Remaking the Undead *

1. Remaking the Undead *

   #1

   Undead are, simply put, among the most horrific things one can think of. Can you imagine anything more frightening than a being which is dead and yet still walks? Can you imagine the horror of being faced by the hollow shell of being, a hollow shell which must feed?
   
   Well, if you can imagine that, then you must have some inkling that the undead are definitely not being used to their full potential.
   I think that there are few things that are more anathema to the human psyche than the living dead; the fear of the thing which should not live is a potent one, even in the modern society of sarcasm and realism.
   So why do we not fear the undead? Why do the heroes of our favorite games not flee in horror from the shambling zombie? Why do pale corpse-lords who thirst for blood not inspire shaking terrors from adventurers who come to steal their treasure?
   
   This thread is devoted to restoring the dead-who-live to their former horrible glory. Here, we will post unique and different kinds of undead, new and more fearful beings from beyond the grave. Ghosts, mummies, zombies, liches, worms-that-walk; all of those and more will be remade in this thread.

2. The Torlakia

   #2

   The Torlakia
   
   Hiding deep within catacombs of the ancients, in low, deep alcoves where they lie, spider-like, awaiting the taste of fresh blood, there are the hideous Torlakia, dark beings who once lived and are now, fearfully, undead.
   
   In ancient times, the kings and nobles of the old kingdoms would take with them to death all the things which would relate their status to the Underworld- boats, horses, gold, treasure, clothing, and even slaves and guardians, warriors and catamites, slain and laid to rest beside their fallen lord to moulder for eternity.
   
   These tombs, of course, needed guards, and these guards, too, were slain, to sit as eternal watchmen over the riches of their masters. After being strangled, these soldiers would be laid in deep, low alcoves along the walls of the tomb, with swords upon their chests, that they might forever defend the sacred crypts of the rulers.
   
   But in some places, these warriors did not rest well. In tombs which were disturbed by convulsions of the earth, in places where subterranean waters flooded the deep graves, in crypts where the pressures of the ground caved in the chambers, in graves where the greedy, the foolish, and the unknowing broke the seals of these houses of dust, the soldiers stirred in their low, long alcoves, and crawled forth with shrivelled hearts full of terrible rage and hatred, seeking to extract bloody revenge against the living.
   
   These charnel spirits, clinging to the mummified remnants of their former bodies, crawled forth from their stagnant pits and fell upon the unwary robbers and explorers with the hellish vengeance from beyond the grave. Wielding ancient blades in bony-clawed hands, the guardians slew all who entered the broken tombs of their masters, and fed upon their blood.
   
   But their dark vigilance was tainted by their sanguine hunger, and very soon, the evils of their pseudolife polluted their tattered frames, and mutated these beings into the undead horrors called the Torlakia.
   
   Torlakia inhabit the desecrated and damaged tombs which so long ago they protected, living in their dark, foul alcoves which they were laid to rest in, though they decorate these with the withered and eviscerated remains of their victims, and with sticky, thick webbing like that of massive spider, which they eject from their mouths. Torlakia hate the living, and quite like animals, fall upon all living beings which they sense with the ferocity that only death can instill.
   
   Torlakia are hideous and inhuman to behold. They resemble dried-out, withered, and blackened human corpses, with bellies swollen with starvation. Their twig-like limbs end in gnarled hands and feet upon which the digits are hideous stiff claws. But the greatest horror of the Torlakia is that upon the shoulders and chest, where there should be a neck and head, there is, instead, a hideous sort of fleshy mound, topped with a circular, fanged mouth surrounded by slime-dripping feelers which constantly wave, like the head of some massive, evil caterpillar or maggot, set upon a human frame. Torlakia have no eyes, nor ears, nor nose, and can sense their way only because their hatred of living beings is like a beacon to them, and they sense the fire of a beating heart and rushing blood like the warmth of a fire in an eternally cold, grey space. They fall upon all living things which they can catch and slay them with their ancient swords or their claws, and then crack open the victim's skull and body with their foul jaws, devouring the blood. They then drag the victim back into their chosen alcove to crush the bones and rend the flesh. Torlakia are extremely agile, and climb, spider-like, over the walls and ceilings of the desecrated tombs which they inhabit. They are blindingly fast, and ferocious, and when enraged (which is whenever they sense life), let loose an unearthly squeal which causes fear in all animals.
   
