Make your own free website on Tripod.com

SMRT
<zatím pouze v angličtině>

On the magic-saturated Discworld, anthropomorphic personifications take on a life (or, in DEATHs case, an existence) of their own.

Death is a seven-foot tall skeleton with pinpoints of blue fire in his eyesockets; he is not the ruthless destroyer of legend, but rather a timeserver who has all Eternity to serve.

He tries very hard to understand mortals, but this effort is largely negated by his utter lack of anything even remotely resembling a sense of incongruity or a sense of humour. He does care for them, and in Reaper Man he defended them to Azrael against the soullessness of bureaucracy.


Quote:

"THERES NO JUSTICE. THERE'S JUST ME."

"LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?"


Death can be summoned by the Rite of AshkEnte, which requires either


a) eight eighth-level wizards, a ceremonial octogram, rams' skulls, and dribbly candles
b) three small bits of wood and 2cc of mouse blood, or
c) two small bits of wood and a fresh egg.