Zrithrak has been driven from Rask. Alexis has exclaimed that Hood had come to claim the spirit while holding a fly in his hands. Since those moments the group has gathered their things and barely started toward Ghanil again. Packs shifted, gear checked, the wagon creaking along. Alexis addresses the group.
“I keep circling back to that soothsayer—Ness Brightleaf.” He waves absently, not toward anywhere in particular, just back into memory.
“Something like: ‘Ahead of me, a river of lost souls. Some spirits refuse to sleep. The voices of the dead yearn for rest. Their whispers bring dark tidings.’” He shrugs, not claiming perfect recall. “Or close enough.”
The copper coin keeps running over his knuckles as his gaze sweeps the line of travelers, pausing a fraction longer on Ca’armine. “Zrithrak fits—soul that wouldn’t sleep. But did he ever want rest? Or was he holding on?”
He gives the priest space, then presses on.
“I still think of that dwarven spirit in Dura-Intun. The one who spoke of Kobos. He was restless. Wanted Hood’s gate, wanted peace. And that city of the dead? That’s different. They’re bound by the Endless Hunger. Won’t let them rest. Zrithrak wasn’t bound like that.”
The coin flashes once, drops into his palm. “So what kept him?”
Rask looks to Ca’armine and Gus for reassurance, finding their natural kindness and compassionate regard, he takes a deep breath.
“Zrithak was cursed by the Dwarf-King of Thun-Bal-Dor. He killed the Dwarf-King for the ArruNoroth but he tore out his own eyes for Magubliet. These were his… words. He lamented not being able to behold Magubliet and he seemed to fear the ArruNorroth…”
Rask stiffens a bit.
“He described the Blade of the Betrayers as having an… endless thirst, full of howling souls but always thirsting for more… and he described himself as endless…”
Rask looks at Alexis for a moment before continuing.
“He said he bathed in the Dwarves blood and took their sacred place. He said he wanted to more of the same…”
He looks to Gus and Ca’armine again, and then down at his own feet.
Ca’armine gives Rask an uncomprehending look. “Your curiosity about the little devil, is bewildering. The malice in that aberration was plain to you, was it not? The scream of defeat as I drove him out of your body?”
“Zirthak found an affinity in the black blade, which to me was a clear sign that the blade was not safe to be wielded. It’s a problem we still have to clean up, because one assumes that other foul entities will be drawn to it.”
“I bade Zirthak’s incorporeal being to be banished from this plane, but to my eyes it seemed clear that he stayed here, and was only cast back to the last remnant of his physical body, the skull we buried. Would that we had chosen a random arroyo for that skull, rather than the base of an evil artifact. Again, another mess to clean up.”
“I do not sense that Zirthak is ready to be done plaguing this plane. I hope, he is done plaguing us– but I have no reason to expect that is true.”
Rask bows his head more deeply, and glances at Ca’armine briefly before returning his gaze to his feet.