Death - MAJOUR

Death is neither capricious nor compassionate, but the living embodiment of an absolute cosmic principle: the Law of Death. It manifests across the silent plane of Quietus as an endless swath of obsidian cloth, a shroud woven from the void between worlds. To most observers, it is a static night sky, but to the attuned few scholars, prophets, and the Diriges themselves, the fabric breathes with near-imperceptible life. When the balance of mortality is undisturbed, it drapes smoothly like fine silk; when undead or necromantic abominations arise, its threads tense into taut rigidity, a silent warning that the Law demands retribution.

Psychopomps

The psychopomps known as Diriges are Death’s chosen emissaries, skeletal figures eternally bound to their punts. Each Dirige retains the personality, memories, and quirks of its former mortal life: a bard might drape garlands of wilting flowers over its mist-borne vessel, while a fallen warrior strips its punt to bone-white minimalism. Some favour the scent of jasmine and frankincense; others cling to the metallic tang of blood or the sooty aroma of battle. These personal flourishes do not distract from their sacred duty but humanise them, reminding mortals that Death’s law touches each life uniquely.

At the moment of death, a mournful melody lures the departing soul: the side-blown ivory flute of a Dirige echoes, slowing time in the mortal’s mind. In that suspended instant, the dying relives their memories, joys, and regrets in vivid detail. When the tune fades, the Dirige steps forward with a golden ladle and gently scoops the anima, the essence of consciousness, from the corpse. There is no cruelty in this act, only the solemn precision of the Law’s hand.

Above these standard psychopomps stand The Black Thetas, seventeen ancient Diriges who have borne witness to untold eons of passing souls. Their obsidian skeletons tower beneath vast black wings and heavy golden cloaks hang from their shoulders, the hoods drawn low to mask empty eye sockets. Called the Seventeen Fingers or the Black Humours in whispered reverence, they alone possess the power to reshape the very weave of Quietus’s shroud, reinforcing its law when cosmic imbalance threatens to unravel it.

Anima

Once retrieved, each anima is carried back to the animarum, a boundless, shallow expanse of black glimmering liquid. Here, every soul ever gathered mingles in an eternal confluence, stirred by currents known only to the Diriges. From this infinite well rises the spark that will ignite new life at conception: a fresh tapestry woven from countless ancestral threads. Thus, every birth is both an ending and a beginning, an affirmation that the Law of Death is also the Law of Renewal.

The Law of Death

Death’s mandate is impartial and unyielding. It tolerates no defiance of mortality: undead abominations, liches, and necromancers stand as affronts to its cosmic statute. When such violations occur, the black veil tightens as Diriges appear unbidden to eradicate the perversion. Their interventions are often felt as subtle guidance, giving dreams or omens that spur chosen mortals to hunt down necromantic blight and restore balance.

Resurrection is not inherently forbidden, for some souls must briefly return to fulfil unfinished duties or to reunite with loved ones. Yet even the most potent miracle cannot annul the Law forever: every revived soul must eventually yield to the Diriges. Undeath, by contrast, seeks to bind anima indefinitely, and so earns Death’s inexorable wrath. No bargain or plea softens the Law; Death remains patient and untrickable, secure in the knowledge that all mortal threads must ultimately unwind.

Worship and Servitors

Across the myriad cultures of the world, Death is revered under countless names and worshipped with varied rites. Silk-clad shrines, floating lanterns on moonlit lakes, and midnight dances behind shrouded arches honour the inevitable transition. Clerics and paladins of Death offer solace to the bereaved, guiding funerary ceremonies and providing healing rites. Some cults take a sterner view, forging assassins skilled in hunting undead, yet even these agents serve a duty, not malice, for Death itself remains detached from moral judgments.

On Spirits

On rare occasions when the passage is interrupted by events such as secret burials, forbidden tombs, or powerful wards, a soul lingers as a wandering Shade until a Dirige discovers it. These spirits haunt forgotten crypts or cling to treasured artifacts, yearning for release. When a Dirige finally appears, the anima is gently reclaimed, and the Shade dissolves into the animarum’s gentle waters, its story woven into the greater tapestry.