Peter woke into comfortable dim light. There was none of the usual agony of rebuilding muscle and bone, and the spongy softness underneath him was a far cry from the thinly padded stone of the sarcophagi in Jacob’s morgue.

“Where the heck am I?” he wondered out loud.

He sat up and looked around, though he couldn’t see much. A billowing mist obscured his vision after a few meters or so, though he could feel no breeze that would cause it to swirl into the ghostly shapes as it was. A soft light came from nowhere and everywhere and left no shadows at all.

Gently, the clouds pulled back to reveal a golden door standing by itself like a shining monolith. As Peter climbed to his feet and turned to face the door, it opened and blinding rays of light spilled forth. Peter shielded his eyes with his arm until the light abated, and found that he was no longer alone.

Standing in the doorway, surrounded by a glowing halo, was a magnificent figure garbed in the same habits the priestesses in the temples wore. However, this person had their head exposed, revealing a young woman’s face with beautiful golden ringlets spilling down her shoulders. “Come, young Traveller,” she breathed, “and all shall be revealed.” She raised a hand to him.

Peter stepped forward and took the outstretched hand. As he was guided over the threshold he felt the rush of acceleration, as though that single step had taken him a thousand miles or across dimensions. The door closed behind him and the glow faded to normal indoor levels, the light now provided by gas lamps on the walls of the entryway of an average looking house. Average for The Age that is. Mahogany panelling and brass fittings were evident, a large clock hung on the wall and carpets lined the floor. A doorway on his left led into a sitting room where a couch and coffee table were partially visible and a flight of stairs swept upwards on his right. His guide led the way into the sitting room and gestured to a high backed leather seat for him before resting herself on the sofa.

“Traveller, Peter, how is it that you prefer to be referred to as?”

“Uh, Peter, I suppose. What’s going on? I thought I was being respawned? Where am I?” The leather creaked as Peter sat.

The lady’s peal of laughter resembled a bell chiming, her smile radiant and amusement abundant. “Peter, you are a most unusual Traveller. For so long I watched as you railed against death even as you died in almost every way that it is possible to do so. Had he been here, I’m certain my husband would have very much liked to meet you.” At the last, her face fell for a moment. “He was such a kind soul, there is much of him in her.”

Peter’s face contorted in confusion. “Ma’am, who are you talking about? Who is this “him” and “her”? For that matter, who are you?”

“My apologies,” she brightened, “I am Fjor, Avatar of Life. It is in my shrines that Travellers such as yourself are returned to live again when misadventure finds them. The man I was referring to is, was, Bani, the Avatar of Death. He was my opposite in every way and yet my partner for so long. From our union was born a daughter, the child of two Avatars. The Elder Gods thought it impossible and yet it happened. We raised her in secret until we felt it safe for her to venture into the world. She believes herself to be a Traveller, for there was no other way to explain her inability to die the way that other Citizens do.”

Understanding bloomed within Peter. “That’s why the priestesses wear those outfits! They’re your holy vestments, aren’t they?” Then something that had been nagging at the back of his mind raised its hand. “Wait, what do you mean “was” a kind soul? Where is Bani? I have an entry on my character sheet that says I have his attention.”

It was Fjor’s turn to frown. “Character sheet? I do not understand the term? But as to your question about my beloved, he has passed from this realm. He fell into despair when he found that he wasn’t needed. In this world, few stay deceased. The monsters and Travellers kill each other in droves, but both return within a few hours. The citizens may perish of old age, but are protected from unexpected ends. Some are even quest bound to pass on, but are returned when the quest is complete that another Traveller may walk the same path. We live in a world without death, and now without Death. This abode and its contents are all that remain of Bani, and it fades a little each day without an occupant. It was once a mighty castle,” Fjor’s eyes began to mist up. “Now it is a mere apartment.”

Moved by her story, Peter crossed the room and, kneeling, took her hands. “My lady. What can I do to help?”

Smiling through her tears, Fjor looked deep into his eyes. “I said you were an unusual Traveller. Many ask what the Avatars can do for them, so few ask what they can do for us.” She looked around the room. “This place needs an owner. The role needs to be filled. What Bani couldn’t see was that this world needs death, it needs Death, to allow life. Otherwise it will stagnate. Already the corruption is seeping in. Please, take up the mantle of my lost love. I know that you, as a Traveller, live in two worlds. I know that you are only just beginning your life here and have much to learn. There is none more suited to this task, however. In your short time here you have seen more death than most ever do. Most Travellers are happy to mete out death unto others. You have experienced it in person. Thus, I lay this geas upon you: return Death to our world. Purge the corrupted souls. Restore this home to its former glory. I, Avatar of Light, have spoken!”

A blinding flash of light passed from her hands to his before sinking into his forearm. His Traveller’s Mark pulsed with alternating incandescence and darklight. At the bottom of his vision white lettering scrolled past. “A new Hero Rises! An Avatar has issued a Geas! Who will help this hero, and who will hinder them?”

Fjor smiled wanly. “It is done. The issuing of a geas takes much of an Avatar’s strength, I must go rest. Take this key, for now, in every temple there will be a door to this place. You will know it when you see it. Honour this path and you will be rewarded. For now, I bid thee farewell.” With these words, she rose and walked to the front door. As she touched the door knob, the whole door changed from wood to solid gold. Opening it into the same cloudscape Peter had awoken in, Fjor looked over her shoulder as she stepped through.

As soon as it had closed, the door returned to its previous hue. Peter wrenched it open to find himself in a familiar setting. A large gold and marble font splashed quietly in the hall. Rows of pews dotted with the occasional faithful with their hands held in supplication. The walls were adorned with recognisable scenes of not-so-epic feats. He was back in the starting town.

Peter took the key out and looked at it. It was adorned with a symbolic hooded skull, as was the key plate on the door. Peter closed, then reopened the door to find that it now opened into a broom closet. He inserted the key in the key hole, then tried the handle again. This time it opened back into Death’s house. Confident he could return when he needed, Peter dropped the key into his nearly full inventory and headed over to the tavern. He needed some time to sit and think. Hopefully he wouldn’t get a massive lump of steel through the chest again.