aliunde-rpg's application
Player Information
Name: Misu
Personal LJ: mako_pretty
E-mail: misumisu84@gmail.com
AIM/Plurk/etc.: AIM-Wrigglyangst
Time zone: Central.
Other Characters: Loki/weaves_lies and Dante/rosegasmic
Character Information
Name: Lazarus Edward Segal
Age: Physically in his mid to late teens, actual age is thirty-nine. Birthday is January first.
Personality:
Lazarus is weak of body, certainly, but entirely strong of spirit and heart. He's quiet and patient, more than willing to simply suffer insults and blows than to act against those who would seek to hurt him with their words and fists. He knows the dark power he's capable of, and he holds himself to a certain level of responsibility because of it. And harming others, even if justified, would be breaking that code. Unless he's going to defend someone, he can't fathom the idea of using his necromancy for harm.
However, he's not perfect. And when finally pushed to the point of rage he's terribly cruel. Thankfully, it takes a good deal to push him to that point, and it can't be done by normal means. He has a talent for simply backing down, and little short of atrocity and cruelty will push him to unleash the unforgivable magic within. But once that point has been reached, it's too late. And he will never forgive, or forget. For all of his gentleness and patience, he holds grudges just as cruelly.
He hates speaking out of turn, and tends to simply go along quietly with conversation unless he's comfortable with the people he's talking to or the subject matter is something he feels strongly about. He worries about being judged for his words as well as his abilities, so he's more likely to smile and nod, to encourage and agree unless it's something he just cannot abide by. But he makes a pleasant enough conversationalist, and very much enjoys speaking to people about what interests them. And if he doesn't know enough about the subject at hand, he'll research it to keep from slowing his friends down in talk because of not understanding their interests.
Lazarus is a chronic worrier, especially when it comes to the well being of others. Because of the state of his home world, and the evils he's seen inflicted on the innocent, he puts quite a bit of stress on his own need to help and fix things. And when he sees people suffering, he suffers as well. And if he cannot help those in need, it drives him to near illness from stress. And he will put himself in harm's way to aid them, even if it means putting strain on his own well being.
He would rather be a martyr than a hero, he needs no reward or acknowledgment. He doesn't mind not being credited for his assistance, in fact if he can he'll push the glory onto another who he feels deserves it more. He simply wants to do what he feels is right, although his lack of care for his own well being often puts him into dangerous situations. And leaves him unable to help once more, thus making the cycle of exhaustion and worry start again but worse. And adding in his lack of care over his physical state, this can lead to him being on bed-rest and unable to function at all.
Because he is frozen in a state of undeath due to his pact, not dead or alive but between them both, he eventually heals from whatever pain is inflicted on him. Even if he was chopped to bits, and spread over the earth he would eventually form into one body again. And he would be aware of what happened to him the entire time. He has no worry about physical pain or torment because he knows that eventually he'll recover from it. This often leads him to be reckless and put himself in harm's way, even though he's able to feel pain and become sick. And this foolish behavior is beneficial to no one, least of all himself.
Although he's often quiet and gentle, Lazarus has a bubbly side that's full of youthful glee and humor. He's still very much a child, despite his years, and mentally he has traits that are far younger than his physical age would lead one to believe. He's the type to jump in puddles when he thinks that no one is watching, play board games with children, and carry home boxes of kittens even if he doesn't have the money to feed himself. He tends to act without thinking, and his whims can be wildly strong. But these whims lose out often to his intense desire to help and assist, and there are very few chances for fun and play when there are bodies to mend and hearts to protect.
Unfortunately, it's not easy for him to see through lies. And he's been taken advantage of on more than one occasion. He trusts first, and only asks questions if something suspicious comes up. He doesn't question people's motives, and is more likely to take someone's actions as desperation or need than evil or selfishness. He's seen too many gray areas to assume the worst out of the world, and this has led him to suffer very terrible fates indeed. And he just keeps falling into the same traps over and over, because he refuses to see humanity for what they are. But this also means that he's more than willing to give anyone a chance, no matter how unpleasant. And that has given him chances to help those without options, and without hope. So he's fine hurting and being tricked again and again, if it means he can find the good in people beneath the layers or selfishness and hurt.