   Torlakia are not slain by the touch of weapons (save for exceptions mentioned below). When cut to pieces, the pieces will crawl together to form the Torlakia anew. When stabbed, the Torlakia crawl up the spear-shaft to claw out the attacker's eyes. When sliced in two, the top half will crawl to grasp at the prey's legs. Torlakia fear the touch of fire, and of sunlight, both of which do not harm them but drive out their charnel ghosts from their bodies. They love water, which they will enter and lurk in and pollute with the foul fluids which their bodies expel in self-hatred. The Torlakia can be destroyed by the touch of wood, which burns them like acid, by their own swords, which wound them horribly with the slightest touch. But the most sure-fire way to destroy a Torlakia is to show it the corpse of it's master, which it both hates and loves, and when shown this, the grub-headed abomination will tear itself apart in turmoil, vomiting blood to expel evil from itself.

3. Undead from Ageratos

   #3

   Azhag (Tomb Guardians, Demon Shadows)
   The Azhag ('ah-ZHAHG'; from Old West-Carmanian azadg, meaning watchman, sentry), called Tomb Guardians or Demon Shadows, are the terrible Undead guardians of the tombs of the Ancient Ones. They were originally bound to the various tombs and crypts they guarded by powerful oaths and spells. Some were bound with more than oaths- their souls were chained to the gateposts of the tomb. But as the ages passed, and the Ancient Ones disappeared, many devious and unfaithful Azhag abandoned the tombs which they watched and protected and wandered away to find blood to quench the burning flames of their eternal hunger. Others, freed of their oaths, remained faithful to former masters and stayed, or were held back by chained souls, and their hunger gradually made their souls feral and wild. Thus, though ancient Azhag can sometimes be found in the wilderness, hiding in dark places, others still can be found dwelling in the dusty porticoes of the tombs of an elder race.
   The Azhag can take many forms- a tall, spare man outfitted as a watchman in ancient garb, a shaggy black hound, or a watching black owl. However, when they are enraged, or when they encounter a large threat to themself or their tomb, they reveal their true form: the Azhag have, in self-absorbed madness, not only forgotten their former lives, but all sense of what it is to be mortal. They appear as bone-thin, oily-black-skinned, rotting fanged men with a corpselike appearance. Their noses are sharply ridged. Their bellies are swollen with starvation, and instead of hair, they have thick, heavy tentacles, hanging down to the smalls of their backs. They wear no clothing in this state, and multiple unearthly sexual organs and protruding, purposeless bones emerge and recede constantly from their body as they move. Their eyes are milky green and leak a stream of gray bile, which run down trenches in their long faces. Azhag constantly hunger for blood, which is the only thing that can quench the fiery hunger of their starvation.
   Azhag are supernaturally strong and fast, despite their crumbling appearance. They are dull-witted and easily tricked, but they are likewise prone to vile tricks and have a sort of animalistic cunning. In addition to their sharp, curved nails, they can use their tentacle-hair to slap and bite foes. Their tongues can elongate to the length of two feet, and have a pair of deadly poisonous spines at the tip.
   Azhag are killed by the severing of their tentacle-hair and by the removal of their hearts. In addition, a mad Azhag confined to the tomb will crumble to dust given the news that it is freed of its oath. Azhag are burned by the touch of sunlight; it reduces the places it touches to ash.
   
