Location: Home / / Hettar - Be Well in Your Next Life, Adventurer!

The old thief stepped warily into the Chamber of Rebirth. A loud creaking sound brought him to an abrupt halt. Heart pounding, he scanned around frantically before he realised it was his left knee joint that betrayed his paranoia to the shadows of the Midgaard Cathedral.

The Elixir of Life. He overheard the hushed discussion in an Underdark tavern three months ago. Hidden in a great religious sanctuary in a bustling city, this mystery brew was rumoured to hide life's innermost secrets within its sparkling waters. A chalice dipped into the fabled fountain of youth! Even a sip, it was said, will make a senile septuagenarian look a buxom maid in the eye and wink suggestively. To be young again! Wily beyond his advanced years, the thief began to make inquiries, occasionally violent ones, tracking people and clues to the Western Continent and back, until...

The pews were empty. There was no lock on the wooden doors, no magical wards on the small door by the confessional. Nobody, apparently, had been heard from again after visiting this place. Wondering if this was some kind of devilishly elaborate trap, the aging thief glanced apprehensively at the pulsing, dim light and slowly made his way towards it.

Scarcely had he crossed the threshold when the door slammed shut behind him. Torches came to life in every inlaid scone by the walls. "What the..." Whipping out a dagger from each boot, the thief glared at the ensemble before him. He was on some kind of stage! Confetti streamed from the ceiling. Bards with one hand playing lutes breakdanced around him. A banner fluttered above, painted brightly with the words 'Welcome to the Afterlife'.

A grizzled man with folded arms reclines on one of two couches in the centre, motioning him towards the comfortable looking seat. What was this foolery? The thief waved his maxxed Dagger of Aardwolf menacingly, and heard the vague roar of millions. "Mommy, I want that Dagger for 481qp! May I? Puhlease? Pwetty pwease?"

"What were you expecting, eh? Have a seat," Questor motioned beside him. "We did away with the chorusing angels, fluffy white clouds, brilliant burst of light, light at the end of the tunnel, hallelujah blahblah eons ago. Gotta keep up with the times, non?"

"What's going on? Am I dead?" muttered the thief, sinking slowly into the sofa, eyes round with incredulity despite seeing a familiar face amidst the dizzy celebratory dances.

"Relax, old one, there is much you have to do," Questor said briskly, deftly removing the powerful gear the thief accumulated throughout a lifetime of adventuring and tossing them to the teeming, faceless, cheering audience. "Haven't you heard of reincarnation? You know, coming back and making everyone wish you were dead again? Now, tell me who you want to be."

The thief mumbled.

Questor raised a hand.

The thief flinched.

"Hey, hey buddy, i won't turn you into a toad. Yea, yea, it's not your fault that the newbie you tried to spellup followed you into the combat maze and did not quit in time before you strangled, webbed, and backstabbed the poor bastard."

"But what if I beco..." The thief stuttered. Vague notions of karma, retribution, vengeance for past sins and assorted hells floated around in his head.

"No, you won't be reborn as a fish either, despite your propensity to quaff flasks of Healer's Ballads when attempting to duel that poor single-classer mage 50 levels lower," Questor said, "any other queries?"

"Can I keep my daggers?" He asked plaintively, "My gold? My...my name?"

"Sure, sure, whatever, they keep asking me these dumb questions", Questor muttered to himself, "What's in a mort, anyway? A thief by any other name would be just as cheap."

"Now," Questor said aloud, "just close your eyes and enjoy the occasion. Where do you think your 500,000 gold coins went to? You have no idea what the bards charge for entertainment nowadays."

"Just listen to the music...won't be long now..."

The music swelled to a crescendo. There was a very, very faint pop.

* * *

A baby blinked blearily, all the possibility of life contained within its innocent eyes. He attempted to spit on a bemused Hassan the temple guardian, missed, and began to cry.