Pharasma

Pharasama: "Ah, Phiroz, you have arrived right on time. Take thee more care henceforth that you worship the goddess of the grave, but not seek out the grave itself. Your time will come, but not this year, not yet."

With a great gasp of air, as though he had just surfaced after having been submerged for a time underwater, Phiroz breathed again. Mstislav rushed over to administer a healing spell, and in that instant, the ghostly scythe construct clanked to the stone bulwark floor under a poof of rust.

"To say that I am happy to be back is misleading," said Phiroz. "Thank you Mstislav, your quick wit I shall endeavor to repay some day. In fact, thank you all–for no priest is an island, and I should not have survived at all without each one of you."

As though his senses were sluggish in returning, Phiroz felt a sudden rush of fatigue. He stood up unusually straight now, and unbeknownst to him his own wry smile expressed the pride of narrowly escaping death. He turned to the group, pausing frozen for one small moment with a transient blank expression upon his face. And in that flicker of time, he forgot his encounter with Pharasma.

"May I suggest some respite and drink?" he suddenly said with his usual intonation and pace. "I feel compelled to celebrate with some life-affirming activities. Let us away from this maleficent ruin, as Gregor suggests. I do not know what sudden surge of boldness came over me a few moments ago–I was drawn toward that headman's scythe as if it had my very name upon it."

And thus, this was brother Phiroz's first forgotten encounter with Pharasma.