The Defeater of Empires, the Swallower of Oceans, the Thief of Years, the Ultimate Reality, the Harvester of Mankind, the Asassin against Whom No Lock Will Hold, the only friend of the poor and the best doctor for the mortally wounded.
You'll recognise Death. He's a seven foot tall skeleton, in whose eye sockets there are tiny points of blue light. He wears a cape of absolute darkness, fastened with a silver Omega, carries a scythe, sometimes a sword, and rides a valient white warhorse.
He likes cats. And curry.
Death doesn't have lips or vocal chords. He TALKS LIKE THIS, and the words just find their way into your being. There's no disobeying Death. Lucky he's such a nice guy.