Overall, Lazarus is fun and sweet. Willing to help, and with a heart full of love and loyalty. He's ridiculously naïve, self-sacrificing to a fault, but someone who's determined to do good for those around him. And those traits allow him to be a wonderful doctor and to go beyond what his necromancy would have originally allowed. Which gives him a feeling of achievement, he never wants to fall into that realm and lose himself to death's coldness. He's content to enjoy the rain and sun upon him, the smiles of those he helps, and the taste of sweets upon his tongue. Although, I doubt that he'd eat a york peppermint pattie anytime soon.
Background:
The world had always been on that steep curve towards disaster. Talk of the apocalypse and how god's wrath would rain down, worries over the massive gap between the rich and the starving, the drop in births due to fetal mortality and disturbingly lowered fertility, and the constant threat of war kept even the most blessed on their toes. It was the year 2020, the new Victorian era had started, the church taken over America as the ruling faction, and new rules were confusing everyone involved. Horses were the new sports cars, mourning clothes were the new black, and morality was violently enforced. It was not the happiest of times for anyone involved. But somehow, weapons baron Evan and and socialite Miranda Segal were determined to forge happiness in those dark times, no matter what the cost. And after nearly a decade of struggles, human fertility experimentation, and painful loss Miranda birthed a tiny, sickly child after well over a day of miserable labor. The child was thought to be dead when he was finally freed from his mother's body, but through some effort he was finally revived. And thus, he was named Lazarus since he had come forth and lived when death seemed his truest fate.
They had no idea how true a fate it would be. But they tried their best for him, educating him with the finest of tutors, teaching him music and art, sparing no expense for their beloved heir. But no amount of financial means could fix his health, and he did not thrive nor grow as a boy should. He was pale and sickly and weak, unable to function without help and needing constant medical attention. He was prone to fits of coughing, and seemed to faint at the slightest effort. And if an ailment was able to be caught, he seemed to catch them despite the best efforts. But still, the Segals tried their best for him. And he somehow managed to make it into his teens because of it. He was a happy enough youth, who loved playing the piano, playing with his birds, and listening to the most scandalous love songs he could manage to sneak past his god fearing parents. He loved god and his family, felt he had a responsibility to give back when he took over his father's weapons business, and tithed without question or selfishness from what allowance he had. And he was entertaining ideas of an arranged marriage, enjoying friendships through new communication technology, and learning quite a bit about himself and forming is own ideals. And it seemed that despite his health, he would live a fine life without want of anything.
But then civil war broke out against the church, and the wealthy. Evan lost his life after being taken hostage, leaving Miranda and Lazarus very much unwell and alone. And Lazarus's health took a dive soon after, leaving him unable to walk and barely aware of anything but the pain of his slow demise. Miranda was desperate, unable to watch her only child die in such misery. She sold their estate to pay for doctors, spared no expense, but nothing was to be done. He was lost, and even the most talented of healers could do not more than attempt to comfort her and suggest funeral arrangements be made. Miranda could not accept that fate for him. And on a cold night in late February she made her decision to spit in the face of the god she loved and to damn herself to hell for her child. He would live. And heaven and hell be damned, nothing would stop her from ensuring that. She contacted the worst sorts, people that even the evilest of sinners avoided, and through them she learned the black arts needed to save her precious boy. And save him she did, through the pact of the necromancer, although it ripped her soul and body to shreds. Leaving nothing but her memory to the world, and a splatter of blood and bone against the floor to show that she had been there.
Lazarus awoke to find that he was no longer among the living in the truest sense, that a dark power had awoken within him, and that his mother's gift had taken from him the one person he loved most in the world. His mother's love had allowed him with the ability to play with life and death with the effortlessness that children give to toys, the ability to raise and twist, to heal and fix. He felt strange, looked paler and odder, and he even carried an odd scent to him. And then the knowledge of what he was and what he could do flooded him, twisting in his mind and heart. And he would have rather died a thousand times than be forced to live in a world without her. But he had little time to dwell on that. Within a week, his hometown was bombed, and he found out the hard way that death was never going to be able to take him. He healed from the wounds caused by the terrible blast, and as he wandered through the wreckage and the bodies he found a new desire welling up within him. He would not squander the gift he had been given. His mother had died for his life. And he would live for those who needed him now.
