You are dead. You shuffled off this mortal coil, passed away, bought the farm, or any of a thousand other quaint metaphors we use to avoid staring into the face of our own mortality.

You are not dead. Something else was more important – you didn't have time to lie quiet in your grave, you had things that needed doing. And on the cusp of dissolution, at the crossroads of this world and the next, you met something that felt the same way.

Now you walk the world with living flesh and dead eyes, eyes that can't help but see the plight of the for gotten shades that huddle just beyond the light. Stalked by Reapers, devoured whole by the eaters of the dead, summoned and bound by necromancers, they are your people, and they are suffering. Pulled between your own Burden, the half-remembered humanity of the monstrous ghost to whom you are Bound, and the cosmic injustice of the Underworld, where will you stand?