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[Thrax]

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One might imagine that being of so similar a nature, facing the same hardships, threats and rejection from mortals, undead types would have more rapport and empathy toward one another. But such is not always the case. Whether it was their jealousy of him and his superior power or their failure to recognize him as one of them, or his incursion into their domain, the undead of dungeon Deceit made every effort to attack Bailos as he traversed it. Speaking rationally to them was a waste of time. Brushing aside their mindless and feeble assaults, he began his search for the artifact in earnest, still hoping to find one fellow soul who could help him along the way, but now not expecting to find one.

He ignored pleas of help from adventurers in the dungeon who had lost their way or were fighting hopeless odds against more powerful undead, the liches. He knew they would be of no use to him and thought nothing of their fate---let their shades swell the ranks of the undead for all he cared.

It was on the second level of the dungeon that he heard it---a voice in his head, real, not imagined. "You are close, Wraith-lord. I await your coming," it said in a hushed, monotone, voice.

"Who are you?" he asked, speaking out loud at first.

"That which you seek," came the reply.

"The Ban-der-lak?"

"Yes, so called, though that is not my name."

"Where are you?"

"There is a square pool made by human hands. I lie at the bottom of it."

Bailos knew where the place was---a remote corner deep within of the dungeon. He assumed wraith-form and quickened his pace, avoiding entanglements with denizens that tried to bar his way, when he could. Soon he found what he was looking for...



For a mere mortal the next step would have been impossible. One corner of the pool was a mass of bubbling slime, likely meaning the water was filled with some kind of toxic substance. Tossing a squealing rat into it confirmed his suspicions---the rat's body was instantly consumed by a corrosiveness that resembled a powerful acid. Bailos smiled. Neither acid, nor the depth of it, could stop him. Fearlessly he entered the pool and went under.

The pool was as murky as it was deep. Many long minutes passed before he reached its floor. Unable to see anything he felt along the muddy bottom for that which he desired. Finally his hands ran across a solid object, round and smooth, about the size of small melon, half buried in the mud. He pulled it out and winced as pain coursed through his fingers, an odd mixture of both hot and cold. "You have found me," the voice proclaimed. "The pain will pass, fear not." Bailos picked up the relic which seemed quite light---perhaps due to its buoyancy in the water, he thought, and swam back to the surface. Stepping out of the pool, he took a long look at his prize. The relic could easily be mistaken for a simple crystal ball, though he could see that it was not made of crystal. It was nearly weightless and its opaque surface gleamed with an internal, greenish, light. "Take me from this place," he heard the voice tell him, "before I am lost again." Without answering, Bailos placed the orb in the folds of his robe and cast a spell of recall that would take him quickly home.