In the heart of this desert sand storm is a man is walking along a stone path. The sand passes through him with no resistance. The wind will not reach him. He is a ghost here.

He has short jet black hair, sapphire eyes and clothes in black and tones of blue. His skin is impossibly pale, a complete absence of color but for his hands, sapphire at the finger tips and fading to white at the mid forearm. His feet beneath the black leather are the same. A belt around his hips holds a polished faintly glowing sapphire.

The stone path revealed by the displaced sand does not exist. He is walking along a path that will never be reached by human eyes. The garden it leads to does not exist. It too will never be reached by human eyes. Both lay between the living realm and the dying.

HE reaches the garden and looks at the strange flowers. Some grow upside down, others are multicolored. All are unreal and impossible.

This is the place he woke three hundred years ago, no memory of who he was or what life he had. By coming here he was stalling. He had a schedule of deaths and souls to take but his next victim he did not want to take. He is lost in thought and barely notices the increasing tolling of bells.

He stops. That sound. The dull tolling of bells has finally caught his attention. It’s so familiar but he cannot place it. Suddenly a voice enters his mind, WHO ARE YOU TO TREAD ON THE LAND OF THE ANCIENTS?

The question amuses the man and he laughs, dull and hollow, “Who am I? I am Death. I have been renamed Thanatos. I am a soul drinker. I am of the Vitasuum. The only survivor of my kind.” He replies.

The nameless man is calm as an ancient ghost appears before him. The ghost shows it’s body’s current condition. It’s flesh had long since rotted away, leaving mummified tatters of skin stretched tight over the horrible grinning teeth. The empty sockets turn on him.

WHAT IS YOUR EXISTENCE? The ancient asks.

“My purpose is to keep the forsaken and undead like you from walking the Earth.”

The ancient laughs at this. YOU ARE NOT FULFILLING THAT PURPOSE. The ancient points out.

He smiles, it is dry and cruel, “You know I won’t take you. You don’t deserve it.” He pauses only for effect, “Besides, if I took you then who would I talk to?”

YOU ARE PITIFUL. YOU KEEP ME IN TORTURED HALF LIFE FOR YOUR OWN SELFISH NEED. TELL ME, DO YOU MISS THEM?

The man looks away, infuriated. The rest of his kind faded away centuries ago, leaving him alone to protect the human world. He hadn’t seen another of his kind since before the Roman Empire fell but he cursed their cowardly ways. Humans couldn’t see him, the forsaken fought him. Despite keeping an ancient alive he’d become a shell, empty and cruel.

Suddenly he starts away. He’s stalled long enough, now he must go.

A revived rp.

Omid had always been an outcast. With his long silver hair and his gold eyes he looked like nobody else in his village. But from the time he had been ten he had been able to see into the realm of death. By the time he turned fifteen this gift started to drive him crazy. Now at age thirty he was flat out crazy. He jumped at things when nobody else did and he was always muttering to himself. Often times if he were around somebody dying he would see their spirits leaving their bodies. He lived alone in a hut in the deep woods away from people. But even here is strange gift haunted him. Often he had thought about ending his nightmare.