by Gabaroth Kon
To shamans they are envoys of misguidance. To the Gaelic they were weeping children, and to the spiritualists residing in east Asia, they were drowning souls, lost sailing across the stars.
They were wrought by forgotten gods from the tides of primordial sea that ebbs at the corners of the world. They seep in from beyond the underworld, feeding on forgotten dreams in Styx.
As troubled souls pass them while approaching judgement, the Gīěsthpha scrape away pieces of memory, driving their victims mad, and eventually taking everything, even their soul.
The last cries of these people are of visions of a pit of locusts. It is for this reason that a robed figure bearing the harvest scythe may appear to guide them.