Ezrakel - God of Death
“Ezrakel concludes lives with a precision most writers would kill for. He insists the comparison is tasteless. I agree. But it is also accurate.”
Aethryn has always believed that death should matter.
Not as punishment.
Not as terror.
As structure.
The world tolerates chaos while breath remains, but once a life reaches its final line, mortals cling to the hope that someone dignified will be holding the quill.
And so they imagined Death with calm hands, a steady voice, and impeccable taste.
Ezrakel heard their expectation.
And surpassed it with enthusiasm.
He refined the idea of an ending into something elegant: a gentleman of immaculate composure, a presence that hushes rooms without raising a finger, and a god whose driest remark can silence a battlefield faster than any divine wrath.
Mortals wished for dignity.
Ezrakel provided excellence.
He has never apologised for it.
The Aesthetic of a God Who Knows He’s Being Watched
Ezrakel’s appearance is not myth made flesh.
It is a brand — curated with ruthless precision.
His coat falls in perfect lines.
His rose-tinted spectacles soften silver eyes that miss nothing.
His movements are so controlled that even confident mortals stand a little straighter when he enters.
And the hat…
A cultural event in itself.
Priests attempt to replicate it.
Tailors study it.
Fashion trends orbit it helplessly.
Ezrakel merely adjusts the brim and continues walking, letting the world interpret him however it wishes. He never demands attention. He allows it.
And it arrives unfailingly.
Mourningstar: A Full Stop Wielded with Grace
His scythe manifests only when the moment has been written. It does not kill — Ezrakel would never rely on something so crude. Mourningstar is a confirmation, not a cause.
A curl of shadow.
A whisper of cold.
An ivory blade rising like a breath turning to frost.
It hums when near souls of weight or complexity.
Ezrakel insists this is “coincidental acoustics.”
I have seen him tilt his head when it happens.
When dismissed, it evaporates as politely as it arrived.
Inevitability, he says, does not need theatrics.
(Which is ironic, considering he perfected the art.)
Polite. Precise. Devastating.
Ezrakel’s manner is almost too controlled.
He is gentle with children.
Blunt with adults.
And lethally direct with anyone who insists on wasting his time.
Souls have changed their entire philosophy because of a single sentence from him. Entire armies have reconsidered their choices after hearing him sigh.
He resurrects mortals with the same poise one uses to straighten a crooked picture frame. Once, after restoring a foolishly deceased soldier, he remarked, “Let us try that again, but with dignity.”
Three men fainted on the spot.
Threadwalkers bother him, though he hides it well. They break structure. They mock boundaries. They offend his sense of order simply by breathing.
Naturally, he adores them.
When Death Becomes Official
A body can fall.
A soul can slip.
Neither is real death.
Death happens only when Ezrakel attends to the matter. Until he arrives, a mortal lingers in an awkward state between conclusion and complaint — a limbo that inspires confusion, reflection, and occasionally shouting.
Resurrection follows the same logic.
Priests plead.
Mages attempt bribery.
The desperate offer bargains no sane god should accept.
Ezrakel listens.
Considers.
Then makes a choice based solely on structure, dignity, and occasionally narrative irritation.
Souls he returns carry debt.
Souls with debt eventually become Reapers.
He calls this “professional consistency.”
Mortals call it unfair.
He calls mortal opinions “interesting but irrelevant.”
Reapers: The Overworked Staff of Eternity
Reapers were once mortal.
Most still behave like it.
They keep their memories, their habits, and their grudges, sharpened by centuries of escorting souls who insist on dying badly. Their long coats are crisp. Their scythes are understated. Their commentary is devastating.
One quiet line from a Reaper can embarrass a soul into compliance. They do not raise their voices. They do not need to. They channel Ezrakel’s energy with weary expertise.
Ezrakel never reprimands them. His absence of disappointment is more powerful than any lecture.
It is said a single raised eyebrow from him once caused an entire cohort to reorganise itself. I was not present, but I believe it.
The Deaths That Interest Him
Mortals debate endlessly about what pleases the God of Death.
They are not entirely wrong.
Heroic last stands delight him.
Composed acceptance impresses him.
A final line he has never heard before is a rare gift.
