I’ve been playing a bit of War of the Roses lately, and it’s… interesting. I’ve told friends, family, and one very confused flower shop owner that it’s “deeply flawed and disappointingly barebones,” so it seems only proper that I reiterate that sentiment here. There is, however, tremendous fun to be had in the heat of battle – even if it’s fairly short-lived and clunky at this point. One thing that really sticks out, though, is War of the Roses’ death mechanic. In short, getting killed doesn’t actually, well, kill you. Instead, you’re often left bleeding out on the battlefield, waiting for either an enemy to finish the job or some kind soul on your team to use whatever lost-to-time medieval medicine allowed knights to recover from having their spines severed in three seconds. Not only do the mechanic’s nuances create some tremendously silly moments, they also run parallel to many of the game’s ups-and-downs. So let’s explore that via the eyes of a living, breathing, constantly dying pun: my own Tyrion Lancaster.