The Art of Death

By Coyotee Sharptongue

"Brenar inspects his sword before battle."

"Delthin looks ready for the fight."

"Morganna steps forward boldly, electricity crackling at her fingertips."

"Coyote soils himself and rubs poo all over his armor - because he may have to get eaten, but damn it, he doesn't have to TASTE good."

Those were my final emotes before stepping into the fray, steel flashing, and suicidal battle cry rumbling past my lips. I knew that I was going to be eaten, but I didn't want the beast to enjoy his meal - I wanted him to make a face and spit my half chewed body to the dungeon floor, all the while looking for something that would get the taste of ME out of his mouth.

But I didn't die.

Well, okay - technically I did. The party wiped horribly, the monster picked his teeth with our healer and one by one reappeared in a different location, wondering exactly where we went wrong. We were a bit dazed and some what shaken but as we stood there reapplying our protective spells and our deadly poisons, we were anything but dead.

No mangled corpses spread out in the lair of some great beast serving as a warning to those who drank too deeply from the cup of confidence. No shattered bodies strewn about like forgotten toys while the survivors plotted on the retrieval and revival of their fallen comrades. Not even the ghostly image of a fallen warrior to serve as memory of foolish attempt at treasure and glory. Only a few minutes spent in "revival sickness", some experience debt and a bit of wear and tear to our gear.

Death has forsaken us - and too few seem to mind.

Gone are the days of corpse or shard runs. No more do we have to stalk invisible and naked through countless foes in hopes of retrieving our bodies and gear quickly enough to avoid another death. And while the massive body that makes up the player base of our world doesn't seem to mind in the least...

I do.

I miss corpse runs. I miss seeing the bodies of fallen warriors lying at the feet of a murderous giant, their broken and shattered bones a warning to the bold and the careless alike - Here be monsters.

When the need to retrieve our shedded mortal coil left us, so did a number of other things. Like the need for caution; Respect for the greater foe; fear of the unknown; and a bit of the excitement that left you on the edge of your seat during touch and go moments.

Don't get me wrong; I love our world, and this game. It is still fresh and exciting to me. It holds wonders that I cannot even imagine, and riches beyond my wildest dreams. However, these wonders and riches don't shine as brightly or hold to me as much value because I know in my heart that I didn't have to work as hard for them. Know, I know what the masses will say.

"Corpse runs were a waste of time." "Getting your body back was a pain." "I'm a casual gamer and I want to play - not spent the night looking for my body."

Weren’t these the things that defined us? Gave us our true roles? Monks and Necros feigning death to give us the “all clear” so that the clerics could raise the fallen? Rogues leading parties back to their bodies in hope of a quick recovery and second attempt? In death we served purpose – and in its absence we pale.

I too am a "causal" gamer with limited hours of play. I love nothing more than exploring new lands and hidden dungeons, and while the worry of retrieving my squished cadaver no longer plagues me, I can't help but to feel as if I haven't earned the right to see what I've seen, or go where I have gone. My mother used to tell me "It’s the chase that flavors the hunt." And I can't help but to think she's right.

We've gotten too bold and as a result we no longer fear nor respect death as we should. The other night, while badly lost in a dungeon I ran into another adventurer with the similar fate. After a refreshing bit of role-playing about our situation, I offered him a chance to group up under the hopes that between us we could fight our way to freedom and familiar ground.

"Naw." He replied, gently turning down my offer. "I'm just going to attack that three up red con and revive at the entrance." he explained before charging the rather deadly looking foe in a suicidal rush.

This cinched it for me. Not only have we lost our fear of death - we're using it as transportation? It is easier to die and revive than it is to adventure in a platform that is based on adventuring. Have we truly become such an instant gratification society that we can no longer even be held accountable for our own foolishness in a game? I can understand the need to play in short amounts of time, and limited access better than most, but the mere soft slap we receive on the back of our thickly gloved hands stings my imagination and creativity more than even the most gruesome of deaths ever could.

The only positive spin that I can see to the death-less society in which we play is in player verses player environments. No more "corpse camping" or griefing as you try over and over again to retrieve you body from a foe that refuses to let his prize go. No groups of the enemy holding your tattered form in ransom, or losing your corpse or items to virtual pirates and bullies.

This I can see, and this alone I concede as a wise move.

But in robbing us of our death, we are robbed of excitement, experience, and even a bit of wisdom - all in the name of "fast play".