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[Thrax]

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(OOC Note: This story is written with the permission of, and in collaboration with, the person who played (and may yet again play) the main character, Bailos. I write it in tribute to him for the good times we had together in RP. I hope some day to see the story of his return)

Bailos reposed on a throne made entirely of human bones overlaid with silk in the death-like stillness of his home. The wraith-lord's thoughts were as cold and sullen as his touch. Pangs of resentment rolled over him as he could not dismiss dark thoughts of those who had thwarted his most recent plans---an ill-fated venture to rebuild Sanctus in his own image---and there were more than one with whom he held a grudge for it. He could not fathom why did they not see how only he could lead them to true greatness and glory. He wondered why they refused to believe that his power, not to mention wisdom, far exceeded that of those who now curried favor with the townsfolk. How could they not want what he, alone, could give them? Such thoughts made his wounded pride gnaw at him. They must be made to see their weaknesses. He would expose, for all to see, the inherent and thoroughly human limitations of those who had replaced him as Overlord of Sanctus.

He thought of contacting allies---Thrax crossed his mind---to help him determine just how to do it. But he thought better of it---he did not plan the wanton destruction that was his ally's specialty. Instead, he wanted this to be a learning experience. He wanted them to see the error of their ways; he wanted only a few of them to be disciplined, or rather, "schooled" by him, the master, and their obvious superior.

Rising from his seat, he went to his library and began perusing old books and tomes, hoping to find something that would incite his wit and imagination. After hours of vain searching, and all but ready to give up, he found a volume he had long forgotten, buried under a small pile of worm-ridden books. The book was encrusted with mildew; its binding rotted, and its surface coated with a layer of cobwebs and dust. He picked it up and sat down at a table, and opened it slowly lest it fall completely apart.

OF RELICS AND ARTIFACTS... was the title.

He read each legible page slowly and carefully. Time was of no consequence to him. Knowledge was everything and he did not want to carelessly overlook anything that might help him. Most of the topics were about things that meant nothing to him... relics of religions long gone; items that gave mute testimony to the failure and hopeless struggle of some group of people who believed they had found a god worthy enough to place their hope in. He chuckled at their childishness. What fools!

Then he came to a page that spoke of a relic that aroused his curiosity. Although the lower half of the page that described it was missing, he was still able to discover something he thought might be useful, an eye-witness account of a primitive civilization:

"The Ban-der-lak fell from the sky one starry night. We saw where it landed and went to see. It was very large, but as it grew smaller each day until it was no more than the size of a fist. For many days it glowed brightly. It was both hot and cold to the touch. It would burn and freeze at random and many died. We took it to the village and placed it in the temple of our idol. The next morning, the idol was shattered and the priest was gone. We could not find them. The acolytes told us to take it away; they saw it take the priest. It stole his body and spirit. We waited and prayed. More people began to vanish: all the acolytes and the mages and then our best warriors. I was a humble farmer and no harm came to me or those like me. So I took it, placed it in a wooden box and buried it in a cave in a valley far to the north. But that did not save us. Many people died who had touched it and my hands were burned and scarred."

Below the account some long-dead cleric or scribe had written a note: "We sent an expedition to the cave we suspected to hold this relic, but we found nothing. We believe this entire tale was fictitious and we only add it because of the passion of the man who dictated it to us. He, if no one else, is convinced that this is true."

Bailos closed the book slowly and smiled. He imagined for a moment how a man might find such an item in his possession, and in his state of mind, quite useful.