   Hungry Ghosts (Bogghon, Blood Drinker)
   The Hungry Ghost (from Mysian bogghon, "one who devours") is relatively common, as Undead are. A Hungry Ghost is born when the lower soul (the animal soul of the body, containing physical urges and violences) becomes angered and, rather than descending to the Underworld, lashes out against the living, which, in its instinctive state and having dulled senses, it percieves as enemies who have "wronged" it. The animal soul can be angered in many ways- murder victims, especially those whose murders go uninvestigated or unavenged, often produce Hungry Ghosts. Those who are poorly buried or buried without proper ritual sometimes yield Blood Drinkers. But it is most often the unburied or uncremated dead (or in some cases, those who are not pleased according to local ritual) who give up their Hungry Ghosts.
   Hungry Ghosts vary in appearance depending on the person. Often, they manifest merely as an apparition of the person, though twisted and animalistic; others are more monstrous (the Hungry Ghost of King Ytath of an ancient country is a crouching evil shadow with four clawed arms). However, all Hungry Ghosts are semi-immaterial. Their touch is icy cold and often raises blood blisters or wounds on the flesh of the touched. It is dangerous to fight a Hungry Ghost, for in sustaining their touch they cause more serious wounds, and their breath is like terrible slaying ice. They consume the blood and flesh of those they slay.
   Hungry Ghosts have dull senses- they see only poorly, in shades of grey, black, and very dulled color; they hear screams, cries, and sobs very clearly, though laughter they hear not at all. They cannot feel, and when they eat they taste only ashes (some mad Hungry Ghosts consume vast amounts of food and wine in attempting to taste again). Hungry Ghosts are not harmed by bright lights, but rather, avoid it, for its brilliance overwhelms their poor vision.
   
   Crawling Ghosts (Yabuj, Brown Ghost, Lonely Beetle)
   The Crawling Ghosts (from Parsic "yabuj", "it crawls") are the loathsome, disturbing ghosts of those who die lonely and rejected, shut-ins and the forgotten. Scuttling in the places where the lone dead once inhabited, the animal soul takes on the form of a huge brown insect, a cockroach or hornless beetle, as long as a man's body and as wide as a platter, endlessly lonely and full of sadness. They are chained to the places where, in their former lives, they once frequented- Crawling Ghosts often scuttle about a single room or tiny cell. Crawling Ghosts seek out living ones to ease their loneliness, but seem unaware of how much horror and fear their presence causes. They are little appeased when, invariably, those they approach flee in terror.
   Crawling Ghosts take only one form- that of a huge brown cockroach or hornless beetle. Their snapping jaws drip a foul brown fluid, and their feet trail a similar stick substance. They smell horribly, as if they were a manifest presence of rot; this stench is often the first sign of their presence, along with trails of vaporous residue along the walls, ceiling, and floor of a room. Their eyes are small, black, and gleaming, and their antennae wave furiously when they are agitated.
   Crawling Ghosts sense very little- they can barely feel through their stiff shells, save pain and the aches of their existence. They see very poorly- beyond about 40 feet, they see very little other than a grey fog. They have no sense of smell, though it seems that they have a more acute sense of taste than Hungry Ghosts, for they relish garbage and rotten things and are repelled by fresh food. Crawling Ghosts can speak, but unless they speak very slowly and quietly, it is nearly impossible to understand them through the insectile stone-scraping squeal of their voices. Crawling Ghosts rarely sense what they have become- many attempt, at first, to go about their old routines or lives, even attempting to stand and dress despite inexplicable difficulties such as strange aches and whirling limbs where there never were any before. This makes them even lonelier, for in attempting to go about normal human existence, they cause even more horror, and become ever lonelier.
   
   Ghouls (Ghulas, Eaters of the Dead)
   Below the surface of the Earth, dwelling in darkness and forgotten catacombs, the goat-headed Ghouls, dark spirits of murder, feast on the dead. Ghouls dwell in old, forgotten places, luring others down into the grasping claws of their evil tribes. Ghouls rarely appear in the daylight, though it causes them no harm, for it serves their secretive tendencies better to be shrouded in darkness. Ghouls have their own loathsome gods, terrible, nihilistic deities who mortals have luckily forgotten.
   Ghouls are human enough in form from a distance, or in their preferred darkness, with two arms and two legs, despite a somewhat hunched stature. But when approached, the truth becomes clear. Their spatulate feet and hands are horrible splayed claws, stained a rusty-brown with dried blood. On their meaty chests, there are bloody wounds where their hearts should be. Long tufted tails hang from their backs. But their most inhuman aspect is their heads, for they have the heads of goats, with filthy, blood-crusted grey hair and curving black horns. Their red, strange-pupilled eyes represent the terrible evil of their former lives.
   Ghouls seek only to do evil, for one reason or another. Some claim ulterior motives for their vile deeds, while others refute such rationalizations. Ghouls often spin elaborate fantasies to clothe their existences in, fearing to see the truth, that they may slay themselves of it. Some ancient, powerful Ghouls have made wickedness into an existence in itself, and do not even think that they do anything different than any other being. Young Ghouls are often vilely clever, and devise elaborate means to trick mortals into their lairs or traps. Elder Ghouls, having had centuries or even millenia to gain knowledge and power, are vastly intelligent, and more sagely even than mortal sorcerors (some ill-intentioned mortals seek out these elder Ghouls for forbidden knowledge, though the price is often far too high).
   Ghouls can see in the dark, and have a taste for human flesh and blood. They use the skins and bones of their victims to create elaborate sculptures macabre and grotesque. Some Ghouls dwell in large tribes- such a life makes it easier to trick mortals by having the aid of others.

