Important NoticeFrom Author: Firstly, the title is Latin for 'Death among Misery'. This is planned remade version of the original story, which I usually looked back, and personally found it a bit of a mess. This one is stripping away things such as 'signature OC's', to make it more satisfactory for an audience that is not too keen with confusing OC's that aren't really needed in the story ;)

Also, this does not mean I'm done with the original, both stories are for two different audiences, but this one will be WAY differently constructed than the original, which will probably catch up with a few improvements on the chapter.

Criticism is welcome, although I don't want it too harsh :P

If you are enjoying it, please persuade me to update on.

"Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked."
Oliver Wendell Holmes

What fun it will be, the day you will die.

It is not as cruel as you mortals fear it; one simply requires deaths cause.

But it is not rare for a slipping life to cast away peacefully, their biological parts pumping at abnormal paste in hope to save the body, trying only at its hardest.

But yet under the tension and excitement, the wisdom of the soul knows the time has come; to draw its last breath, and slip away to the inevitable.

But yet, something so common around you creatures is feared so much. In the end, death's true victims are the ones that are still alive. And that is why I do so little to silence you.

My despise for you mortals is not a construction of arrogance, but out of my pleasures and love, for you creatures have given me great satisfaction in my life, something that I can simply heal with my sons sadistic cruelty.

There is one mortal I have set my eyes on, however. One who seeks pleasure and joy. A fine creature, with a soul rich and plump.

He alters your misery, and thus, seals your fate.

Preparation

He looked up to the depressing heavens with his dead eyes, an emotion never danced within his shaded face as he stood in silence above the naked hill. He adjusted his head to view beyond where he stood; an eternal land, spreading out beyond visible range around him, written with the plain smell of death, something he needed no scent to recognise.

Darkness hung, drenched upon the naked dead land, not visible to the eye, but it was there, watching over the dead rocky field from beyond the skies, drenched with a violent pink and red. From the distance of the decaying sky the thunder crackle, lightning following along in an abnormal misplace of paste.

Slowly he turned his head to the taller figure down the hill; the large figure shrouded in capes, his head shadowed and hooded, a scythe lazily resting on his left shoulder. It looked up at him, slowly following with a slow, but readable nod.

With the command, he steadily adjusted the position of the bagpipes resting on his chest, his lipless mouth touching the edge of the instruments mouthpiece as both his finger tips closed on the chanter.

Without need to draw breath, he began to blow.