So he traveled the world, moving with one group or another to where the hurting resided. Where the desolate refugees hid, and where the unloved and broken waited for a miracle. While he was not alone in carrying magic abilities, he seemed to be alone in what he wished to use them for. He shunned the darkness within, the part of him that seemed to crave harm and evil, and he devoted his life to that of a homeless, traveling doctor. He did not need to eat, so he could save food to give to others. He could push past exhaustion at times, so he could spend more time assisting those who were in need. And as war after war broke out, years passed, and the church fought to keep it's grip on America, he realized that he hadn't aged a bit. The god he loved had turned his back on him completely, and he was stuck in the childlike form still. But he did not turn his back on his god, and he kept struggling to do what he was taught was right. Even in the face of a world that could not save itself or avoid it's own corruption. And he was determined to make things right. Somehow.
He was Lazarus. He had come forth twice. And he would bring this world back from the death it was slowly giving itself.
Appearance:
Lazarus is a tiny thing, barely four feet and six inches tall. He is feminine in appearance, and most will not identify him as male. He has rather pale skin, with somewhat raised and easy to see veins. He has a slim build, with a bit of androgynous curve to his waist and hips, blue eyes, and rather long white hair. It tends to be quite unruly, and he often doesn't bother to do anything with it at all. Which doesn't help the messy look of it. His fingers are long and slim, and he often plays with them and moves them out of nervous habit. He's on the side of too slim, and because of the sickly nature he carries he often bundles up in many layers of clothing to compensate for the lack of warming fat and body heat. Which makes him look even smaller in the end.
Why do you want to app them into Aliunde?
I think that Lazarus has a lot to offer to Aliunde. While he'll want very badly to return to his home world, he's more than willing to help others in Aliunde and would do very well in the medical field, especially when his abilities are returned to him. I think he's got a lot to offer as far as positive CR goes, and he'll be easy to work into plots without him being too strong a presence or overwhelming things.
Samples
First Person:
[The text comes over the communicator, as if it is his personal journal to log this odd incident and not a device for communication at all.]
The date is the eleventh of November, and I have found myself in a terrible strange new place. Some of the technology in this hospital is familiar to me. Some of it unpleasantly odd. And I cannot for the life of me figure out how I've come here. Aliunde? I've not heard of such a place in the entirety of my life! How quaint! How odd! How exciting! Perhaps it is simply a town I've yet to come across in my travels, there are many of those after all. And if nothing else, I can continue in my work here. There are always those who will need assistance with their troubles, and what is a doctor if he does not work? There's little time to fuss or fret, I must get to work immediately!
Or at least I will, after my health returns to me. This coughing fit seems to be lasting far longer than usual, I'm a little concerned. But perhaps I'm being selfish, and lazy. It's just another set back, and a very minor one at best. Why should I allow myself rest when I might be needed elsewhere? I think I can push through it anyway, if I can just find a medical mas-
[And the journal was abandoned. He's run off to find work to do.]
Third Person:
[Taking place soon after Lazarus awakes after the ritual that took his mother's life, where he's starting to realize just how different he now is.]
It reeked. He couldn't push it out of his nostrils, it clung to every bit of him and he could not shake free of it. Where was it coming from? What was causing it? He was indoors, why did he smell leaves and flowers? The snow was heavy outdoors, it would have smothered the scent of the dry and dead leaves, leaving them scentless. And there were no flowers to be seen. Not in this house, anyway. The scent of earth mixing with them he could explain, he had been out walking earlier. And he might have tracked something in. But those flowers were maddening. Familiar and awful and nearly cloying in strength...
And then it hit him. He knew those flowers. The scents of fading roses, withering carnations and lilies, Chrysanthemums and herbs to hide the scent. Those flowers were from a funeral spray. Decorations of the dead, signifying loss and mourning. And beneath that scent, something worse. Something dry and rotted and dead. And beneath that something copper and filthy. He hated that scent! He hated it, he couldn't handle it's presence and he'd do anything to free himself from it's disgusting grasp.
So he fled the home, walking through the snow and the cold, trying to find a place where it could not touch him at all. But no matter where he ran to, no matter what places he found, it stayed and clung. And if he stood still too long, others would sniff and turn their heads in disgust at it as well. He was not imagining it. And he nearly cried as he realized just where the scent was coming from. And the fact that it would haunt him, and he would not be able to free himself from it at all.
The scent was his own death. And he could no more free himself from it than he could free himself from his own body. And it would mock him forever, since there would be no end to his days.
