DEAD

“Charlie! Charlie!” his head was swirling, what was this feeling. He lied cold on the floor but he was sure he was on fire a couple of moments ago. Something must’ve gone wrong. The voice echoed again, what was this? A couple of hands took grip on his shoulders shaking him. He opened his eyes slowly, before him stood a rather peculiar elf. A long beard and blue robes. His hair seemed to flow with the wind beautifully. Well, there was no wind but if there was Charlie was sure that’s how it would flow. The voice was recognizable however but it could not be. The old elf offered him a stern frown as he explained the situation, “You died, your soul was transferred into here. You little shit, I liked this place when I was alone.” Charlie blinked, dead? How could he be dead? He never thought he’d suffer the faith of death. If he was dead, how could he feel so alive? No, it had to be a lie.

“Arathil, cut your shit. Where am I now?” Charlies voice was filled with bitter annoyance. He couldn’t be dead, the Braves needed him, Kysah needed him.“I told you, you’re inside me. This is my domain, my own little plain of existence. I can do whatever I wish here. Care for some tea? This is why I don’t like visitors, always so rude.” He looked around a bit confused. This place looked no different than a deserted inn. Except the roof was, there wasn’t a roof. Up where the roof should’ve been he saw, himself. Well, what was left of him. The fire had left him badly burnt and some of his limbs were placed in odd directions. His beautiful skin had been melted to bits, he could even see bits of bone sticking out from places.

He eventually managed to calm himself enough to utter. “No, I need to get back. The Braves need me!” Arathil smirked from where he sat, he had conjured himself a chair while Charlie had been busy scanning the environment. “Look, you’re dead. Face it. There is no way back. Now, go do the dishes. They’ve been piling up these last seven hundred years.” Charlie glanced up again, Thea’s desperate prayer for the light seemed to preach for deaf ears. There was not even a hint of anything happening. Not even a bruise got bettered. The light couldn’t save him. A tear rolled down his cheek as he made his way to the kitchen.


(he aint dead anymore)

*Meanwhile, a slightly dazed Lomonde sings over a fresh crispy corpse*

Mourning, the Braves stand around,
The falling rain cools scorched ground,
Along with streaming tears, he leaves us with a sigh,
This Band’s Founding Member, our suave Quel’dorei,

We'll think only of your good life,
Instead of all this teary strife.
Of the stylish wizard elf, and a face full of cheer,
With a future filled with wealth, as a mage of the year,

Oh Charlie!
Well you came and you cast without caring...
But you left us too early,
Oh Charlie!
Well you found us and helped us from failing,
And we wish you were here,

Oh Charlie...

Spoiler:

(Nice! And of course Arathil was his welcoming self ^^)