Lord of the Dead
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
in the center of a great chasm. The Lord of the Dead reigns over the hosts of the Dead. He weaves spirits into the sea of souls in an endless stream of what things the spirits tell him our best unheard by mortal ears. The servants of the Lord of the Dead stands silently at the head of the path to his throne. Excuse me, I'd like an audience, please, alexander says to the black robe servants, The Schroeder guards escort alexander to the throne of the Lord of the Dead. Why have you entered my domain? Still wearing your flesh? If you are so eager for death, you might have found it easily enough in the Land of the Living. But since you are here, you are welcome to stay, kiss my hand and you will be one with the spirits. There will be no pain. Alexander produced a gauntlet from his pack and presented it to the Lord of the Dead. I did not come here to die, but to demand my right of challenge. I respectfully challenge the death by throwing down this gauntlet. Death enraged by this action slammed his fist onto the arm of his throne. Who are you? To challenge death? A man of flesh is all I need to be my Lord. And what is it that you seek from this challenge? The soul of some dead maiden. I seek the souls of King, caliphate and Queen, a large area of the Land of the green isles. You would save two human sores and emerge from this place. Alive yourself. That will be a difficult challenge. Indeed. Either all of us leave or none go very well. Then let me think of an appropriate task. Ah! Now I know your challenge is this. For thousands of years. I have set upon this throne. I have heard every sad tale that can be told by human lips. I have seen tragedies that ended empires, injustices, that defy reason. Love that like the stars, turn cold and hard. I have seen torments that cannot possibly be born and yet must be for centuries. This thing I have never done, I have never shed a tear, make me cry. Thou man of flesh. That is your challenge. If your existence is all that you say, it is then truth alone shall be my sword alexander brings out the mirror of truth from his pack. The mirror surface swirls with darkness for a moment than fills with images even blacker reflections of despair, of wailing souls of shackles colder and more immutable than any forged by man of a world of thirsts that can never be quenched. Alexander feels the mirror tremble in his grasp and is glad he cannot see this face. But the Lord of the Dead is transfixed to the mirror, to the screening of his life. Things long forgotten are once more uncovered. His enslavement to this throne. While still a man. The years of watching misery and horror and growing ever more numb to it. The seat of his own humanity, the slow growth of a new thing altogether which became that which he is now. His is an existence that has no possibility of redemption. No end! The truth is so sharp it stabs so intense it Sears, the mirror shatters under the strain, and deaf sheds a single gray tier.