I Never Saw It Coming

Death, I’ve found, is mostly administrative: a long walk, a short chat.

Killed by Guards...

I command entity-beings from beyond the stars, and that is what took me out.

My twenty-seven and eighth death, for anyone keeping score. Someone always is. The Spirit Healer and I are on a first-name basis now—she calls me "you again." The searing heat didn't help, either. Nothing dies gracefully in that heat. I certainly didn't.

As a system, death is grossly inefficient: the corpse run, the resurrection sickness, the repair bill. If I managed the afterlife, there’d be a portal network and a queue that actually moved.

You’d think by now I would have learned not to wander so close to Horde guards with a Map right in front of my eyes.