Death is a necessity

O, mortal children of the essence, lay down your heads and slumber. Become one with the world once more, cradled in the arms of us reapers. The Afterlife is merely the beginning. Cleanse your souls, be pure of heart, and you shall not meet a grisly demise. But always be wary of what you are, and what you will become. You're given a life. Your actions do matter. You will be judged accordingly. Sleep well, mortal children of the essence. Memento vivere, Memento mori. Vivere disce, cogita mori! ...tick tock, tick tock... ...goes the mortal's clock...

[smiling-grouch-deactivated20241]

Dedicated To Terry Pratchett April 28, 1948 – March 12, 2015 My friend Amelia got me into Terry Pratchett’s Discworld in college. I haven’t read all 40 of the novels, but what I have read was always excellent. My only beef was  I would stay up way too late thinking “I’ll go to bed as soon as I’m done with this chapter!” when he never made any :) Literature lost a great man, today. A great, delightful, angry man.

[zerostatereflex]

[thethreereapers]

The world was peaceful today. Not the human world, but their world. The world of the dead. Some called it the Underworld. Some called it the netherworld. 

In the end, most called it a version of hell.

Of course they were confusing it for a completely different world and realm, apart and exempt from that icy cold world where demons reigned surpreme. It was the same situation with others mistaking it for purgatory, claiming that it couldn’t only be as such because it was only natural.

No. This world, the world for the servants of Death, was far from the place of cackling demons and wailing souls.

Read More

[bereavemcnt]

Jeremiah couldn’t really remember what he was doing, where he was. He heard someone tell him he wasn’t in hell - which was good - but he did hear some kind of commotion going on. Sharp things clawing at his skin, picking him dry like vultures as he groaned tiredly. 

Little boy? did he look like a child? Why was it he was always being belittled like that? What the fuck was with people? Was he really that small?

He kind of felt it though. The spark on his skin caused him pain, but it told him immediately who’d picked him up. Woke him right out of his slumbered state, eyes opening and face nuzzling right into Altael’s shoulder. Ahh- Altael.

"Brother!" He croaked, one hand reaching up to grab onto his friend’s robe, "am I glad to see you.”

Well. He couldn’t really see right now, eyes closed and tired and all that junk, but it was the same idea. What if this wasn’t Altael? Impossible. He knew it was. Had to be. No one else would save him from his own kind like this.

"I hav-ven’t… slept…" he muttered, weakness returning to his bare body, "in months… I’m so f-fucking tired.”

Did this mean he’d get to see his other two favorites as well? Abaroth, Austri - the double A’s to complete Altael’s Triple A brother lineup. Jer chuckled at that, fingers hooked in the v-crook of Altael’s hood. Yeah. See the three brothers. He’d like that.

"S-sorry… I’ll tell ya why. But first, I gotta nap."

If he could nap. The disarray around him was very distracting to an overly exhausted mind like his. Everything felt kind of strange, too. Like he was exposed, bare. Lips pursed as his brows knit.

"Please tell me I ain’t…"

Did he even need to finish that sentence? Dang.

[thethreereapers]

A gentle breeze would brush against Jeremiah's body as Altael flew him away from harm's way. The Psychopomp flapped his ravaged wings, a few feathers drifting lazily down towards the ground like charred leaves.

"I am glad to see you as well," Altael replied, that exotic and alluring hint of an accent noticeable, even over his typically trademark dry and professional tone. "Although to have you drop down into our lands was something I'd rather not have you experience. At least you did not drop into the river Styx."

Yes. Altael was paying attention to him, even as he made his way to his 'home'. He hadn't slept in months? No wonder his signal was weak. He could feel him in his arms, as tangible and as heavy as anyone would who had a corporeal body. But he also felt light, airy, not as dense overall. He was comprised differently this time around. It was hard to explain why the contradictions made sense, but the soft tingling he felt at his fingertips (even through the metal bits of his gauntlet!) told him that Jeremiah was in poor shape.

Landing on the ground, Jeremiah would feel a slight jarring as the Psychopomp took all the shock of the impact appropriately. Wings folding up against his back, he made his way up the steps of his 'home', and right into it.

