the last grain of sand in the hourglass…
I’ve mentioned Menahem before in passing with a few of my tales, and I’ve decided that I should explain who he is… Menahem is the god of Death and Reincarnation… when your time is up, it is he and his reapers who come to carry you from this life to the next…
despite human misconceptions, he is not a thief who seeks to hasten your demise, it is rather the opposite; Menahem is kind, patient, and above all, inevitable. He needs not fight against you, and will often fight for you, because why not? He will gather you home eventually, so why not enjoy you first?
Menahem treasures those who fight him most ardently: healers, defenders, survivalists, necromancers, mad scientists, immortality seekers. He lets you pour everything you are into fighting him, denying him, adoring every last scrap of strength, will, and raw determination poured out against him; and when your strength is done and your brilliance run out, he catches you in his bony claws, gathers you close, and whispers “well done dear child, you were magnificent…”
Menahem will not seek to hasten an inevitable end, and will chastise those who seek to hasten Death for others in his stead. slowly and patiently plot, sow, and siphon away from the greatest monsters of the world; Because who are they to hasten Deaths domain?! Who are they to deny Death it’s time and patience?! Who are they to cut short these vital glories that illuminate them so?! Who are they to presume upon his will, that is so much larger and longer than theirs?!
Who are they to call, and presume that Death, of all beings, should obey?
Death is not a hunter, but a gatherer; who is always and eternal, who loves you, and can afford to wait. Who will fight for you and defend you, who will place his hand upon those who would speed you into his embrace, who has no need to rush you, only to great you when you call.
Death is kind,
and, before and above all,
inevitable.
His bottom half resembles that of a scorpion; who’s four thin legs can scarcely be heard scuttling across the floor, as he gathers souls across the universe… who’s mighty claws are nigh impossible to escape from, for those who can no longer struggle, will never be let go until it is their time…who’s stinger is commonly misinterpreted as a scythe, with its long, curving blade raised high above his head… ready for the moment to reap what has been sown… who’s exoskeleton is made of carved bone that conceals the dark, wispy visage that can be seen flowing through the cracks… his top half is concealed by a veil tied around his crown-like horns…
no one knows when he will come knocking at your door… be it morning or night… rain or shine… 80 years down the line or 9 seconds from now… but until then…