A Eulogy for Death: Part 1

There was a man whose name was Death...

The sun turns black,
earth sinks in the sea,
heaven be stripped
of its bright stars.

Icelandic poet Snorri Sturluson
describes Ragnarok in the 13th century

There was a man whose name was Death.

At least, that's the name he chose on the character creation screen. He'd been Death since Mechwarrior 2, 1995, and eluded the paradox 27 years before fate caught up with him May 27, 2022. Forty years old, recently separated. No cause given in the announcement.

I met him while I was doing research for my book about the infamous Icelandic starship diplomacy game EVE Online (Empires of EVE.) Death was one in a rogues gallery of characters I met through the hundreds of interviews I conducted with the players of the game as I worked for years to decipher the byzantine politics of a digital hermit kingdom.

I once talked to an old associate of his to try to get the facts straight on a rumor I'd heard that Death used to hold court at an old bath house in New York City, loosening up potential allies with a nude steam. I felt silly asking the guy about a random internet rumor so I expected him to laugh. Instead, he exclaimed:

"I've been to that bathhouse with Death! It's a Russian bathhouse and you feel like you're in the mafia when you go in. Like, I thought Death was mafia because he would snap his fingers and out came servants. It was hilarious."