"Nap all you wish," he said as a spicy aroma filled the air. The closest any human could liken it to would be clove. "I do not know if you are dead, but seeing as you are here it means you are very close, either way. Your body must have either allowed your concisousness to slip into a state of astral projection, or you are dying."

[officialpollen-blog]

when you and your best friend say something at the exact same time

[thethreereapers]

"I wonder if you’re still alive. Your life’s signal is… barely readable. I can’t tell where you are. I can’t feel you in the darkness. I can’t smell your sin, usually thick and cloying in the air. I can’t feel your essence.

Your spiritual pull is suffering. I have been so far gone from your bound bond that my connection is fragile and weak. I can feel the thread. It’s still there, it has not been severed and snipped by the muses of the Greeks. Fate is still with us. Entwined destiny has still ensnared us.

Tell me… from beyond the hazy horizon of purgatory, from beyond the expanse of the river styx— are you there? Above me, in another realm, the one cocooning living mortals in order to keep them safe by the divine’s rulings; is this where you are? I cannot feel your energy within your world’s deep, dense throb of humanity.

…are you still alive?”

[bereavemcnt]

Perhaps the reason Altael couldn’t feel him was because he was dead. Well, half dead. Beaten black and blue, barely clinging to whatever was left of his living existence with a grin and a laugh because these thugs who caught him off guard were trying to get him to reveal shit he wasn’t at liberty to disclose.

Read More

[thethreereapers]

The world was peaceful today. Not the human world, but their world. The world of the dead. Some called it the Underworld. Some called it the netherworld. 

In the end, most called it a version of hell.

Of course they were confusing it for a completely different world and realm, apart and exempt from that icy cold world where demons reigned surpreme. It was the same situation with others mistaking it for purgatory, claiming that it couldn't only be as such because it was only natural.

No. This world, the world for the servants of Death, was far from the place of cackling demons and wailing souls.

Altael was a Psychopomp, one created for a purpose and a reason. He had existed for centuries, seeing the march of mankind as they further took their descent down into their own terrible demise. Their world was dying. To humans, it may take centuries of their own. But to the reapers of souls, it'd come in a blink of an eye.

Jeremiah was a human that had somehow made an impact on a servant of Death's life. Usually it was forbidden for a reaper, a Psychopomp, to befriend the very beings they were created to reap. The servants of Death were meant to keep the wheel of fate turning. They were the harsh, cruel truth to life's honeyed lies. They brought forth knowledge and realization. They were the light in the darkness...

But, as such, they were not meant to become attached to the very thing they were made to be opposite of.

For quite a long time now, Altael had been calling out to the darkness that drifted overhead. He cried out to the spirits that drifted lazily above in the sky, a beautiful if not morbidly attractive sort of aurora borealis. He had been wanting to get into contacts with the person, his friend--no, his brother, even. An odd sort of bond they had. It was forbidden. It was forsaken. It was illegal.

The Psychopomp had all but given up on everything, knowing full well that if he hadn't replied for weeks, months or even years by now (time was rather strange between the realms, and it passed differently), then he was most likely gone. Perished. His soul now drifted amongst the calm currents of the river Styx. He would be lulled into a safe and serene afterlife, and possibly given the chance to reincarnate. It would be too late to try to commune with him if he had already been processed, and his essence harvested for that river. It would be useless to continue to call out to him.

Yet he did it anyway.

And today his cries were answered in a very unexpected way.

---------------

Perched on the rooftop of one of the temples found in Necropolis, Altael saw the strange event unfurl before his very eyes. He was about to head back to his resting abode when he noticed that the stream of spirits scattered across the sky had become disturbed and agitated. The streams became thinner, snaking out across the expanse like the gnarled branch-like fingers of a knobby, old tree. They continued to arch across the sky, terrified and disturbed, woken up from their hypnotized drifting lull.

That's when it happened. A glowing figure plummeted from an opening in the souls, a swath of a pathway that allowed this prone being to descend from the terrifying heights.