4. Remaking the Undead

   #4

   I just noticed that Torlakia and Azhag are fairly similar...
   Oh well. :)

5. Mourn Spectres

   #5

   Sometimes, when enougth people mourn a person, the spirit is unable to move on to the next world and remains trapped inside the body. The spirit is desperate to regain his or her old life and can sometimes take over the body before burial, or break out of it's grave or tomb. Unlike zombies they are fully aware at this stage, but cannot speak properly as they have started to decompose. The relitives normally panic and try and destroy the walking dead, who will fight back in self defence.
   
   In other cases they are unable to escape from their tombs and if discovered by grave robbers or people opening the tomb for some other reason,will attack with an insane rage having become crazy after a long time in the dark with the maggots.
   
   They are NOT common-someone needs a lot of people mourning him to end up in such a state, and if they kill or bite someone, that person will not become a Mourn Spectre.Unless mourned enougth of course.
   
   I plan to describe a couple of examples later.

6. Remaking the Undead

   #6

   Could golem-like creatures be included? I know that they are usually made from natural materials, and not raised from the dead. However, they do seem to fit in fairly well with this whole idea.

7. Remaking the Undead

   #7

   I had an idea many many moons ago for Elemental Undead. The air and earth versions weren't really memorable, but the two listed below I rather like.
   
   Sea Spectres These spectral Undead are the doomed souls of drowned sailors and betrayed pirates. A Sea Spectre not only reanimates itself, but raises its very ship up from the depths, somehow still sailing the waves despite rotted sails and gaping holes in the hull. The former crew is also reanimated to their former tasks, either in whatever remains of their fleshly bodies (zombies or skeletons), or in some cases as lesser-powered spectral versions of their Sea Spectre master.
   
   Flame Ghoul These Undead monsters are fast--very fast. The elemental forces of fire that course through their necromantic shells not only provides immunity to all flames, but it also dramatically increases their speed. It also increases what passes for metabolism for the Undead... making them always ever so hungry.
   
   For Midian, I've tried to add to the horror of the Undead with such variants as the trap skeletons/treasure guardians who are fueled by betrayal (and to a lesser extent, this is also true of the angkou), and the burnout zombies/todesracher whose body slowly consumes itself for power. Ghouls in Midian, incidentally, are living creatures, rather than a type of Undead.

8. The Sinners

   #8

   It is the tortured and imperfect souls who most often cannot find a clear path to the afterlife. Weighted down by sins unforgiven, sins for whose forgiveness they never ask, sins they never regretted.
   
   A Sinful Dead will be twisted by his greatest flaw after death, and if his indulgence in the cardinal sin was great enough, it will drive him to perpetuate it instead of delighting in his sleep eternal.
   
   All Sinful Dead have one in common - if the one whom they wronged most forgives them, and a priest absolves them from sin, then they may rest... though, a few especially stubborn specimens might require the forgiveness of many, or a confrontation with the evils they caused as well.
   
