Jeggred had wandered far from the meeting place all the guards had been pointing him too. In the fog of his thirst it was impossible to be near other seekers without the urge to steal what was not his. Thr harmonious voice of his lord could not accept theft of such degree.
So others had to be found. The dregs of the camp weighed down with sickness. Disease. The discarded trash that could only bring poverty on those around them. Too weak to fend off the vultures that would otherwise feed on their corpse.
It was in such desolation and despair that people parted with their most prized possession just to taste joy one more time. Jeggreds deal was the same, rich or poor; release from the pain. 

Over a dozen such destitute individuals weeped on his approach. Some in fear and others with hope, all with the same conclusion. Death had finally come. 
The firt few offered the last of their life to aid another. Some offered a piece of it for the same reason.
Others, healthier but crippled and starving, asked only to be free of their pain. Refusing to wither away in some forgotten hole. 
The last to offer their souls were older men. Far past their prime, edging close to 90 years. Jeggred had marveled at the intensity of their gaze in the face of what could easily have been their killer.

Not even a shiver.

Ardan, a knight unseated by age, and his long time companion Rath. Both had served this city in their prime with honor. Integrity. Even now they wanted to fight but both knew their bodies would be a burden.

The deal had been simpler. They spoke for a time, shared stories with the dark wanderer, learned of his past and present. Heard his plans for the future. His warning. His mission. Their last act of service was to give their life for one who would see it saved.
Despite their advanced age they had been powerful beings. The spirit was different from the physcal body. Age did nothing to widdle down a spirit that refused to lay down and die. Their determination was their power.

Power given to Jeggred.

Fueled by the harvested essence of the dregs he was at last returning to himself. The fog was lifting. Hunger fading. 

Jeggred had buried both men. His own last act of respect. 

[hr]

The 'wraith' as he had been reffered to, found his way to Scholar Printh after speaking to the guards. Joining in with the group at large he followed without a word. Their journey was to the mines. Here it was rumored to be the root of the decay in Venridge. 
Just looking down the dark tunnels was enough to confirm the idea. Jeggred, attuned to powers of decay and rot, felt a kinship with something he could not identify. Something ancient. 

The road down was maddening. The gloom of such a place hung in the air so thick it threatened to choke him. Workers toiled away endlessly, their guide noting they were unusually energetic. Given the darkness and many rumors of these lightless depths.. something about it gave him a bad feeling. 
The group moved on until they entered the largest room yet. 
Others needed the assistance of torches to see, but Jeggred had lived in darkness like this amidst the clan. Their own dark halls littered with writing completely Alien to him.

Those tunnels wyere he had prayed to their sick gods as Jeggred performed acts of unspeakable horrors on the living creatures dragged into the depths of the mountain. 

Flesh had boiled, blood turned rotten in their veins, whipped and carved up like cattle. In the name of some pestilant lord. It had been too much. Jeggred, insane from his experiences, had overcome his tainted mind and struck down the leaders of that dark place one by one.
Their twisted souls consumed to fuel spells of devestation. 

Jeggred still held the soul of the lairs master in the sword upon his hip. Too strong by far to risk consuming. 

".. touch the obelisk ..."

Lost in the memories of the past he barely registered the words. Dark whispers echoed in his mind unbidden. Hand aglow with purplish green energies, Jeggred was first to touch the obelisk.