Surging to his feet, the robed reaper watched as the distant figure neared closer and closer to the outskirts of the city, to where the reapers rested and dwelled in their assigned abodes. This didn't happen often. Souls usually did not enter this land unless their severed, incorporeal spirits were ripped from their bodies and they were taken down here in possession of a reaper. The last person who managed to escape into their realm was--

"JEREMIAH!"

Unfurling his wings in a rush, the reaper didn't hesitate. Altael took to the sky and rushed towards the presumed impact zone. He wasn't supposed to be here. Souls who managed to eek into their realm, not at all separated from their bodies in a sense, were usually besieged by hungry, desperate reapers and--

Damn this man! Damn this troublemaker! Just damn it all!

---------------

"Hell? No, no.. you're far from hell, little boy, little mortal."

Oh, Jeremiah, you were in a strange world weren't you?

The poor, battered man would have seen the soft, ambient glow coming from the streetlamps, the various lanterns used here and there, and the glow of the wayward souls drifting lazily in the sky above. It was just enough light to see things, to recognize shapes and colors and textures. It was also allowing Jeremiah to see the glowing eyes of the beings approaching him, curious as to who the intruder was.

"What is it? What issss it?"

"It is a human."

"A human? What is it doing here?"

Psychopomps of various sizes and builds gathered around him as he lay on the ground. They instantly heard his English, the words he was speaking, and had converted their own words to that known human language. How nice of them. Despite that, the hiss of an exotic accent lingered on each word spoken by each servant of Father Death.

"Its soul has not gone through the final separation from his body. He is still fresh."

"Fresh?"

"He looks... delicious..."

With swift, hostile movements a few raving mad Psychopomps pounced upon his bruised and bloodied form, but they would be pushed back by the force of air, the whoosh of a downdraft caused by wings in landing. The snarled and hissed at the lone Psychopomp he crouched over the prone figure. He was snarling himself, teeth bared and saliva beginning to drip from his fangs.

"Away," Altael growled, clutching Jeremiah close to him with one of his gauntlet-clad hands. The nails of his metal glove pricked into the unconscious man's spiritual form, causing a soft, sad hiss of clashing energies and auras. "He is mine."

"You can't just keep him all to yourself," a Psychopomp snapped. "Wayward spirits that drop into our world are free game, grunt."

"Free game," tittered a rather unbalanced looking Psychopomp. "Free game, free game! Free nourishment!"

"Our role is NOT to devour the dead and their essence," bellowed a few Psychopomps. It seemed that there had been groups forming at this, sides taken in this odd sort of affair.

"Free game! Free game!"

"Uphold the balance of the wheel of fate!"

Delirious idiots.

With a motion of his wings, Altael broke away from the two forming groups. He felt the nails and claws of some of the Psychopomps attempting to snatch at his clothing, his robes, but he was gone. Gone, above their reach, unable to be chased down as the two groups collided.

He headed towards his abode, his safe haven.

Damn it all. Damn the troublemaker in his arms. He was always saving his ass, it seemed. Always saving him...

But it was always worth it, to save his brother from another lifetime.

[ofkhaos]

Life asked Death, "Why do people love me, but hate you?"

Death responded, "Because you are a beautiful lie, and I am a painful truth."

-Unknown

[thethreereapers]

"I wonder if you're still alive. Your life's signal is... barely readable. I can't tell where you are. I can't feel you in the darkness. I can't smell your sin, usually thick and cloying in the air. I can't feel your essence.

Your spiritual pull is suffering. I have been so far gone from your bound bond that my connection is fragile and weak. I can feel the thread. It's still there, it has not been severed and snipped by the muses of the Greeks. Fate is still with us. Entwined destiny has still ensnared us.

Tell me... from beyond the hazy horizon of purgatory, from beyond the expanse of the river styx-- are you there? Above me, in another realm, the one cocooning living mortals in order to keep them safe by the divine's rulings; is this where you are? I cannot feel your energy within your world's deep, dense throb of humanity.

...are you still alive?"

[kathaderon]

Deathigner - short film

..In which the children of the gods of Death attend  reaper-school.