Name: Misu
Personal LJ: mako_pretty
E-mail: misumisu84@gmail.com
AIM/Plurk/etc.: AIM-Wrigglyangst
Time zone: Central.
Other Characters: Loki/weaves_lies and Dante/rosegasmic
Character Information
Name: Lazarus Edward Segal
Age: Physically in his mid to late teens, actual age is thirty-nine. Birthday is January first.
Personality:
Lazarus is weak of body, certainly, but entirely strong of spirit and heart. He's quiet and patient, more than willing to simply suffer insults and blows than to act against those who would seek to hurt him with their words and fists. He knows the dark power he's capable of, and he holds himself to a certain level of responsibility because of it. And harming others, even if justified, would be breaking that code. Unless he's going to defend someone, he can't fathom the idea of using his necromancy for harm.
However, he's not perfect. And when finally pushed to the point of rage he's terribly cruel. Thankfully, it takes a good deal to push him to that point, and it can't be done by normal means. He has a talent for simply backing down, and little short of atrocity and cruelty will push him to unleash the unforgivable magic within. But once that point has been reached, it's too late. And he will never forgive, or forget. For all of his gentleness and patience, he holds grudges just as cruelly.
He hates speaking out of turn, and tends to simply go along quietly with conversation unless he's comfortable with the people he's talking to or the subject matter is something he feels strongly about. He worries about being judged for his words as well as his abilities, so he's more likely to smile and nod, to encourage and agree unless it's something he just cannot abide by. But he makes a pleasant enough conversationalist, and very much enjoys speaking to people about what interests them. And if he doesn't know enough about the subject at hand, he'll research it to keep from slowing his friends down in talk because of not understanding their interests.
Lazarus is a chronic worrier, especially when it comes to the well being of others. Because of the state of his home world, and the evils he's seen inflicted on the innocent, he puts quite a bit of stress on his own need to help and fix things. And when he sees people suffering, he suffers as well. And if he cannot help those in need, it drives him to near illness from stress. And he will put himself in harm's way to aid them, even if it means putting strain on his own well being.
He would rather be a martyr than a hero, he needs no reward or acknowledgment. He doesn't mind not being credited for his assistance, in fact if he can he'll push the glory onto another who he feels deserves it more. He simply wants to do what he feels is right, although his lack of care for his own well being often puts him into dangerous situations. And leaves him unable to help once more, thus making the cycle of exhaustion and worry start again but worse. And adding in his lack of care over his physical state, this can lead to him being on bed-rest and unable to function at all.
Because he is frozen in a state of undeath due to his pact, not dead or alive but between them both, he eventually heals from whatever pain is inflicted on him. Even if he was chopped to bits, and spread over the earth he would eventually form into one body again. And he would be aware of what happened to him the entire time. He has no worry about physical pain or torment because he knows that eventually he'll recover from it. This often leads him to be reckless and put himself in harm's way, even though he's able to feel pain and become sick. And this foolish behavior is beneficial to no one, least of all himself.
Although he's often quiet and gentle, Lazarus has a bubbly side that's full of youthful glee and humor. He's still very much a child, despite his years, and mentally he has traits that are far younger than his physical age would lead one to believe. He's the type to jump in puddles when he thinks that no one is watching, play board games with children, and carry home boxes of kittens even if he doesn't have the money to feed himself. He tends to act without thinking, and his whims can be wildly strong. But these whims lose out often to his intense desire to help and assist, and there are very few chances for fun and play when there are bodies to mend and hearts to protect.
Unfortunately, it's not easy for him to see through lies. And he's been taken advantage of on more than one occasion. He trusts first, and only asks questions if something suspicious comes up. He doesn't question people's motives, and is more likely to take someone's actions as desperation or need than evil or selfishness. He's seen too many gray areas to assume the worst out of the world, and this has led him to suffer very terrible fates indeed. And he just keeps falling into the same traps over and over, because he refuses to see humanity for what they are. But this also means that he's more than willing to give anyone a chance, no matter how unpleasant. And that has given him chances to help those without options, and without hope. So he's fine hurting and being tricked again and again, if it means he can find the good in people beneath the layers or selfishness and hurt.
