Limanya » Lair » Death

Death

(#42485608)

Level 1 Pearlcatcher

Familiar

Death's-Head Stag

Energy: 47/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

6.51 m

Wingspan

5.54 m

Weight

650.59 kg

Genetics

Silver
Piebald

Silver
Paint

Peach
Stained

Hatchday

Jun 13, 2018
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Wind
Unusual

Level 1 Pearlcatcher

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Member of the Wooden Order

Night fell quietly on the desert.

Even more quietly did the strange figure descend, landing carefully in the sand and adjusting his robes before setting off. Before morning came, he could cross off another ten from his list.

First, though, there was this one. There hadn't been any details, only the usual name, time, cause and location. Dehydration — that was usually the case when he had to come here. Simple, easy. But, as he found out upon approaching his destination, this was a group that'd been traveling together. So much for that, though. the unlucky one was still on his list. All it did was made his job harder.

He drew his scythe.

"No," creaked a young Skydancer's voice, staring him straight in the eyes. If he had them, at least — it was difficult to tell if the skull underneath his hood was truly his, or only a mask. But there were only two hollow, empty spaces to be seen, either way. And yet, they didn't quite feel as hollow.

"No, please," the shaking dragon repeated again, as she stood over the unmoving body of her Spiral companion. The Fae with them didn't even dare to look. It happened, sometimes. The less people saw him, the better, anyways.

"I- I know who you are. Please, I'm begging you!"

He did not respond, only shifting his gaze slightly further downwards. Had the skull been able to move, it'd possibly even looked a little sad.

"You're De-Death, aren't you?! You've come to kill us, to take our—"

"Am I Death?" he asked. His voice was surprisingly warm. "Very well, then. I, as Death, have only come to claim the soul of the fallen one."

With no more words, he raised his scythe and struck the Spiral once. A bright glow briefly flashed when it did, before disappearing into the silent darkness of the night. Death only looked down.

The Skydancer's whimpering had turned to sobbing, by now. As he put his scythe back once more, Death turned to the young dragon, looking her in the eyes.

"I am sorry. I cannot tell you what you need, for you will not remember me. But," he followed up in a softer tone, "I can only tell you to live on, and live well."

Death took off, and a second flash carried into his arms: the Spiral's soul, and his companion's memories of his visit. Another mission well done.

---

"No, no, no — this can't be happening... It's got to be around here somewhere!"

Three days and twenty-seven deaths had passed since he encountered that group in the desert. Disaster had struck like it always did, but this time, it happened on the wrong side.

His claws scrambled around, digging into the dirt in the hopes of finding what he was looking for — or perhaps only to keep himself busy rather than drive himself into further panic. Reapers couldn't panic; it was simple as that. He had to figure something out, and quick.

But the search turned up nothing. Nothing but more fear, more frantic digging and climbing and looking anywhere it could be, no matter how unlikely. Nothing but—

"Say. Are you looking for this?"

He almost didn't dare turn around.

She was a Guardian, a rather small one for her breed. But she was still larger than him. Even if she hadn't been, he'd be as powerless as he was now, though.

"That's... That's mine," Death stammered out. "Please, give it back."

The Guardian smiled, but did not come closer. Instead, she examined the book itself. The outside was nothing but a simple, unassuming leather cover, inscribed with only a golden hourglass. The inside, however, was quite different — portraits upon portraits stood side by side, followed by listings of the depicted dragons' names, alongside where and how they were to die. To a regular dragon, this book was, perhaps, the most dreadful thing in the world, or the most valuable. To a reaper, it was all they had.

"Give it back. You don't... You don't know what you've got there."

"In fact, I think I might know." Another smile. "Would you care to follow me?"

It's all I can do, Death thought. As a reaper, he couldn't afford to show weakness, either — though it surely long had been too late for that. All he wanted now was to find out what exactly she was up to. That, and get back what was his.

"Very well, I'll take that as a 'yes'. It's close by."

It was true; only a short walk later, the reaper found himself standing in front of a large tent. 'Tent' might have even been an understatement if he compared it to those he saw daily; this was almost mansion-like to them. Beckoned inside, the reaper entered to see what it really was: a library. Surrounded by a sea of books, it became clear why this Guardian was so interested in the book.

And, as it turned out, why she refused to give it back.

Guardians were strange creatures. It'd happened often, so often, that he came to take a soul and was met instead with a Guardian's futile attempts to save whoever had been their Charge. There was no way to console them. This was something far above what he could understand.

"This book of yours," the Guardian said as she browsed through her collection, "it's unique, no?"

"It's— well..."

"No need to be secretive, I've read about your kind. I hadn't expected you to be... real, though."

"Mhm. Most don't live to tell about it, I guess. That's how this line of work goes." He sighed. "Yes, it's unique. The others have different ones. It's so we don't interfere with each other... and their 'tasks', I suppose."

"And you need this to do your work?"

"Yes."

The Guardian raised a claw to her chin. "Then, tell me more before we continue. About... well, how about yourself?"

The reaper tugged at his hood. "There isn't much to say, though."

"Surely there is. What is your name? As for I, you may call me Lemon."

"I... don't have one. We give up our names when we become reapers. All I've been called is...'Death'."

"I'll call you Death, then." Lemon paused, then held the book out in front of Death. "I am considering a compromise, if you'll hear me out. I can't simply return this; I do hope you understand?"

"You've got me, anyways. Reapers can't harm the living. How many of your books told you that, then?"

Lemon laughed for a moment, then opened up the book on a random page. "None did, actually," she mentioned.

After adjusting her glasses, she then began inspecting its contents, and leafing through to find a page roughly approaching the current date. Three pages further, and the time and date matched up. Then, she began to read aloud:

"Altitia Vilg, dies... tonight. Forty-four minutes past midnight; poisoned in her mansion near the Tsunami Flats. Death, do you have somewhere to stay?"

"...I never do. I, uh, wander."

"That's fine. I can make arrangements. Oh, and—" Lemon looked around, then took a small, blank notebook and a silver pen and gave it to the reaper. "You'd best start taking notes. There's still six you've got to do before sunrise."

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Exalting Death to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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