I have a strong desire to flex my writing muscles on this. I even have a story writing itself in my head as I type. But I have class in the morning....

Oh, well. I probably won't get to sleep until I finish it in my head anyway. So I give you a snippet about everyone's favorite topic: dying!
Wait...

A Largely Inconsequential Death
Or: The First Time I Had a Character Die on Me

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Sorry, but even though this took place pretty recently, I don't really remember the characters' actual names, (or place names) for the most part. I will be using the closest approximations, or just making them up.


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"Look, I appreciate your efforts. Really, I do. But next time, it would be wonderful if you would just wait and see if we are to be let out in the morning before you break us out of jail." Alia, the elven woman that I spoke to, shuffled her shoulders, disgruntled.
"Fine, fine," she said, clearly trying to brush me off. "I got it."
"Good," I said, putting a more comfortable distance between us and catching back up to the rest of our group. "So Haldor, where are we heading next, exactly?"
"We are going to the town of Arrowdale," he replied. "It seems to be a rather unpleasant place, filled with scum. I do not look forward to dealing with its inhabitants." Haldor was a tall, silver-haired man, and I admit hesitantly to myself that he was quite handsome. With his plate armor gleaming in the sun, his noble air seemed almost otherworldly.
"ONWARD!" screamed Glorian at no one in particular, holding his sword up in the air, and rushing ahead of Haldor. The rest of us winced tiredly. He did this all too often, and we were getting tired of it.
My poor ears... I thought to myself, rubbing them. Being locked up in a cell with him the night before had not been pleasant at all.
As we neared the edge of the town, my attention was caught by a man lying on the ground that resembled nothing more than a pile of rags. "Haldor, look at that," I said. The man groaned audibly.
"Yes," Haldor said, "he seems to be in pain. We should help him." He and I walked over to him to investigate.
"Do we have to?" said Alia. She seemed rather impatient with us. I just nodded in response. It was about this time that Glorian seemed to notice that we were no longer walking, and circled back.
"Is there something wrong?" Haldor said to the groaning man.
"My stomach," he grunted, in a pained voice. "It hurts." He squrimed on the ground. I had trouble looking over him, as he was almost entirely obscured by the dirty rags he wore. I couldn't even see his face clearly.
"What do you mean, are you sick? Injured?" I asked. "I have healing magic, would you like me to use it?"
The man's only response was to roll a bit and groan again.
That was enough of an answer for me. I held my symbol of Pelor in my left hand, and reached down, ready to cast my spell at him. Before I could do so, however, the man jumped with surprising agility and grabbed my arm. Before I could react, he grabbed something from his rags and spoke a number of words that I did not recognize. But though I did not recognize the words, I could not mistake the pain I felt as negative energy surged through my body.
I yelled in pain and surprise, and threw him off of me, backing away. "We're under attack!" I yelled at the others, bringing my morningstar out of its holster.
The man sprang up and threw off the rags over his robes. Around his neck I could see a symbol of Nerhul. As he did so, another man in identical clothing popped into visibility, holding two scythes. He threw one to his unarmed companion, and they faced off against us.
"You people," I said. I still felt weak from the energy the now-apparent cleric had sent through me. I spoke a few words and laid my hand on my chest, feeling positive energy flow through to heal the injury. I still didn't feel 100%, but it was enough that I felt confident about fighting them.
As I did this, Haldor and Glorian ran in, swords drawn. They attacked the clerics, and managed to get in at least a hit. Meanwhile, Alia ran over to a nearby tree and began climbing, I presumed to get a better shot with her crossbow. The cleric further away from me held up his symbol and spoke more words of divine power, and suddenly an enormous scorpion formed off to Glorian's left.
Now ready for combat, I raised my morningstar and ran towards the cleric that was currently fighting Haldor, the one that had attacked me. I swung down at him, but he managed to dodge to my left, leaving me swinging through empty air. The same move brought him away from Haldor's swing. His eyes burned, and he once again grasped his unholy symbol, spitting out foul-sounding syllables that could barely be described as words. He reached out toward me. I desperately tried to get away from the hand, glowing black with negative energy. Unfortunately, I am no acrobat, and my heavy armor caused me to blunder backwards. His hand plunged in and touched my neck.

This wave of energy was even more painful than the last, so much so that I fell to the ground in agony. It didn't last long, though. Before I knew it, the world went black around me.
My memory of what happened next is extremely vague. I have dream-like memories of watching my companions finish the fight with our enemies, but the angles that I viewed it from were impossible from the ground, not to mention that I remember seeing my body remain motionless on the ground. I also think I remember watching Haldor drag it off down the street.
At any rate, my next clear memory was of me lying on a healer's bed with my armor hastily removed, a man with a symbol identical to mine chanting over me. I recognized the words of the chant; it was a ressurection ritual. I moaned and sat up, groggily.
Haldor stood there, with a relieved look on his face. "Sorry," he said, "He got you with some sort of death spell. We couldn't do anything."
I shook my head, bringing myself back to alertness. "Did you at least get rid of them?"
"Yes," he said.
"Good." I stood up off the bed, and began pulling my armor back on. "Those bastards. Dying hurts."