   The Proud Carcass
   Once lords of man and heroes great, amongst praise and flattery their virtues fell, declined, decayed.
   The higher one rises, the further one falls, and this is especially true of the Proud.
   Much unlike many other undead, the Proud Carcass will walk in shining armor and clean garb, especially careful about a perfect attire, ad it will not admit to be dead - for great heroes can escape the clutches of death, the beauty of proud damsels also lasts forever... or not?
   Even without revealing their true nature (which they deny) they can frighten the weak-willed with but a stare of their maddened eyes, for these are blazing yet cold at once, and utterly insane.
   Their drive is to prove their greatness and shatter competition - so might a dead chivalier enter a joust and challenge to the death all who seek to steal his glory, while a demised beauty might attend a beauty contest, even though her once flawless neck is slit to the spine (which she'd conceal with a scarf). Of course, as people KNOW they are dead (and their unhealed wounds and pale complexion serve as a further proof of this) they get violent quickly - the beauty escaping, and then trying to murder the competition.
   The Proud are terrible in combat, for they cannot admit defeat - again and again, they wil pul themselves together, so that they may face their adversary once more.
   A way to lay them to rest is to either totally crush their pride, or stroke their ego - thus, a hero who has risen might sleep again with a (megalomanic) monument; or, he might crumble in shame if a squire of twelve winters manages to pierce their breastplate where their rotten heart lies.
   
   The Evious Rot
   In their eyes, everyone was undeserving, and who fared better was surely flawed in character, and vile beyond mortal reckoning.
   Unable to share happiness, their malice turned against all who showed joy or success.
   In death, this brought a curse terrible and just upon them: the Evious Rot is disfigured beyond imagination - emaciated and putrescent, with eyes large like plates, and huge hooked noses, as well as fan-like ears, as to percieve slights and injustice against their person better. An unsettling aura sends children crying, and beasts seek to flee in panic. Any craft they attempt will fail horribly, and any possessions they gather will get lost or crumble.
   
   Their hatred against all who fare well is such that they will try to soil any success, ad crush joy wherever they find it - if a mother gives birth to an especialy beautiful child, they will try to strangle it at night, while when a talented musician delights his audience, the Evious Rot will creep from its hiding place and either destroy his instrument, or try to cripple his hands.
   Each Rot has a specialty field it is extremely envious about.
   
   Their fnal death can be brought about by helping their greatest adversary succeed despite their effort - something the Envious Rot will try to prevent at all costs.
   
   The Wrathful Ragers
   The Wrathful have caused great suffering with their anger, slain innocent and ruined what was good. When the cause for the wrath of the dead one still persists, he might rise; likewise, if his wrath was fiery indeed, he might simply rise because someone stepped upon his grave too loudly.
   
   

9. The Possesive Ones

   #9

   There are some men who treat their wives the way they would chattel,that is,with utter control and domination,regarding their spouses not as independent beings entitled to their free will,but as mere objects of theirs,subject to the will of their lords. Such is the nature of those doomed to become the Possessive Ones,upon their death.
   
   A Possessive One is the restless soul of a dead man who cannot bear to see his wife move and take another to be her husband upon his death. Uwilling to surrender claim over his wife or accept the fact that she is no longer with him,the anxious spirit rises from his grave in the form of a sinister black raven swollen to the monstrous size of an of an eagle or vulture. As it flies to the home it once shared with it's spouse,it utters an unearthly shrieke that drives made every male beast that in the vicinity. Bulls will bellow and charge at any who approach their cows,while the proud ram of the flock will gore any that attempt to shear the ewes he regards as his own. Even the tom cat will spit at snarl at the innocent child who draws near the tabby he considers his mate,and his alone. Thus does the Possessive One leave chaos in it's wake,as it wings it's maloveant way to the bed chamber it once shared with another.
   
   When it finally reaches those yearned for quaters,it will immediately set about trying to get the unfortunate woman to awaken,so it can proceed to make love to her. But if it sees a man asleep by her side,it plunges into an envious rage,and will rip off his testicles with it's vicious beak. Once it is done with this grisly deed,it will begin to rape the woman,until her traumatized mind finally gives out,rendering her unconscious. Even then,it will linger in the bed room,fleeing to it's grave only when the cleansing rays of the dawn intrude and drive it away. And so the pattern begins,with this hideous abomination returning every night to torment the poor woman. If nothing is done to stop this horrid thing from carrying out the pattern it has set in it's mind,the woman will grow progressively weaker as her life energies are leached out by the Possessive One,and will die ultimately.
   
