Kingdom Come

[ultima_mortis]

There is a myriad of suitable mounts in the world. Some are mounts for trophies, fastened to walls and awaiting their decorations. Some are more practical displays of weaponry, even if there’s no intention to execute the occasional rude houseguest. For those like Death, the most ideal mount is often the least expected. Sure, one can try a skeletal horse or a horse on fire, but one runs into the risks of being singed or simply rattling too much when riding around to be appropriately intimidating.

 

The Death of the Discworld rides a pale horse. It’s a grand stallion with a well-groomed mane. Death named him Binky. Binky’s residence in the Grey Country (that being Death’s personal pocket dimension from which he monitors all life) was a carefully constructed, if slightly Escher-esque stable connected to the mansion Death called home.

 

When one is so used to using the many conduits of the world, it’s easier than one might think to suddenly find themselves in a wholly unfamiliar location. Death looks up from an hourglass in his hand and peers around at the queer state of the Nexus. Pocket dimension, to be sure. It’s exact measurements…less obvious. If Death had the flesh to do so, he’d be biting his lip in a certain amount of confusion. He leaned down a bit to rub Binky’s neck, earning a snort from the horse.

 

OH DEAR. The voice of Death is beyond mere vibrations of air. It sinks into the very soul, like the sound of a coffin lid having the last nail put into place. BINKY, WE ARE NOT ANYWHERE NEAR THE DISC, ARE WE?

Comments

[ultima_mortis]

He can sense the air of the deceased about her. Such things become a kind of aura when one works in the affairs of the dead for long enough. Death doesn't need to know who this woman is specifically to know she is one who can be trusted. The kind of people who disrespected the dead are the kind of people who are easily sussed out from a crowd.

He raises one hand in greeting to the woman. I SUPPOSE I MIGHT NEED TO GO LOOKING FOR THAT CONDUIT. THEY'RE A BIT LIKE THE TROUSERS OF TIME. SOMETIMES YOU THINK YOU ARE ON ONE PATH AND THEN DISCOVER IT'S THE VERY OPPOSITE.

There's a slight flicker in the blue of Death's eyes. IN WHAT MANNER DO YOU SERVE THE DECEASED? I CAN SEE THEIR INFLUENCE ON YOU.

[death_calling]

It feels strange being sized up by Death, but instead of showing fear, it’s best to greet him with respect. She’s not afraid, simply honored at getting the chance to speak with the only deity she truly believes in.

“I wish there was an easier way to follow the invisible strings which lead back home, but the Nexus isn’t known for leaving bread crumb trails. These trousers of time sound interesting, as I’ve never heard or seen such an item before. I suppose anything time-related can be a bit hectic, especially here where it changes frequently.”

Seeing his eyes glow is one thing, but the fact that he can sense her connection to death is equally impressive. She doesn’t brag about her accomplishments, rather humbly talks about her profession to the one who essentially provides job security. “I work as a mortician, specializing in preparing the deceased for their final resting place. Apologies, but I guess my innate interest in death culture is what drew me to you and your stead. It's an honor to meet you."

[ultima_mortis]

THAT IS USUALLY HOW SUCH THINGS GO. EVEN WIZARDS HAVE A HARD TIME WITH ALL THE CONDUITS THAT CONNECT WORLDS. Which means he'll be stuck here for a while yet. It's not a good look for his work ethic, but he can hardly be blamed for not being able to find his way back when there were so many ways in.

Death nods his head to her. If he could, he'd smile properly. I OFTEN SEE YOUR LOT WHEN I HAVE TIME TO SPARE. THE CAREFUL CARE OF THE FORMER SHELL IS SOMETIMES JUST AS IMPORTANT AS THE EFFORT I TAKE IN SEVERING THE SOUL FROM BODY. IT IS I WHO AM TRULY HONORED TO MEET ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS THE IMPORTANCE OF RESPECTING LIFE IN ALL IT'S STAGES.