How They Died - Each hero's demise

All the heroes came home safely. They took on careers , as addressed by Hero careers.

Some of them lived long, prosperous lives, some not so much, but ultimately, all beings parish.

These are the tales of how they passed…

Each post shall end in “RIP [insert hero]”

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He stood to protect his kingdom and died.

RIP Leonidas :100::100::100:

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(Pulled from the other thread)

Renfield hung up his hat and took a good hard look in the mirror…

Police later descrined the scene as one of the most common suicides they often see, and in the end, benefited no one.

Most people that knew him agreed that they saw him around a lot, but never really spoke to him.

He’ll be remembered most for the Party City company Chritmas Party Secret Santa, where somehow, everyone pulled Renfeld, but nobody gave him any gifts. Maybe not so ironically, that was the night he took his own life…

RIP Ren…


(Pulled from the other thread)

Graymare settled down with a book, as he always did on Sundays since retiring, next to the babbling brook in the back of his house. The wife and kids were at the farmers market, and they promised to bring him back some of Mother North’s famous chili.

It wasn’t always this way. He remembered the day he came home from the Wars and he told his wife “Things are going to be different, I promise.” He dropped to his knees and kissed her belly as she coddled him. And things were different. It had been 4 years. He kept his promise.

He sipped his jasmine tea while admiring a ladybug that had landed on his forearm. As it flew off, he smiled, adjusted his reading glasses and began to read aloud to himself,

“Ahem, ‘Think you’re escaping and ru-’” BAM!

“What’d you do?!” Yelled a man coming out of the brush.

“I… I… I didn’t know what to do. I panicked!” Said another, younger, man coming from the brush brandishing a rifle.

“What the hell?! You killed it!”

“It was coming right at me! I had to shoot it. Look at that thing! It’s ferocious! It’s a God damned beast! I had to do it. It was kill or be killed, you saw it! You saw it coming at me!”

"Well we can’t just leave it here… Let’s just get this thing out of here before more of 'em come. Vicious little buggers, I bet… now listen… I don’t know what I saw, but I believe you. You’re a good man, and you did right.

“How’re we gonna carry, Doc?”

“I’ve got some shackles in the truck, well use 'em to drag it back. Taxidermists a coming by later anyhow, we’ll stuff 'em right up for ya.”

Now residing in a nearby hunter’s lodge in Ohio:

RIP Graymare…


Wu Kong came back from the War only to find himself enthralled in a new War. He quickly climbed the ranks, having had battle experience. Lord Kong they called him. The 2nd of the Wars were hard, but his side had all but assured Victory.

Years had passed and it was discovered the once thought eradicated enemy had veered its ugly head once more. There were rumblings all through camp. Where did he come from?

The call came in, they trapped the man on the far side of the jungle. Word was this one may be different, and many feared going.

“Heads, I’ll go. Tails I stay…” He plays his game of chance, and… “Looks like this one’s mine,” Wu snorts.

He found the man tangled in a net, upon his arrival.

He begins to wrestle him down from the net, muttering “Hmph, what makes you so special? Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.”

“TAKE YOUR STINKING PAWS OFF ME, YOU DAMN DIRTY APE!” The man says with authority.

Wu’s eyes widened. He flutters and drops the net with the man in it. “How could this be?! Humans don’t talk anymore…”

He takes a step backwards and reaches for his sword, but slips , falling on his back. The man reaches for a large rock… picks it up over his head…

“Wh- who are you??” Wu implores from the ground.

Several blows to the head later, it was over…


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Fletcher came home to nearly nothing. A studio apartment and an old friend from the early years of War. He tried the daily grind - various hourly jobs - a very brief stint at Party City that turned weird after a co-worker killed himself after the company Christmas Party, a gas station attendant, and so on, but it just wasn’t cutting it. You see, Fletcher hid big plans. He called his old friend, and laid it out for him,

“We’ll come through the East Entrance, there’s no gate there and it’s unguarded. It’s about 80 yards, three flights of stairs, and we reach the Watchtower. Inside there is all the iron and food we can take.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“Don’t worry about it, just tap 'em on the shoulder, they’ll give you a friendly wave and move on. We raid at night, there’s always more in stock then.”

It went just as they had planned, the town’s people couldn’t have been more clueless. They took all the iron and meat they could carry, and made a break for it.

“Halt!” A burly man in yellow armor came running after them.

He lifted his sword above his head - anything to protect his Kingdom - and swung at Fletcher’s partner in crime. Before he could execute, Fletcher took a knife to his back.

They made it all the way back to the entrance, and duck in the corridor shadows. His friends gives him a sly smile, “I think we got away with it!” Breathing heavily.

“I told you, old friend. Now let’s get out of here.” Fletcher says.

“Wait! Shhhhh… I heard something…”

Fletcher, turns towards the town and suddenly, “Agghhhhhh…” He feels a sharp pain shivering through his spine. He falls to his knees… then slumps to the ground… “Tudan… you worthless… backstabber… why?”

“Sorry, mate. You’d have done the same. That’s what makes us special.”

Fletcher’s eyes grew heavier, breath slowing, and a blurry vision of his killer sneaking away with their loot became his last, lonely, sight.

RIP Fletch…

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Friar Tuck lived in the woods with his brother. Tuck was a cheery man by nature, but he had his demons… he spent his days drunk, and his nights drunker.

A good man, people thought of him. If people knew the monster he really was…

“I’m no hero,” he sighs.

The fireplace roared as Tuck surveyed the dark room, with the flickering shadows bouncing off his “conquests.”

He was expecting his brother back soon, who was out foraging some chestnuts. Ohio doesn’t have a lot to offer other than old chestnuts and shoddy highway patrol with a knack for pulling over out-of- towners. But I digress.

He knew he had to sober up soon but reached for one of his green potions anyhow, drunkingly knocking it to the floor as it shattered. He tried standing and heard a noise from outside.

“Doc, is that you?” He stumbled a few feet, dragging his cloak through his alcohol potion and bumping into a mounted large stuffed lion head. Though dead, in a hazy stupor it became so lifelike that it startled Tuck backwards. His alcohol soaked cloak caught an ember from the fire and he lit up like a tinderbox.

He lost consciousness before the flames could finish him off, burning up him, and all the “monsters” he had murdered.

At his funeral, only his kin was there to bury him. He called Friar Tuck a “Jovial Brother,” and buried him along with his demons.

RIP Frair Tuck…



I’ve done a story based on this idea but it got a bit long.

RIP well, lots of people