   There are a few ways of putting this cursed monstrosity to rest. A priest can be summoned to lie in wait for the thing,annulling it's marriage as it enters. Upon hearing this,the horrified Possesive One will have no choiie but to accept that it's marriage is indeed over,since the words of a priest are binding,even to it. Or the harassed woman can declare in front of it that she is no longer it's wife and that as such,she no longer has any obligations to it. Finally,the creature can be dispatched by a brave warrior swinging a blade of silver,if he succeeds in striking off it's head. However,this is a very dangerous enterprise,as the Possessive One is hellishly fast on it's wings and can easily claw his eyes out of their sockets with its vicious talons that ooze deadly toxins capable of rendering a man insane or sterile.

10. Via-shaal, the Lost Healers

    #10

    Many of the Undead face this terrible fate for mistakes of their own. Dark sins, or conscience heavy for the criminal deeds they have commited, they cannot pass on and linger in this world. But some do not deserve this curse...
    
    
    The Via-shaal are ghostly creatures with great hands of delicate fingers, small stature and a face resembling the one they had in live. Whether they were studied doctors, or simple medics, even nurses, all share such a deep desperation few Living can grasp. All their life they tried to help the Living, curing them and tending to their wounds... until at some point, they cannot anymore. Whether it is a war or a plague, their patients keep dying, and however they try, they cannot hinder it. They cannot rest, and at some point, overcome by desperation and weariness, they fall asleep and die.
    
    A Lost Healer will never harm a living creature. But in their madness they try to cure any dead creature around, and they restore it with their cunning fingers, whatever their wounds... making it Undead.
    
    Lost Healers are thus accompanied by many Undead, people of all sorts, even animals, that are of course aggressive angainst the Living. And if a battle erupts, the Healer will desperately run around, beg his way through to any "wounded" or (again) dead, and return them to unlife with unnatural speed. Helping as he can, a single Healer can be a true plague of the land.
    
    To delay a Via-shaal, one can put fine medical instruments into his reach, these he will try to use, but fail as it is immaterial. It cannot be truly parleyed with, as it is not longer reasonable, and sees the world in different way. But if it is hindered to help its patients, blocked by holy symbols and other utilities, it just stop helplessly, and cry a single black tear. It is said that if a mortal touches the tear, he will die from desperation. Some Alchymists are willing to pay a fortune for such a tear.
    
    A Healer never fights, and will try to evade any combat. There is no known way of putting it to rest peacefully.

11. Remaking the Undead

    #11

    Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh! :shock:

12. Remaking the Undead

    #12

    Man, one of those would just piss me off.
    "Kill that zombie!"
    "I'm trying too!"

13. Remaking the Undead

    #13

    Soon to come...
    -The Sarks (Undead of Centas)
    -The Circoncellions
    -Rotten Stars
    -Cynocephali

14. The Nervampires

    #14

    If a person is brutally treated enough in life, it sometimes means that they will rise from their graves as a Nervampire, a vampire that feeds on emotion rather then blood and drains with it's eyes rather then it's fangs, fixing the victim with a hypnotic stare. They can take *too much* feeling and numb or indeed kill the victim, but that is rare.Normally they leave them with very damped down feelings. In the Crystal City they are supported by the authorities and encouraged to live there and to feed in moderation.
    
    Elsewhere people have varying views on them, unlike with most Undead that are just feared and hated.They can do a lot of good-a line of them can quell an angry mob, and they can ease feelings of grief. But they can do great harm as well. If one is staked, the person who staked it is caught in a rush of all the feelings the vampire has fed on, which can be enougth to drive the slayer insane.

15. Remaking the Undead

    #15

    In the royal year 451, also known as the year of Red Leaves, something strange occured. A star fell blazing from the heavens, and its passage scorched the leaves from the trees in County Ailbe, in the Midlands. Most merely uttered a word of prayer, asking a small charm of the falling star, others a warding gesture. The star cooled into a lump of a strange and porous material that had the multicolored hue of stained glass, yet the resilience and ring of iron. It was well agreed among the countyfolk that the object should be left alone until such a time as a wise man of the Imperial Wizardry could be sent to examine the object.
    
