An Unpretentious Death

[PtahWithin 1320]

 

Viceroy Ptah Remneal of the Kingdom of Alras was walking through the streets of Alras, passing through the busy populace. He surrounded himself with his own personal illusions, held into his perceptions by his power as a Cognat. He did not see the buildings, but instead it pleased him to see a torrentous coast with jagged rocks and frothing waves. Ptah brought out a stone cube, an ordinary object that he used as a focusing apparatus to manipulate his perceptual world with.

 

In his internal memory, he opened the spells of the cube and set it to record his thoughts and write them down on illusory paper. So immersed in his thoughts, the Viceroy failed to notice nor to be able to see the upcoming staircase in the real world, and so he fell down it.

 

In a world with monsters, magic and strife, you don't hear a lot about people dying from falling down stairs. However, the laws of chance demand such a thing, and so Ptah Remneal died a rather unheroic and unspectatular death as his neck broke and his ragdoll body fell down the rest of the stairs and became limp. The stone cube shattered from the fall.

 

He did not reappear for the Monks to tend to. The will of Ptah Remneal is lost, for that was contained in illusory text within his own mind. Thus was shown the superiority of analog versus digital information. Most of the citizens of Alras didn't feel much for the death of their Viceroy, for he was a rather rarely seen man.

 

The moral of this story: don't Spell while you Stroll.

 

 

William Gage strode through the streets of Alras, leaving behind a thick trail of smoke as his cigar burned. William, in his early thirties, wasn't feeling any younger after spending the greater part of his life as an explorer and cartographer. Magic helped at times, but William still felt he was missing a greater purpose. He had heard news of a recent death amongst the Royal Council, and that positions within it were changing.

 

One should always seize the day, no?

 

 

((I'm killing off the character I've had since Aegis since I got bored with him. Time to start something new.))

[Elfen_ 232]

Glee cries at his death. He was a friend. A friend with valiant ideas. Yes. A good friend. Goodbye friend.

[Rig 17580]

Mythras lowers his hand after a solute.. somewhat disappointed upon hearing... his friend Varlen died the same way while drunk.

[[second fall death I've seen, nice to know that not all deaths are caused by being murdered.]] 

[Kanrath 190]

*Tenshar reads the note in silence, though his eyes show the rage and anger and sadness he holds back as he does. After getting to the end he drops the paper into the fire that warms his tent, watching it turn to ash and can't help but chuckle at how often life is just like that. Turning he tosses on a coat of heavy leather and furs and opens the flap of the tent he had been sitting it, stepping into the middle of a blizard. Turning to face the blizzard, he dons a pair of goggles and stares into the wrath of the storm as the wind whistles by like arrows and ice cracks around him as if they were explosions and in the chaos of  mother nature at her worst he screams.

 

Not a scream one would think to come from a mortal though but like an animal he lets out all the rage and anger he has bound within him for so many of his years of life. And at this moment he thinks back to the days when he first joined Alras, to the days of war and conflict and then destruction and new chances and failed chances as histroy repeats. And through it all friends flash by, many since missing lost or dead and now but shadows to his memory, and he sees another join the ranks of these wraiths in his mind and his soul weeps.

 

  And its weeping is the sound of a beast, an animal and he lets it out in boughts of rage challenging the storm with nothing but his voice. And he does this for many hours untill his voice is naught but a wisper and his goggles frozen to his face, face numb and body stiff from the cold. And in the last moments befor the cold of the world would take him he hears the voice of all those shades long past, and they tell him it is not his turn. And he listens, mind numb, bones stiff and cold, eyes as weary as one withered and old, he steps back into his tent. And there the fire warms him, and he will not die, not this night.

 

And as he watches the fire, an old and wrinkled hand carves two small words into the rock by which he rests.

 

"Rest well"

 

And with that, he sleeps.

 

((was fun ptah, can't wait to see your next character))

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.