hadn't seen the wraith he considered his master in over two months. Damn him... I can do this myself...

He only wondered how long it would be before he broke down and set out to find Bailos himself.
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