milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

[OOM: The Dark Portal is destroyed and the forces of Azeroth must seek shelter on the world of Draenor.]

The Door does not open.

Instead there's a flash of purple light in the form of concentric, oval rings. An older man in dusty blue and silver robes and holding a staff appears at the center of them and for a moment he looks terribly confused. His eyes start to glow the same shade of purple as he looks around, stopping when he spots the Window. The glow fades as his mouth falls open.

Then he grins. "Ha HA! I knew it! Modera owes me a drink!"

[OOC: Open all weekend!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, there is an outdoor space," says Death pointing to the back door, "It is quite nice."

That's not terribly unusual for a him. Outland has several biodomes acting as conservatories.

"I will be sure to investigate it, thank you."

He still doesn't know what he's dealing with. Best to be polite.

I doubt this place is like any biodome anyone has ever seen.

"It is quite remarkable," says Death, "Watch out for the rabbits though."

Polite is best when dealing with Death.

To be fair, those particular biodomes have dinosaurs in them. But yes.

"...the rabbits, sir?"

Oh dear, this is starting to sound a bit like Darkmoon Isle.

"They tend to maul people," he says, "And they breath fire."

A black father falls from his hair.

Yep, Darkmoon Isle. Maybe this is where that beast came from. Though the fire breathing is new.

"I appreciate the warning, sir," Khadgar says, tracking the feather's fall. He could perhaps learn something if he could get his hands on it.

He makes no move towards it.

An unseen eyeball watches him, moving within the mass that is Death's true form.

"Go ahead and pick it up," he says with a slight grin on this form.

...well this seems like a trap.

"To what end?"

In his experience when very powerful things want you to pick something up of your own free will, they generally don't have your best interests at heart.

"I cannot read your mind," says Death, "Why would you pick it up?"

"To try and understand what you are. But I feel I must point out that you could also simply tell me that yourself."

"I am Death," says Death after popping a fried pickle chip into his mouth.

Khadgar frowns at him. He suspects he's being toyed with and he doesn't particularly like it.

"Death is your name, sir? Title? Power?"

He's known of things to claim being a death god before but they weren't...this.

Death turns to look at him... all of his eyes.

"I assure you I am Death," he says quietly, "I may not be the Death of your world, or this, but I am Death in mine."

He has the slightest smell of dust and decay about him that only those with a very good nose can pick up.

"I could give you a demonstration."

Of course he probably won't.

It is a foreign concept to him, a personification of Death.

"I don't believe that's necessary, sir," Khadgar says, still frowning and uneasy under that gaze. "You control death? Create undead?"

It's what the Lich King did, self-proclaimed god of death. The other one, Yogg-Saron, just drove you mad and killed you.

"I keep the balance," says Death, "I am one of the oldest things in my universe, and I suspect I will be one of the last to exist."

He cocks his head, "And I do not like the undead, they are an abomination."

Balance he can understand. Not liking the undead is a bonus, too.

"...you are saying you're the force of death itself?"

It's starting to click a bit.

"It seems you are smarter than most people here," says Death, "Hungry?"

It's nigh incomprehensible to him. If one were to look at the cosmology chart of the forces of Warcraft, Death is two tiers above anything Azeroth is even aware of. The idea that something that fundamental is aware is mind-boggling.

"...yes," he says weakly, feeling like lying would be a bad idea.

"Good," says Death, "Ask the Bar for something. The fried paradoxes are quite good, but I really like fried pickle chips and beer."

He pops another pickle chip into his mouth.

"A glass of Dalaran red?" He could really use a drink. He's impressed by the construct and the instantaneous delivery and drinks probably more of the glass than he should in one go.

"I don't...I have never met anything like you before," he admits.

A small napkin with a note scribbled on it appears on the surface of the Bar.

"I forgot to mention that the Bar is sentient," says Death, "I dare say you probably haven't met anything like her before either."

He pats her polished surface with affection.

"Truly sentient?" A bit of his normal curiosity works its way into his voice. Only a few people have come even close to constructs that can act beyond their programming. "That's quite impressive." He pauses, considering. "Did you make her?"

Does Death create things at all?

"No," says Death, "And she is quite impressive."

He's still wary but magical constructs are something he's quite familiar with.

"Can she provide anything?"

That would be truly impressive if so. There's usually a limit on what mages can conjure.

A note pops up on the bartop written in whatever language Khadgar reads.

Not living things