I have to sad duty to announce that Sir Terry Pratchett has died at the age of 66. According to MSNBC he died to complications related his Alzheimer's Disease.

So long good sir and thank you for giving us such a world to read. May your trip across the desert be pleasant and swift.

"I MUST SAY, SIR, IT'S QUITE AN HONOUR TO MEET YOU. YOUR PORTRAYAL OF MY GOOD SELF WAS QUITE FLATTERING." Two red glowing pinpricks had appeared in the darkness. The voice had the dry finality of an epitaph, fittingly. Terry appraised the light with a stroke of his beard.

"I thought your eyes would be blue." He admitted, "Certainly, you're more... verbose than I'd written you."

"BUT OF COURSE." The stone slab of sound enthused, "YOU'D NEVER MET ME, PERSONALLY. OH, YOU HAD SEEN MY WORK, AND APPRAISED IT, BUT ONLY NOW ARE YOU EXPERIENCING IT." It stepped out into the dim spotlight the once-an-author found himself in. Terry took some dull pride in how close he got to getting the shape right. "TELL ME, IS IT UP TO YOUR RATHER LOFTY EXPECTATIONS?"

"I haven't made my mind up yet." Terry admitted, looking for his hat. Surely, surely he'd be able to take that with him? He was rather fond of it. It was such a nice hat. "I've had far more experience at living, to be honest. I'm rather new to this whole... not living thing."

"YOU MAY SAY IT. YOU ARE DEAD, AFTER ALL. IT MIGHT DO TO ACCEPT THAT."

"But I'm not, you see!" Terry corrected, kneeling over. No longer did he feel those old aches and pains in his knees and back. He wouldn't miss them. Sure, they had become familiar to him over the years, but so too would particularly irksome in-laws. Some things you never quite grow accustomed to. "My family remembers me. A very large portion of the general population will remember me. Some perhaps even fondly for some strange reason. No, I don't think I'll be dead for quite some time yet. Until then... well. I'm just not living, aren't I?"

Death pulls a black leather cowboy hat from behind his back. With a jerky, mechanical creaking, he offers it to the kneeling man. "YOU SEEM TO BE TAKING THIS AWFULLY WELL."

Pratchett nods now, once, and smiles wryly. He stands and dusts himself off. Purgatory seems to be rather infested with the stuff, for some strange reason. Perhaps nobody stays long enough to clean it? "It helps if you plan accordingly before taking a long trip."

Death nodded. "AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER."

Terry took Death’s arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.

The last two lines are taken directly from the great man's Twitter page. I had written "plan accordingly" when I was informed of it. It broke my heart to learn just how close to truth my homage had come.

Seven minutes ago as of writing this sentence, BBC confirmed Sir Terry Pratchett died. Some of his accomplishments include making the single greatest philosophical comedy series known to man and digging up a meteorite on his property and forging it into a sword with his own two hands.

This is the man I've modelled my own writing style after. For most of my remembered life I've read, treasured and collected his books, and his passing marks a moment in my life that will be remembered by me eating a whole fucking tub of ice cream right now. Just, all of it, it's going to be crammed right into my facehole.

"You can't build a plot out of jokes. You need tragic relief. And you need to let people know that when a lot of frightened people are running around with edged weaponry, there are deaths. Stupid deaths, usually. I'm not writing 'The A-Team' - if there's a fight going on, people will get hurt. Not letting this happen would be a betrayal." -Mr. Numbers

Rest in Peace Sir Terry Pratchett. Even though I haven't yet gotten around to reading your books, their style none the less inspired me indirectly in many ways. You shall be missed.

Mr Numbers has written a short fitting tribute.

Goodbye Sir Terry, you taught me how to think and how to laugh. I would not be a fraction of the person I am today without you.

My own post about it is here.

Even though I knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later, I'm still devastated.

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I promise that one day I'll write that MLP/WFM crossover adventure we discussed. It might be later rather than sooner, but I do still think about it from time to time.

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Crivens, take ya time ya wee scunner, nouwt be ta gied fa the works o the big man!
Thanks though, I know you're as torn up as I am, I saw your post at midnight last night, Kenya time. Very moving indeed.

I've been thinking about it as well.
Wee bit of a funny thought, just to cheer you up. Imagine the Feegles trying to use their patented sheep rustling technique on Princess Luna.
And the Feegles summation of the whole business: "Lovely sunshine, good huntin', nice pretty flowers, and wee burdies goin' cheep!"
And how fluttershy is going to do 'the crossin' o' the arms' or 'tappin' o' the feets' considering that ponies can't do both at once, is something I look forward to seeing.

Seriously though, do take your time. I asked in a forum post on this same group why no one tried to do Discworld crossovers, and the general response was that no-one really felt that they could do Sir Terry justice. If anyone could do it though, it'd be you.

I really don't have many words to say. Still I feel it's appropriate to post something, so here's a lilac.