Jussara Gonzo

nerodon:

Favorite scene from that game, and, my favorite depiction of death as well.

DEATH: Why have you entered my domain still wearing your flesh? If you are so anxious for death, you might have found it easy enough in the land of the living. But since you are here you are most welcome to stay. Kiss my hand and you will one with the spirits, there will be no pain.

ALEXANDER: I did not come here to die but to demand my right of challenge, I respectfully challenge thee, death, by throwing down this gauntlet. Man may pass the portal and seek its master death, man may pass where death has trot and challenge like Scheherazade he who reigns beneath the sand to spare a mortal’s breath.

DEATH: Who are you to challenge death?

ALEXANDER: A man of flesh is all I need to be my lord.

DEATH: And what is it that you seek with this challenge? The soul of some dead maiden?

ALEXANDER: I seek the souls of King Calaphim and Queen Alaria of the land of the Green Isles.

DEATH: You would save two human souls and emerge alive from this realm yourself? That shall be a difficult challenge indeed. The tomb does not open it’s doors lightly.

ALEXANDER: Either all three of us leave or none go.

DEATH: Very well, then let me think of an appropriate task.

DEATH: Ahh yes… I have it now, your challenge is this:

DEATH: For thousands of years I have sat upon this throne, I have heard every sad tale that can be told by human lips, I have seen tragedies that ended empires, injustices that defy reason, love that would light the very stars turn cold and hard, I have seen torments that cannot possibly be born and yet must be.

DEATH: For centuries… This thing I have never done, I have never shed a tear.

DEATH: Make me cry thou man of flesh, that is my challenge…

ALEXANDER: If your existence has been all that you say it has, then truth alone shall be my sword.

The mirror’s surface swirls with darkness for a moment, then fills with images even blacker. Reflections of despair, of wailing souls, of shackles colder and more immutable than any forged by man, of a world of thirsts that can never be quenched.

Alexander feels the mirror tremble in his grasp and is glad that he cannot see its face, but the lord of the dead is transfixed to the mirror, to the screening of his life. Things long forgotten are once more uncovered, his enslavement to this throne while still a man, the years of watching misery and horror and growing ever more numb to it, the seep of his own humanity, the slow growth of a new thing altogether which became that which he is now. His is an existence that has no possibility of redemption, no end.

The truth is so sharp it stabs, so intense it sears.

The mirror of truth cracks from the strain and Death sheds a single gray tear.

DEATH: Truth is indeed a terrible thing, I have worn this mantle for so long, I had forgotten it’s dreadful weight. You shall take these souls and leave as I have agreed, you have been granted astay from this inevitable reality. I almost envy you…

DEATH: May your souls be more prepared for their rest when you return.

DEATH: Until we meet again then, I assure you, we will meet again.

ALEXANDER: No offence my lord, but I hope that will be many long years from now.

DEATH: It is never as long as you might wish mortal.