    A storm came, and the rain was hard, and struck through with brilliant lightning, and there were strange colors in the clouds. By the coming of morning, the countyfolk were quite surprised that the star had been eroded away by the rain, its mass greatly reduced, and what remained was a sloppy alkaline mess. Several jars were gathered of the strange substance, and stoppered with wax. Little more was thought of the matter, for living close to the whimsical little fae of the Green March, and the Seelie keep of
    Underfall Freehold, such odditities were little cause for alarm.
    
    It is recorded that within the span of a week, some of the countyfolk became afflicted with a strange illness. The body could hold no food, not even the smallest morsel. Anything eaten was violently expelled by forceful contractions of the stomach. The bowels suffered a similar fate, expelling themselves completely in a fit of muscular spasms. Those who lived in the vicinity of the Clergh Lake were the first affected, but by the end of the month, the majority of the county was infected by the illness. Those first affected began to show signs of decay, their skin sloughing off, and numbness in the extremities. Their hunger gnawed continually at them, and eroded their sanity.
    
    It was later discovered that the vital blood of the living could retard this decay, and large amounts of blood could reverse the decay, but only 'clean' blood. The poor folk of the county grew terribly gaunt, their ribs and hips protruding from their skin. Blood dried into a crust around their lips, and the gums blackened and drew back from their teeth, giving them a baleful countenance.
    
    Visitors and travelers who passed into County Ailbe were set upon by the hungry inhabitants who retained some of their memories, but as they decayed, their minds became more bestial. Packs of former humans scourged the county, and soon expanded beyond the county borders. These stumbling sags of skin and bone killed a large number of people who lived in smaller isolated communities and freeholds, tearing them limb from limb and gorging on their blood. It wasnt until the spring of RY 452 that the matter gained serious attention.
    
    A large pack, numbering some 19 individuals set upon a contingent of the Queen's Royal Guard. The soldiers managed to fight their way to freedom, but many were wounded and quite a few were slain by the fast and animalistic countyfolk. By now, the countyfolk showed the signs of decay, as winter had reduced the amount of prey, and had retared the decay process via the cold. They were largely nude, the sight of their rotting or grossly distended genetalia disheartened and disturbed those who saw them. Their toes were missing, fingers askew from smashing prey, and their faces were the most cruel. The cheeks had torn, as they forced the largest pieces of flesh into their mouths, giving them the wide-jawed maw of a crocodile, extending the bite to well beyond the normal for a human. Their noses were misshapped, many were bitten off in scrabbles with other of the county-folk.
    
    The Queen, horrified at the sight of a shambler, ordered the Royal Guard to take fire to the countyfolk. With sword and flame, the Queen's Guard slaughtered the countyfolk in a thorough six month long campaign that didnt end until the last of the corpses was run aground and consigned to flames. By the end of the infestation, more than 2000 Midlanders had perished, not counting the 300 or so countyfolk.
    
    Royal Viziers were unable to postulate a cause for the matter, but the fact that none of the countyfolk were alive led to the whisper of one, chilling word. Zombie.

16. Sarks: The Sark-Hound

    #16

    Most of the undead of Centas fall under the category of Sarks. Sarks are undead who are created through the use of necrotronics, the necromantic science of reanimation. Most Centasi necromancers are merely theoretical necromancers, who study necromancy simply for the knowledge; a smaller amount are oracular necromancers, who use various necromantic methods to contact the spirits of the dead for information. Sarks, however, are created by that tiny portion of necromancers who are devoted to the reanimation and use of the spirits and corpse of the deceased (sometimes called necrotronicists).
    
    The etymology of the name "Sark" is uncertain. Studious gentleman hold that the most likely explanation is that it is a corruption of the name of the ancient and evil pagan god Lord Sarku, the Lord of Worms, God of the Living Dead, whose fearful Temple of Rising from the Grave is still known as a place of horror. Others say that it is a shortening of "Sarcomani", an ancient term meaning "rotting ones", which was used in Old Kingdom texts to refer to evil things.
    