Overall, Lazarus is fun and sweet. Willing to help, and with a heart full of love and loyalty. He's ridiculously naïve, self-sacrificing to a fault, but someone who's determined to do good for those around him. And those traits allow him to be a wonderful doctor and to go beyond what his necromancy would have originally allowed. Which gives him a feeling of achievement, he never wants to fall into that realm and lose himself to death's coldness. He's content to enjoy the rain and sun upon him, the smiles of those he helps, and the taste of sweets upon his tongue. Although, I doubt that he'd eat a york peppermint pattie anytime soon.
Background:
The world had always been on that steep curve towards disaster. Talk of the apocalypse and how god's wrath would rain down, worries over the massive gap between the rich and the starving, the drop in births due to fetal mortality and disturbingly lowered fertility, and the constant threat of war kept even the most blessed on their toes. It was the year 2020, the new Victorian era had started, the church taken over America as the ruling faction, and new rules were confusing everyone involved. Horses were the new sports cars, mourning clothes were the new black, and morality was violently enforced. It was not the happiest of times for anyone involved. But somehow, weapons baron Evan and and socialite Miranda Segal were determined to forge happiness in those dark times, no matter what the cost. And after nearly a decade of struggles, human fertility experimentation, and painful loss Miranda birthed a tiny, sickly child after well over a day of miserable labor. The child was thought to be dead when he was finally freed from his mother's body, but through some effort he was finally revived. And thus, he was named Lazarus since he had come forth and lived when death seemed his truest fate.
They had no idea how true a fate it would be. But they tried their best for him, educating him with the finest of tutors, teaching him music and art, sparing no expense for their beloved heir. But no amount of financial means could fix his health, and he did not thrive nor grow as a boy should. He was pale and sickly and weak, unable to function without help and needing constant medical attention. He was prone to fits of coughing, and seemed to faint at the slightest effort. And if an ailment was able to be caught, he seemed to catch them despite the best efforts. But still, the Segals tried their best for him. And he somehow managed to make it into his teens because of it. He was a happy enough youth, who loved playing the piano, playing with his birds, and listening to the most scandalous love songs he could manage to sneak past his god fearing parents. He loved god and his family, felt he had a responsibility to give back when he took over his father's weapons business, and tithed without question or selfishness from what allowance he had. And he was entertaining ideas of an arranged marriage, enjoying friendships through new communication technology, and learning quite a bit about himself and forming is own ideals. And it seemed that despite his health, he would live a fine life without want of anything.
But then civil war broke out against the church, and the wealthy. Evan lost his life after being taken hostage, leaving Miranda and Lazarus very much unwell and alone. And Lazarus's health took a dive soon after, leaving him unable to walk and barely aware of anything but the pain of his slow demise. Miranda was desperate, unable to watch her only child die in such misery. She sold their estate to pay for doctors, spared no expense, but nothing was to be done. He was lost, and even the most talented of healers could do not more than attempt to comfort her and suggest funeral arrangements be made. Miranda could not accept that fate for him. And on a cold night in late February she made her decision to spit in the face of the god she loved and to damn herself to hell for her child. He would live. And heaven and hell be damned, nothing would stop her from ensuring that. She contacted the worst sorts, people that even the evilest of sinners avoided, and through them she learned the black arts needed to save her precious boy. And save him she did, through the pact of the necromancer, although it ripped her soul and body to shreds. Leaving nothing but her memory to the world, and a splatter of blood and bone against the floor to show that she had been there.
Lazarus awoke to find that he was no longer among the living in the truest sense, that a dark power had awoken within him, and that his mother's gift had taken from him the one person he loved most in the world. His mother's love had allowed him with the ability to play with life and death with the effortlessness that children give to toys, the ability to raise and twist, to heal and fix. He felt strange, looked paler and odder, and he even carried an odd scent to him. And then the knowledge of what he was and what he could do flooded him, twisting in his mind and heart. And he would have rather died a thousand times than be forced to live in a world without her. But he had little time to dwell on that. Within a week, his hometown was bombed, and he found out the hard way that death was never going to be able to take him. He healed from the wounds caused by the terrible blast, and as he wandered through the wreckage and the bodies he found a new desire welling up within him. He would not squander the gift he had been given. His mother had died for his life. And he would live for those who needed him now.