[kon-law-blog]

[medicmariuslang-blog]

thethreereapers has entered the infirmary

[thethreereapers]

The strange, winged being jumps a bit at hearing the person’s voice. They turn to look at him, their black eyes like a bottomless void. They give an uneasy smile, slowly raising a hand to wave at him.

"You can see me? And you can… hear me?" The being inches forward a bit, truly fascinated with the idea that this person could really see him. "Marius Lang. Yes… yes, I know your name, and yet I do not know you. How funny, is it not?" The being keeps smiling, his expression oddly calm and its genderless voice smooth and mellow. "I am a herder, a Psychopomp by the name of Austri."

[medicmariuslang-blog]

"Yes, I can see and hear you."

Marius looks the other over, eyes narrow and curious.

"I suppose that is quite odd.  What all do you know of me?  It is good to meet you, Austri.  I have never had the pleasure of meeting a Psychopomp."

[thethreereapers]

"I know your name," the strange creature continues, its tone almost airy and dreamlike. They creep forward a bit, interested in the human before them. "I know of your existence. I know you are human. And your aura is an interesting color."

They chuckle. 'Pleasure of meeting a Psychopomp'. Meeting one was usually not nice at all. It typically meant you were to die, or you were clairvoyant. 

"Tell me," Austri continues, staring blankly at the Medic's face. "Tell me... please... what you look like."

[thethreereapers]

Soul detected: Hanna Cross

I assume you can see me. You are looking right at me. Once more a human who can see a Psychopomp. And yet you… are different, are you not? I cannot smell the scent of sin on you. What I can smell is death. You reek of the dead, and yet you are not a cadaver. You walk, you talk. You seem to exist within your realm as a living being, when clearly you should not. 

What are you?

[falkinghannacross]

Wow, cut right to the quick. Hanna blinks, surprised at the straightforward analysis.

"What am I? E-Eheh, I’m not anything. Just a human trying to make end’s meet, y’know? World’s harsh, man."

His words carry a certain heaviness to them that starkly juxtaposes with his bright demeanor.

"But, uh, the name’s Hanna Cross. And yours…?"

[thethreereapers]

The creature snorts. "A human? I think not. No human can cheat death in such a strange manner."

Baring his fangs, the angelic looking creature decides to take a step towards Cross. Unfurling his black wings, he reaches out with a hand, sharp fingernails grazing against his crop of unruly red hair.

"Hanna Cross. I am the Psychopomp known as Altael. Cum tenebris fur pennas." He pauses, now, and gives the young man a piercing stare. "Of course, among your mortal, human race you give us the silly name of 'grim reaper'. As if death is grim. It's needed for balance. Your race amuses me with your viewpoints and opinions."

[s-mphotography]

[thethreereapers]

Bed early for me. I'm bushed. Replies in the...afternoon, I think.

[doctorwhovianuniverse-deactivat]

[medicmariuslang-blog]

thethreereapers has entered the infirmary

Marius looks up.

"…Good day.  My name is Marius Lang.  How may I assist you?"

[thethreereapers]

The strange, winged being jumps a bit at hearing the person's voice. They turn to look at him, their black eyes like a bottomless void. They give an uneasy smile, slowly raising a hand to wave at him.

"You can see me? And you can... hear me?" The being inches forward a bit, truly fascinated with the idea that this person could really see him. "Marius Lang. Yes... yes, I know your name, and yet I do not know you. How funny, is it not?" The being keeps smiling, his expression oddly calm and its genderless voice smooth and mellow. "I am a herder, a Psychopomp by the name of Austri."

[thethreereapers]

Soul detected: Hanna Cross

I assume you can see me. You are looking right at me. Once more a human who can see a Psychopomp. And yet you... are different, are you not? I cannot smell the scent of sin on you. What I can smell is death. You reek of the dead, and yet you are not a cadaver. You walk, you talk. You seem to exist within your realm as a living being, when clearly you should not. 

What are you?

[ducissatenebrarum]

William Strang

The Grim Reaper, slightly hunched over and carrying a scythe, walks to right across a landscape. Final state. 1892 Etching