Count Omik's quarters were clearly marked by a brass plaque next to his door, which was closed and locked.  It was a stout wooden door, with a polished finish and a crystal door handle, perched below a somewhat intimidating looking lock.  No undead stood guarding the door, though they occasionally brushed by, the impotent panic of the swirling mob becoming more and more apparent with each moment.  Though the holy energy could not destroy them, even the mindless undead sensed something terribly wrong, and behaved even more stupidly than normal.  If anything, it made getting through the dungeon harder.