Have you ever heard why [Death] is a cursed Attribute to be born with? You might think the name itself is explanation enough but then you are dearly mistaken my friend.

For to the east of the mainland lies Duskdale, a once bright and flourishing island filled with life and joy.

The island itself is named after its capital, much like the elves tradition of naming their kingdoms after their capitals. Don't let the name fool you, Duskdale was not grim and dark, no, it was brightest and most colorful city there ever was. Dusk is the time when the light is the strongest and when the sun starts to bleed, everything is washed in that dying light. What could remain boring and dull when covered in the very sun's last rays?

All the windows were colored and flowers grew from both ground and tree and bush as far as the eye could see. It was the most beautiful city one could lay eyes upon. And it was there, in the city of life and color that the first boy of the [Death] Attribute was born.

His name was Michael and his father was the king of Duskdale.

Little Michael grew up behind the castle walls. Once a month his family would join the city in a festival where everyone danced, ate and sang. It was during midsummer when the sun never died and winter was but a memory repressed at the back of one's mind. It was a time for joy. The best time of year according to Michael.

He would dance and laugh with all the others, seeing new faces and making new friendships that would last until his family once more brought him back to the castle. It was during such a festival that he met Her.

A girl with raven hair and skin kissed by the summer sun. Eyes so black and filled with mirth that the world melted away when they caught each other's gaze. It was love at first sight, I tell you. They became friends at first breath and by the time the last torches died down and people stopped dancing they were inseparable. They say that when they finally went different ways you could hear the ties of fate tearing. Irony and fate

Irony and fate go hand in hand. The King of such a warm place had a cold heart. He forbade his son from loving a commoner and the next festival that came, Michael stayed home. That night something peculiar happened; the moon that should have been hidden by the midsummer light shone through the red haze. White and round, it shined at the prince and his love during the entire festival night.

The next month it shone again, and this time Michael defied his father and snuck to the festival to see his love. They danced and sang in secret, away from the King's gaze. This happened again and again for an entire year until the maid that had helped Michael sneak away every month betrayed his trust and told the King. He got furious and yelled at his son, forbidding him from seeing the girl again. But the lovestruck boy did not listen and so the King plotted a plan.

During the next festival, the moon shone again and the lovers boldly decided to dance where all could see, no longer feeling the need to keep it secret as the King already knew. Foolish youths. Michael stared in shock as the arrow dug itself into his lover's heart. She died in his arms right there in the plaza, with blood gushing from her mouth and the King's archer not 50 meters away from them.

The music died and the dancers stopped, and for the first time in thousands of years, the sun set on a midsummer night. Only the full moon remained and it was to it that Michael turned his head and wailed. The scream of a lover is the loudest of all and the birth of a mage is the most violent. The sky cracked and broke and the earth under his feet darkened and died. The flowers and trees shivered and wilted, the dancers fell to the ground and cried out as their blood left their bodies from every crevice in their flesh. The boy wept and the people of Duskdale died. The King himself died the fastest of all. His knees didn't even hit the ground, he just turned to dust and disappeared with the breeze.

Michael cried until the moon fled beyond the horizon and when morning came there was no sun and not a sound to console him. He lifted his lover and turned to the castle. There he put her, on the throne of his father, to gaze at all that remained in his wake.

They say the Prince of Death sat at her side for a month before her body started to rot. It took so long for it to decay because no bugs could get near without dropping dead at the feet of the throne. When the Prince looked up he saw her bloated face and the rot from the arrow spreading into her chest. He turned his gaze and saw the room littered with dead bugs and crows, all who tried getting close to his dead lover had fallen to his magic. He stood then and walked out into the city. There he touched each corpse once and their empty eye sockets flew open. Their ghastly remains rose at his command and as he walked back to his love they began to swarm the island. What few things survived the festival night soon fell prey to the undead, and their souls were mercilessly fed to the lover's corpse. Her skin regained its lifeful glow and the wood of the arrow sprouted a tree white as bone.

The undead kept collecting souls for the Prince and his love for the rest of their time until years sealed the castle shut with dirt and Michael's own life expired. Without a master's call, the undead went to the mainland. Their rotten lungs needed no air so they simply walked across the bottom of the sea. They arrived at Croydon in the Human Kingdom Grypites. There each undead caught a villager and stole their body to use as a vessel. These were the first vampires that roamed our lands and they're still creating more offspring from the corpses of our own.

If this does not answer why [Death] is a cursed Attribute then you then you have nothing to fear from anything that ever was or will ever be... You would not be the only fearless fool though. The island Duskdale has long since been reinhabited by the living although the sun never shines there and the castle is in ruin. Vampires stalk the streets there and corpses left out in the open sometimes sit back up again. But what is an undead to someone who does not fear Death?