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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If Hani dislodges it, they'll find upon closer inspection that the object is small, tapering off at one end, and spiky.
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a thorn or something like it? is it familiar to them at all? ]
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Ding ding! It's some sort of thorn, spike, or spine. Which of the three is anyone's guess.
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ok, well, hani tosses out 96 chocolate bars and puts it into their inventory. what's the item name for it?
back to the arm & shoulder injuries... they recognize that the wounds are from similar wind and fire spells to their own kit. and though they've only ran dungeons with two shadow warlocks, they know the two classes share elemental spells, and they're very familiar with how these spells hit at the various level caps. that said! would they be able to tell if the spells hitting mithrun were not at full power, given how narrow the givak kruz injury is? ]
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Hani is a smart bean with plenty of dungeon running experience, but all the dungeon knowledge in the world isn't enough to help them determine if a Givak Kruz at less than full power caused these injuries.
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hmm. profession - gatherer - fisher - ... ]
FQ...?
[ well, whatever, someone will figure that shit out and it ain't me. one more question for the road! can hani tell how much SP mithrun has left, or is it just at 0 because he's """dead"""... ]
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Mithrun's SP isn't at zero, but it isn't full, either. Perhaps he was engaged in a fight before he died?