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Introducing: Mot the hellmesk of Death
Mot is a tender-hearted individual. As Death he is the door between the spheres of life and death. He escorts departed spirits to his or her sphere. He chooses necromancers, and gives them a bit of his power to send back spirits that have escaped the death spheres. He is very child-like in his manner, and is among the most pure and innocent of the hellmesk. He is oblivious to all things that involve hate, of which he is incapable of. He is difficult to anger, but when he is (by breaking the laws of nature, or trying to practice necromancy without his blessing) he is a beast, and unforgiving, and can be quiet scary. He adores the hellmesk of Life (Eleventra Aurorwen), whom he adopted very early as a sister, and is often calmed from his rage by her steady command.
Hellmesk: are immortal beings with powers over matter. They have three parts to their souls: the body, the spirit, and the ghost. The ghost can be separate from his/her body and sent great distances, seen or unseen upon their choosing. There is a hierarchy among the hellmesk. There are the creators of the race’s physical vessels, and the keepers: sorcery, healing, life, and death. They are the direct link between heaven and earth, and are messengers of their creator/deity, Eloah. They answer prayers on his behalf, and influence the races for good.
They are naive, and innocent people.
In religion they are the equivalent of angels/holy ghost.
Me: What are you doing in here?!
I’m showering. It’s a dangerous place as an author. We get ideas and start thinking. The potential of character visitations sky rocket.
Mot stares at me blankly, like a baby with innocent round eyed. And then I remember. Hellmesk are the most innocent of all the races. The fact I’m in a glass boxed waterfall is no different than if I were on my bed, in my pajamas, picking my nose. I might as well be talking to Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden before they partook of that forbidden fruit.
I frown. I doesn’t matter if he’s blissfully ignorant. I’m mighty aware, and uncomfortable.
Me: What are you doing here?
Mot: I needed to speak with you.
Mot: (Sits on the toilet). It is a matter of my heart.
Me: (Relaxes). Oh..?
Mot: You have been preparing a character…for your sister?
Mot: (Suddenly bashful). Could you…would you…I love her, Mistress Epicness.
Me: (Stares baffled). Say what?
Mot is terribly uncomfortable now.
Me: You’re in love with my sister’s character? (Mot only shrugs). You do realize she’s a mendriss. That hellmesk don’t particularly care for their kind. That hellmesk are strictly monogamous whereas mendriss are instinct driven free-lovers?
Mot: Not the Islanders.
Me: …which my sister’s character is…ok, ok. You do realize that she has a boyfriend, and that he’ll be in the book.
Me: And you still want me to write that you love her?
Me: Even though hellmesk only love once, and the likelihood that she drops said boyfriend is like–slim to none.
Me: And that you will have eternal heartache.
Mot: We all must love someone.
Me: Well, yeah but–
Mot: Please Mistress Epicness.
Me: (I have never been so torn). You know Mot. Of all the characters I’ve ever written, you are the one I had no intention, or desire of causing pain. And here you are–asking for it!
Mot simply stares at me. Waiting.
Me: I would love this if it were another character. The lonely, eternal, turmoil. An understated tragedy for an understated hero. The subtle cruelty to one who is probably the most pure character I have ever written.
Mot is still silent.
Me: (Sighs). Well now what do I do?
Dedicated to my sister who’s been my most trusted, wise, and enthusiastic fan and councilor concerning all my books. And who loves Mot (and Halenor too), the adorable, not so cookie cutter grim reaper. Wasn’t sure if she was going to love or hate this. Turns out she adores it.