Idiotic deaths irritate him.
Spectacularly idiotic deaths amuse him far more than he admits.
There is one rumour — unverified, but promising — that he once resurrected a man purely because his death was so embarrassing that Ezrakel muttered, “Absolutely not,” before correcting it.
Folk wisdom summarises the truth neatly:
Die well, and earn dignity.
Die interestingly, and earn time.
The God Who Requires No Threats
Common folk leave black roses.
Adventurers speak of him with nervous admiration.
Clerics polish his altars with trembling devotion.
Other gods behave around him.
Galdros respects his grand sense of timing.
Selvera interprets his indifference as irresistible mystery.
Thalmar once tried to impress him with a storm.
Ezrakel delivered a single quiet remark, and the storm changed direction out of embarrassment.
Compared to the others, he rarely raises his voice.
He never needs to.
Final Thoughts
Ezrakel is not cruelty.
He is not mercy.
He is the final breath of a story, shaped with care, delivered with grace, and judged with eyes that miss nothing.
He closes lives the way a master craftsman finishes art — with precision, restraint, and a refusal to accept anything less than excellence.
Aethryn created the need for endings.
Ezrakel made them beautiful.
At a Glance
For readers in a hurry. Ezrakel appreciates punctuality. He does not appreciate rushing.
Who He Is
Aethryn’s God of Death in its most dignified form. Immaculate, unhurried, devastatingly composed, and quietly certain he is the only adult in the room.
What He Does
Concludes lives with elegant finality, resurrects mortals whose endings offend him, and maintains the universe’s narrative hygiene with surgical precision.
Where He Intervenes
Where stories falter, where deaths lack grace, and where someone insists on dying in a way that would embarrass eternity. He corrects as needed.
How His Presence Feels
Cool air at your shoulder, a gentle hush settling over the moment, and the uncomfortable realisation that your last words may be judged on quality.
Who Suffers Most
Fools.
Then dramatists.
Then anyone attempting to argue with him.
Pantheon Consensus
Polite, unnerving, impossible to fluster. A divine full stop who tolerates the other gods with the patience of a long-suffering tutor.
Reaper Summary
Former mortals turned impeccably dressed staff. Efficient, exhausted, faintly sarcastic. Terrified of disappointing him and too dignified to admit it.
Why He Matters
Because endings define stories — and Ezrakel refuses to let Aethryn conclude anything badly.
How to Portray Ezrakel
Ezrakel should be played with absolute calm and exquisite restraint. Speak softly, never rush, and let silence do most of the work — it’s his sharpest tool. Every movement should feel deliberate, measured, and slightly too precise, as though you’ve rehearsed the moment a thousand times.
He isn’t cold; he’s composed. Offer gentle courtesy to children, blunt honesty to adults, and devastating politeness to fools. When he finds a death undignified, let irritation show only in the faintest sigh or raised brow.
Humour, when it appears, is dry enough to desiccate a battlefield.
Never shout.
Never hurry.
Never break posture.
Ezrakel is a god who collects endings, not attention — which is why he gets both effortlessly.
Additional Details
“Your continued reading is more valuable than coin. However, the author assures me that Ko-Fi support assists in ‘keeping the kettle on.’ I am told this is a metaphor. I remain unconvinced.” — Seraphis Nightvale Ko-Fi: #madmooncrow
I love everything about this! I could write an entire sister article about all the parts I liked, but suffice it to say that your wit is as sharp as Mourningstar, and that I love a god of death I'd be more embarrassed to meet than terrified. That mortals might almost *hope* to die idiotically enough that he sends them back to do it right this time. The muttered "Absolutely not," killed me. And I loved that he "adores" these beings that challenge and vex him--it reminds me of a soulsborne player who deliberately walks into Patches's obvious traps because they want to see what he came up with this time and it will be hilarious.
Thank you — this really means a lot. Proper reads are rarer than people realise, so seeing someone catch the nuances and actually engage with the character is gold to me. I had a lot of fun shaping Ezrakel into something different from the usual death-god mould, and I’m genuinely glad he landed for you. The Patches comparison even made me laugh, despite never having played Souls myself.
Still standing. Still scribbling. Still here.
The Last Home