Andohr considered his options for a moment. He was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Messing with Death it wasn't something to be taken lightly. Death was different. A solitary figure, ancient, powerful, a being who existed outside the squabbles of the Pantheon. He didn't crave worship, didn't seek power, didn't play their games. He simply was.
Death had created the Three Horsemen and tasked them with maintaining balance. A necessary function, perhaps, but one that had corrupted them over time. They became obsessed with their duties, with their power, and with death itself. And when Death had cast them out, their resentment and thirst for revenge had festered, grown into something monstrous.
And now, they wanted to capture him, imprison him. To be honest, it was madness as far as Andohr was concerned.
