It was Issar Roon’s time to die.

[Cue dramatic music and the dimming of lights.]

I was busy packing my suitcases with things I would need over the coming weeks. I would be traveling for a couple weeks, then I’d fly to Japan for a few more, then finally, I’d fly back to America.

I needed this.

I didn’t need that.

This could be mailed home on a boat.

Suddenly, Gchat chirped at me. It was Adam.

Now’s the time, I thought to myself. You won’t talk to him again for at least three weeks.

“Hey, Adam. How would you feel about me changing the nature of the Issar Roon column?”

What ended up as a single question turned into a conversation on a number of topics as my clothes, Magic cards, and various possessions lay around me in various states of disorder, but in the end, there was one big takeaway: Issar Roon had to die.

By the time the dust settled, I had realized that the healthiest plan for everyone involved would be to end Issar Roon. The column had lived a long life, and I needed fresh air.

To any devoted fans out there who still exist, this may seem like a shock, but it’s not so strange from a storyteller’s point of view. This type of plot device happens throughout our culture, in real life and in fiction, every day. From Superman’s (non-)death (WARNING: Very strong language) to someone ending a romantic relationship, these changes serve to move along a story.

Let’s look at one example most of you probably know well: Firefly’s story. (WARNING: Spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen the movie. Skip the following four or five paragraphs.) In the movie Serenity, before the crew crash lands on Miranda, did you imagine any member of the crew would die? Be honest with yourself.

Fun aside while you reconcile your self-evaluation techniques: Because Serenity was made in large part due to the grassroots support shown by fans, Joss Whedon (you know, the guy who just made that movie. I forget the name, but everyone is still talking about it.) convinced Universal to do a set of screenings in ten different cities six months before its release. When those sold out within twenty-four hours, they set up another round a couple of weeks later in twenty different cities across the U.S. and Canada. Those sold out within minutes.

I was lucky enough to grab a ticket to the second screening. It was spectacular. It felt like a mini-Firefly convention right there in the theatre. There’s probably an article in there somewhere . . .

Anyway . . . When Wash died immediately after the gauntlet in space, there was a gigantic hush over the entire theatre. No one moved or spoke, and I doubt many took a breath. None of us wanted to believe it. We were all die-hard Whedon fans in our own ways, but none of us saw that coming.

Sure, Book died, but he played a small role in the movie, and it wasn’t even on screen when he was shot, making it less immediate. Then, Wash gets shredded like a leaf in a hurricane. I don’t know about you, but something along the lines of, “This s*** just got real!” screamed in my head. The next thing I knew, crew members were being cut down one by one, and I was left wondering if any of them were going to make it out alive.

Would that final battle scene have been as tense and edgy without Wash’s death? Doubtful. Most stories can get you worrying about a particular character or group, but it’s almost never a visceral fear. A major character’s death goes deeper, and it can be a great plot device if used correctly.

In the same way, sometimes a character needs to die or disappear to refresh a story that has become stale or hollow. Boromir’s death was a well-timed execution by JRR Tolkien. Not only did it help to move forward the sundering of the fellowship, but it allowed the story to go further than before. If he had lived, there is a very good chance he would have pursued the ring, which in turn would have distracted the reader from the story of Frodo’s internal struggle and Aragorn’s ascension.

I am attempting to follow in the same vein—to reignite an enervated story and provide new content. True, Issar Roon’s story ends when he does, but the column was never about Issar Roon. It was about the reader. When Issar Roon began holding the reader back from growing and learning, it was time for him to move aside.

It is time for me to write for you with my true face revealed. I will no longer hide behind the mask of an old man or the framework he provides. You deserve more than just the dusty volumes of Magic’s history. It will be a challenge, and I know that the path will not always be smooth or straight. Keep a watchful eye on me, and do not be afraid to say a few constructive words if I should stray.

So, where do we go from here?

That is a great question, and it’s one I don’t have a definitive answer for. I know what I’ll be writing about for the next month or two, and I have a vague idea of what I want this new column to become, but as they say, “It is not the destination, but the journey that matters.” Come take a walk with me on the wild side, and let’s dig a little deeper into what it means to be a Vorthos.

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