Wow. Just… Wow.
This may be an old staple for many of you, but I just came across a heart-wrenching character death story on Reddit and thought it would be fitting to highlight it here for others to enjoy.
The story was penned by redditor u/RinellaWasHere, and tells the tale Sunaal the Minotaur Barbarian’s final moments.
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The original post can be viewed here, and I highly suggest heading over there to read it and give an upvote for the amazing storytelling.
The All Things D&D YouTube channel was so touched by the story that they decided to make an animated retelling, which can be found through this link or embedded below.
Here’s the story:
The great red dragon burst forth from within the cathedral in a cascade of shattering glass and falling stone. Streams of blood poured from the wounds all over its body, and its mad screams split the sky. Gone was the brutal cunning and dry sadistic wit Zilfanyr had once prided itself on, stripped away by the druid’s spell. It was just a beast now, and the beast knew it was dying.
Sunaal preferred it that way. The minotaur was but a speck on its back as it flew, but he held gamely on, digging his greataxe into its back to serve as a hold.
Make a strength check real quick?
Uh… not awesome. Seventeen?
That’ll be enough for this one. He hasn’t sped up yet.
Sunaal was hurt, and badly. A thick hand left the axe to paw at the gaping hole in his breastplate. It came away soaked in blood. He rubbed the red across the blade of his axe, and it froze, cementing the weapon in place.
A glance behind showed the flying island receding in the distance. The dragon was flying straight, too mindless to plan a destination.
He heard whispers in his ear, and cupped the free hand over the magic earring to hear them better.
“Hey, big guy, how are you holding up?” The dwarf’s voice had lost its usual easy drawl in favor of barely-hidden panic. “Tell me you got off before it left land.”
Sunaal chanced a look past the beating crimson wings. Two thousand feet below, the ocean shone and danced in the noon sun. “Afraid not, Gideon. I gotta see this through.”
A new voice, elven, and more afraid. “Sunny, what are you talking about? Come on, we need a plan before we lose sight of you. Please.” The druid sounded on the verge of breaking down already. Ameril was a smart girl, and she clearly knew what was about to happen even if she didn’t want to admit it.
He chuckled, even as the act sent pain rocketing up his shredded back and through his punctured lungs. “Just fixing a problem, squirt, nothing to fret over. Can’t have you kids going a third round with him. You’ve got other work to do.”
Okay, you’re out of combat, basically, but I’m gonna houserule that you’ve got about twenty seconds of rage left. How are you on HP?
Down by ten.
Okay.
The axe pulsed in his hand. The fury that flowed from it was fading, and that fury was the only thing keeping him going. Gritting his great square teeth, he lifted the blade again, yanking himself up the body with one pull after another.
I’m going for the head.
Okay, that’s three pulls away. One athletics check for the whole thing
Nineteen plus… math.
Yeah, you make it.
He tried to catch his breath as he reached the end of the long neck, but it wouldn’t stay caught.
“Alright, kids, I think I’m clocking out. Anything in my pack is yours. Whatever has to be done next…”
A long breath. This was good. It was right. Fifty-two summers was plenty of time for anyone. Few bulls got to build one family, and he’d been lucky enough to have two.
“You’ll do it. I’m so proud of all of you.”
He unclipped it. They didn’t need to hear what happened next.
Six seconds left. What, uh… what do you do?
Yeah. Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m gonna… is it a nice view?
…best you’ve ever seen.
The ocean stretched out forever before and beneath him. The salt air stung his nose, and he breathed in deep. He’d sailed it, as a younger bull, serving with his father under the flag of their nation and their god. Back before he’d met Nynere, before she bore him Mera. Before his muzzle went grey, and before their god had died. Before the wights razed the village and he took the Blood Hunter Oaths.
He was ready. He missed them.
Okay, Rite of the Frozen, swinging for the head, reckless. Five plus whatever and… 25.
Roll it.
22 damage?
…yep. How do you want to do this?
He raised the frozen axe, feeling the bestial mind within it growl. “Once more, old friend,” he muttered, and brought it down with both hands.
Ice and ancient steel came down, through scale and flesh and bone and brain. With one last scream, the dragon went suddenly limp, the wings failing and the great beast dropping like a stone.
At some point, he was disloged, falling free. That was alright. He didn’t want to end beside the monster anyway. He couldn’t tell if the blue before his eyes was the sea or the sky, and found it didn’t really matter.
Sunaal, son of Boros, husband of Nynere, father of Mera, and member of the Morning Song, closed his eyes.
I’m not crying. There’s just some ocean salt in my eyes.
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