A figure walks in, wearing assorted pieces of tattered armor. He makes his way to a seat, holding on to the side of a table. He doesn’t make it into the chair before collapsing.
English
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[i]I appear behind him, and try to help him up while noting his appearance.[/i]
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“get…your…hands…off…m-,“ he protests weakly.
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"If you insist." [i]I snap my fingers and teleport him into a seat at a table.[/i] "What happened to you?"
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[i]The man does not respond.[/i]
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"Going to talk?"
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“How much do you know death?”
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"Quite a lot." [i]I sit on the other side of the table.[/i]
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“Tell me, then.”
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"Well, for one it's not fun, nonexistence is something I try to stay out of as much as I can, but my job tends to dip in there once or twice. Secondly, truly being dead isn't fun either. You just *poof* don't exist. And most of the time you can't come back."
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“Too often I have seen the cold embrace, the welcoming hands.” [i]he pauses. [/i] “Yet, they never choose me.”
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"Mm. Who might you be anyway?"
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“I go by many names.”
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"Ah, then I'll give you some of mine. I am She who drowns in the Sea of Stars, Morsus on High, Celestis of the Cosmos. And you?"
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[i]The man stops to think for a moment. [/i] “In that case, you may call me… Trent”
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"Trent. And what brings you here Trent?"
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“No choice of mine.”
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"Really?"
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"To be honest, I don't know how the hell I got here."
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"Not many do." [i]I incline my head.[/i]
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"What the hell even is this place?"
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"Offtopic City."