The Dominus Curse
Folk often spoke of a time Dominus Ashlar had gotten so tired of his immortality that he collapsed under the walls of insanity. No one really knew how or why, but word had it he somehow became somewhat obsessed with ending his life. So obsessed, in fact that he had ordered his servants to place countless booby-traps all around Palas Destina – his seat of reign, to surprise himself with a million unexpected ways to die.
Every morning, Ashlar would wake up in his feathered bed, with or without his head; proceed to the dining room, where we would leave part of his bowels behind; advance towards his reading room, where various traps would gauge out his eyes in seemingly creative ways; step outside and onto the palace’s grounds where he would experience twenty-three manners of amputation before diner; and finally, fall asleep in a ditch, covered in petrol, on fire, only to wake up the next day – safe and unharmed – and continue about his day, not knowing what might kill him next.
But after dying a million times, in a million different ways, Ashlar became rather bored with the act of demise. He made a game out of predicting the next falling guillotine or the upcoming lava-dive with the foresight of a Seer, becoming increasingly disenchanted by his failure at dying and staying dead. Even more tiring was the act of being endlessly resurrected, brought back to life with no long-lasting injuries, except the ones inflicted by his very first death.
As for Dominus Ashlar, he never truly stopped hoping for the “next best death” that would deliver him from his eternal suffering and grant him release.