Topic: Small Talk
"Behold!"
The cry rings out in every city across Serinor. Though in different tongues, at different times, to different crowds, the ritual is always the same, down to the final, blood-soaked detail.
"This one would be a hero!"
People always gather in the pulsing blue light of the Hero Shrine, whether it be at the foot of Holy Mount Gela, the sandy beaches outside Grbok, or amidst the endless stacks of the Library of Esselte. They always want to greet the new hero, to congratulate the start of a new life, to celebrate the discovery of yet another with a precious Hero Soul.
"We gather to be with one of our own as he attempts to start down the path of eternal life."
But as they gather, all are silent. There is no sense in celebrating too soon. The knife has yet to fall, and though the would-be hero always stands with his back to the ritual leader, smiling out at the crowd, the awareness of that blade is always reflected in his eyes.
"Join me now in wishing him well along his way."
Some aspirants will close their eyes. Others will clench their jaw. All will gasp once and cough red as their body slides off the knife and slumps to the ground. The strike is always precise and swift. Never once has it missed the heart, and the deep red blood left on the blade is flicked immediately into uncaring blue of the Hero Shrine.
The wait that follows is either quick or endless. Sometimes the body will dissolve into motes of blue light until it reforms, standing erect, behind the ritual leader before the shrine itself. Then the celebration will begin, and the new hero's disorientation is swept away in the shouts and joy of the crowd.
Normally, though, the body remains. There can be only one test for immortality. The crowd disperses, and the ritual leader shakes his head before looking to the rows of tombstones nearby. Soon, there will be no more room for failed heroes.
