Post by Star Fall on Apr 15, 2016 8:44:22 GMT
Everyone is obsessed with death to a certain extent, wondering at all times what happens after they die with people being more than willing to wage war with one another over differing opinion on the matter. Others are a lot more proactive in their love of death, these devoted individuals often sign themselves up as soldiers or knights (if they happen to be nobles) allowing themselves to freely indulge in passions as they are then allowed to come so much closer to death on a daily basis be it by dying themselves or sending someone else into death. But speaking as someone who has experienced it, death is a very underwhelming experience.
My name is Rebecca Teloc and I died what I think was two months ago. It wasn't a grand affair or a tragic one either, I lived in a small village about a day's carriage ride out from Empirean named Gallowroad and the only excitement that ever happened was the biweekly sacrifice made to the Flame where everyone would dress up and indulge in the roasted meats prepared by the temple. My mother was a tailor and my father was a tradesman who specialized in exotic furs and we lived an uneventful happy life.
As far as I can remember, there was never anything particularly enviable about my life say for the calm sort of happiness that colored it. One day my father's main trade partner in capital asked him to come on a business trip. Taking it to be his chance to make new connections in the city and for me to meet new people, my father brought me and my mother along to make it a sort of family vacation we could all enjoy. And I am sure we would have had a wonderful time seeing the sights of the city. Only... we never made it there. Along the way whilst the carriage was passing along a particularly steep cliff one of the axles broke and the entire cart slid down the side of the hill. I remember falling through the airs, feeling the wind race past my body before coming to a very brutal stop.
I died instantly.
Although I had fallen out of the carriage and I escaped being crushed by its weight, a sharp stone had pierced my side and torn some important vessels in my stomach. Our wreckage was found later that day when another trade caravan passed by the road. Funerals where held in the capital under the expense of my father's partner who blamed himself for the tragedy and in the end we were buried in a small family vault.
Many days after my death, I opened my eyes to the absolute darkness of my final resting place. Struggling for a few moments, I was able to slide the stone cover off my coffin and emerge to walk the clear moonlit night. Whoever my mortician had been they had made an excellent job at stitching up my wounds as my body held itself together quite well despite the extent of the damage it had received. In my possession all I had was the pouch of coin and the clothes I had been been buried with.
Although never heard of before, my mind easily accepted that I must have risen from the dead for I had experienced no afterlife as dictated by the church's sermons nor had I met with my gods and makers. All I had seen was darkness before opening my eyes again.
Walking through the streets of the capital, my new body felt neither the pain of its wounds or the chill of the night air. Numb to all discomforts, I wandered the empty streets of the city waiting for a fatigue that would not come. I walked and walked and walked but felt neither ache nor sleep and eventually made my way outside the city walls through an unmanned service gate. Wandering the trade roads and fields outside the capital, I prepared myself to make my long journey home.