The priest pulled a stern mask over his face and glared down at Kre. “I’m tired of trying to do things the nice way. Too tired. We do things my way now.”
Kre’s hand again flew to grip the hilt of the tyrfang, but he made no motion to draw it. Just holding it seemed to be enough to bolster his spirit a bit.
“If you ever want to see the surface again, you will do three things. Had you been reasonable, this would have been easier on both of us, but alas, here we are.” The priest raised a finger up and wagged it back and forth, “First, you take the box we discussed before. Take it to your holy leaders and ensure they know where it came from. Simple, and easy.
“Two,” he called out loudly such that the cityscape around them shook a bit, as if the illusion wavered with his voice, “You will take it upon yourself to write down every detail of the city as you saw it and the history as I have related it.”
He paused for a moment and his expression shifted to one of concern, “You do know how to write, do you not?” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer but instead continued, “Never mind, if you cannot write it, you shall draw it and speak the words to one who can write. My people’s history should not end just because you aren’t interested.”
The priest raised up a third finger and frowned. “Three,” he called out in a low serious tone. “Three is perhaps the hardest for me, and you should understand why.” He gestured around the two of them, “Here, we are surrounded by the shadows of my people. The darkness consumed them, and they are nothing more than pools of shadows seeking sustenance. Seeking life as they have none of their own. Eternally hungry and alone, forever trapped in oblivion with no hope of an end, and endlessly wishing to be more but never knowing what they once were. That is the hell that my people have endured since the darkness came.”
He raised his hands up and held them out openly, “But this… this spirit was innocent. This spirit deserved none of the pain and suffering that was brought down upon this city. This soul was simply born at the wrong time.” He gently jabbed at the ground in front of him with each of his last few words, as if punctuating them.
“I did what I could to protect this one. When the darkness came, I drew the soul into a vessel. An unbreakable vessel that would stand the test of time. I did so with the thought that I could shield it from the worst of the darkness, but it simply could not be. Still, the soul here is not as empty as the others. Not as dark as mine, even. A part of it remains and that part deserves to be free of this place.”
The priest held out his empty hand, “Give me your hand, and give me your word that you shall take this soul from here and let it feel the light of the sun.”
Kre didn’t move, his one hand still on the hilt as he tried to think of a way out of this situation. He could not manage to meet the priest’s gaze and sighed as his brain came up empty on possible excuses.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he asked dubiously.
The priest shrugged, “The choice is, as it were, completely yours. It is simply the outcome of your choice that I control.” He grinned as he spoke the last words. A sly, devilish grin that said that he had won.