...Myrkul walks through a city knowing which people will be dead within a year, within a day, within the next hour. This knowledge brings him no pleasure because pleasure is irrelevant to his function. A warrior approaches the end of her long life and Myrkul sits at the foot of her bed, seen by no one but her. He does not offer comfort or cruelty. He simply waits. She closes her eyes and feels his presence and instead of fear, feels the deep rightness of ending after so much becoming. Around him, graves open and bones settle into their appointed shapes. Bodies feed worms and worms feed birds and the cycle turns. He is the patient keeper of what comes after, the god who never loses, who never needs to win because time itself is his only ally and time is inexhaustible. The living may rage and pray and bargain, but Myrkul only waits. He can afford to. He knows how all stories end....