So he traveled the world, moving with one group or another to where the hurting resided. Where the desolate refugees hid, and where the unloved and broken waited for a miracle. While he was not alone in carrying magic abilities, he seemed to be alone in what he wished to use them for. He shunned the darkness within, the part of him that seemed to crave harm and evil, and he devoted his life to that of a homeless, traveling doctor. He did not need to eat, so he could save food to give to others. He could push past exhaustion at times, so he could spend more time assisting those who were in need. And as war after war broke out, years passed, and the church fought to keep it's grip on America, he realized that he hadn't aged a bit. The god he loved had turned his back on him completely, and he was stuck in the childlike form still. But he did not turn his back on his god, and he kept struggling to do what he was taught was right. Even in the face of a world that could not save itself or avoid it's own corruption. And he was determined to make things right. Somehow.
He was Lazarus. He had come forth twice. And he would bring this world back from the death it was slowly giving itself.
Appearance:
Lazarus is a tiny thing, barely four feet and six inches tall. He is feminine in appearance, and most will not identify him as male. He has rather pale skin, with somewhat raised and easy to see veins. He has a slim build, with a bit of androgynous curve to his waist and hips, blue eyes, and rather long white hair. It tends to be quite unruly, and he often doesn't bother to do anything with it at all. Which doesn't help the messy look of it. His fingers are long and slim, and he often plays with them and moves them out of nervous habit. He's on the side of too slim, and because of the sickly nature he carries he often bundles up in many layers of clothing to compensate for the lack of warming fat and body heat. Which makes him look even smaller in the end.
Why do you want to app them into Aliunde?
I think that Lazarus has a lot to offer to Aliunde. While he'll want very badly to return to his home world, he's more than willing to help others in Aliunde and would do very well in the medical field, especially when his abilities are returned to him. I think he's got a lot to offer as far as positive CR goes, and he'll be easy to work into plots without him being too strong a presence or overwhelming things.
Samples
First Person:
[The text comes over the communicator, as if it is his personal journal to log this odd incident and not a device for communication at all.]
The date is the eleventh of November, and I have found myself in a terrible strange new place. Some of the technology in this hospital is familiar to me. Some of it unpleasantly odd. And I cannot for the life of me figure out how I've come here. Aliunde? I've not heard of such a place in the entirety of my life! How quaint! How odd! How exciting! Perhaps it is simply a town I've yet to come across in my travels, there are many of those after all. And if nothing else, I can continue in my work here. There are always those who will need assistance with their troubles, and what is a doctor if he does not work? There's little time to fuss or fret, I must get to work immediately!
Or at least I will, after my health returns to me. This coughing fit seems to be lasting far longer than usual, I'm a little concerned. But perhaps I'm being selfish, and lazy. It's just another set back, and a very minor one at best. Why should I allow myself rest when I might be needed elsewhere? I think I can push through it anyway, if I can just find a medical mas-
[And the journal was abandoned. He's run off to find work to do.]
Third Person:
[Taking place soon after Lazarus awakes after the ritual that took his mother's life, where he's starting to realize just how different he now is.]
It reeked. He couldn't push it out of his nostrils, it clung to every bit of him and he could not shake free of it. Where was it coming from? What was causing it? He was indoors, why did he smell leaves and flowers? The snow was heavy outdoors, it would have smothered the scent of the dry and dead leaves, leaving them scentless. And there were no flowers to be seen. Not in this house, anyway. The scent of earth mixing with them he could explain, he had been out walking earlier. And he might have tracked something in. But those flowers were maddening. Familiar and awful and nearly cloying in strength...
And then it hit him. He knew those flowers. The scents of fading roses, withering carnations and lilies, Chrysanthemums and herbs to hide the scent. Those flowers were from a funeral spray. Decorations of the dead, signifying loss and mourning. And beneath that scent, something worse. Something dry and rotted and dead. And beneath that something copper and filthy. He hated that scent! He hated it, he couldn't handle it's presence and he'd do anything to free himself from it's disgusting grasp.
So he fled the home, walking through the snow and the cold, trying to find a place where it could not touch him at all. But no matter where he ran to, no matter what places he found, it stayed and clung. And if he stood still too long, others would sniff and turn their heads in disgust at it as well. He was not imagining it. And he nearly cried as he realized just where the scent was coming from. And the fact that it would haunt him, and he would not be able to free himself from it at all.
The scent was his own death. And he could no more free himself from it than he could free himself from his own body. And it would mock him forever, since there would be no end to his days.