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FOR THEY CANNOT DIE ANYMORE, BECAUSE THEY ARE EQUAL TO ANGELS.
Today, the canals of Mac Anu flow as gentle as they always do, gondolas drifting lazy through the paths of sunlight cut bright across the water. Shops and vendors line the stonework streets along the waterways, a general murmur of NPCs circulating through their preprogrammed business keeping Mac Anu, as always, feeling maybe a little more alive than a real city.
There is one particular bridge that nearly every player's taken at least once, because it connects to a great many other places of interest, and it's wide enough for easy travel. Besides, with the professions update, they've put a fishing spot on the other side of it. NPCs with fishing rods litter the spot in alternating shifts, their laughter mingling with the calls of shopkeeps advertising cheap prices for some simple plants to get started crafting with, and the clink of forks and plates at a restaurant nearby, its customers singing the chef praises.
Below the bridge, a gondolier passes, humming, his gondola drifting along its circuit through the canals, his tune in rhythm with the passing conversation. As he comes out from under it and sails further away, he glances up at the bridge, as if he were expecting something, and he seems to see it. His gaze remains fixed there until, eventually, the water takes him out of sight again.
Today, you might notice that at the base of this bridge, just before your feet, is a red sort of smear.
A little further down the bridge, about a fourth of the way along it, is a person collapsed on the ground. The red trails to him, fallen forward.
You see upon approaching his hand grasping at his throat at the singularly cut sliced deep into his neck. His one good eye wide and unblinking, he is—among all the laughter and conversation on either side of the bridge; in the shadow of the clock tower, which stands a silent witness, the sun at its back—no longer breathing, his body cool to the touch.
Perhaps this could be considered a kindness: for one who failed, time and time and again, to grasp the desire to live, maybe he found some suggestion of it in his last moments, his hand at his throat, his palm smeared with dried blood, a curious anomaly in the deathless Mac Anu. Fragment had, after all, taught him a great many things. Should he not be grateful for one more, no matter how permanent the lesson?
Mithrun is dead.
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[He stops, and that's enough for the goblin because--
"INITIATE STANDARD GREETING. APPLY "BUFF": 2904JOIJROI390JRJOI. FAREWELL."
That's.
Not normal. He begins to shiver all over again]
...a glitch.
[They're removed from the dungeon soon after, before Sinclair can reach for his pole arm and take back]
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[ But he says it so loud and happy that he winces at the pain in his head after, looking over just in time to notice Vogel shivering. And then he shivers.
Oh no. ]
Aw man, why'd we have to get one like that?
[ Like it's the hardest thing he's ever forced himself to do (it's not)-- ] Ready to try again?
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[He's checking the time. Oh. He...he needs to do something very important]
...let's get some rest. We'll see if anything else results in the same thing.
[His head hurts so much he can barely think]
We'll try other keywords.
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[ He slumps over more, hands kneading his poor head. ]
I'm ready. When, you are.
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[His voice catches on the words, but he has to press on. He reaches up and touches Tylor's hands]
...we can't convince Mithrun to look after himself when we can't do that for ourselves.
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[ Pained sounds, the source settling behind his eyes when he looks over to Vogel at the touch. ]
Do you think he's drinking enough water?
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[Small things. Important things. He unequips his armor, replacing it for starting event skin from the beginning of the game. It doesn't feel right to hug Tylor again without changing his clothes. Tylor is a good person. He doesn't need to be stained in blood. And then he pulls Tylor into a hug]
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[ Tylor says it into the hug, relaxing save for the recurring shiver. ]
It's just my head though. So don't worry. This glitch is the worst, right now.
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Mm. Get some rest, and when our heads feel better...we can work on this glitch too.
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If not, he still wobbles back to the spot where the cream puffs and whiskey remain untouched. From gate to his post. This, this is where he chooses to rest.
The pain, the way he fights it with a clenched a jaw, finally starts to get to him. As if it will help, he takes a swig of his own drink. Sake, from the bottle. ]
Just until, I can. Think of words.
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It would tear and tear until there was nothing left.
But Sinclair wont deny Tylor from that today. So he steps forward, sets down a peeled mandarin at the creampuff platter, avoiding Hien's watchful gaze and straightens]
...tomorrow. I'll come back tomorrow too.
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[ It sounds as cheerful as humanly possible for Tylor right now. His gaze falls to the mandarin offering, but he can't manage more than a little smile right now. He hates pain. So he'll just slump over and sleep right here.
Tylor gives Vogel and Hien a thumbs up from the ground. ]
Thanks. We'll get him more peeled fruit, next time.