    In any case, Sarks are the creations of necrotronicists, and are pure evil. They are created almost solely to serve as killers (though there are notable exceptions; see upcoming Oracle Sark, Sark Advisor). The basic defining aspect of Sarks is the necrocolumn. This device is, essentially, a series of metal devices in the shape of a spinal cord. These are bolted onto each of the vertebrae of the selected corpse, so that large, heavy bolts protrude from every vertebrae up to the base of the skull. Copper wires are strung throughout the corpse from the necrocolumn into every extremity. When these basic procedures are done, the Sark is attached to a special frame in the labratory of the necromancer (think Frankenstein's monster), with special clamps attached to each bolt on the necrocolumn. To animate the creature, a huge elyctric charge is transferred into the necrocolumn, and thus through all of the implanted wires, activating the necrotronic energy of the body, and bringing the corpse to hideous life (think Frankenstein's monster).
    
    The most basic and well-known form of Sark (one that features in many fairy tales) is the fearful...
    
    Sark-Hound
    
    The Sark-Hound is a basic form of Sark which is created for a very specific purpose, to wit, the hunting and killing of the necromancer's enemies (in Centas, the place of the banal zombie is taken by these creatures).
    
    The preparation of the Sark-Hound is a detailed process. The first job of the necromancer is to find a corpse which is not deprived of it's musculature (fresh corpses are most preferred) and pickle it in foul sciochemical fluids which lend the Sark it's characteristic withered, mummified appearance, peeled-back gums with animalistic grimace, and grey-black skin color. The corpse is then de-sexed. The newly preserved and neutered remnant is then augmented with machinery- after the implantation of the necrocolumn and associated wiring, sections of the torso are generally banded with metal, joints and limbs which have crumbled are replaced with clockwork or metal replacements, and, typically, the left arm is replaced with a fully mechanical arm which ends in a vicious blade.
    Generally, the eyes and eye-sockets of a Sark-Hound (and the entire front of the skull sometimes) have a metal shield bolted over them. The rationale behind this is that while the eyes are very easily tricked, it is more difficult to decieve the ears and nose of the Hound, which are augmented with necromantic magic.
    
    Sark-Hounds are charged with the task of hunting down and killing the enemies of the necromancer. They serve as dark, relentless assassins, who can chase a target for centuries across entire continents. They are stealthy, tireless, and vicious in the extreme, amoral, and completely without conscience. They live to hunt and kill. They hunt by sound and smell alone, and have noses more sensitive than those of bloodhounds.
    
    Sark-Hounds are not perfect assassins; they can be decieved by sound tricks and baiting scents.
    As with all Sarks, Sark-Hounds cannot truly die until their necrocolumn has been severed or disconnected from the spine.

17. Remaking the Undead

    #17

    The Cynocephali
    
    The Cynocephali are those wretched beings who are cursed to walk the earth after death for the betrayal of those most dear to them. The gods look upon such traitors with terrible anger, and as such, those who do nothing to remedy their betrayal or offset the sin are doomed to an eternal unlife, bearing the head of a dog.
    
    A Cynocephalus is variable in stature, though they are generally slightly shorter and bulkier than they appeared in life. They have saggy, vein-filled flesh which is unnaturally snow-white, and lack all body hair, save their heads. Their hands and feet are large and flat, and have blunt, thick nails which never grow. They possess hanging, nerveless tails like those of monkeys. But the most distinctive feature of a Cynocephalus is it's head, which is that of a large and evil-looking emaciated dog, with patchy, stinking hair and glowing eyes. Cynocephali are often described as having the reek of wet ashes or sodden garbage.
    
    Cynocephali are shunned from all the places of the world, and wander the wastelands, seeking the company of those others like themselves. Some Cynocephali travel in large packs, and fall upon those who are unlucky enough to run across them. They feast on the heart's blood of those they kill, but ultimately are never sated, and constantly seek for a way to undo their former betrayals, though the gods are vengeful, and no Cynocephalus ever finds redemption.
    
    Cynocephali are wounded by great heat and fire, and the touch of jade slays them outright. They are repelled by the scent of roses, but are attracted to the reeks of garbage and filth.

18. Cool blue reason

    #18

    (This monster was inspired by a CAKE song of the same name.)
    
    Simultaneously feared and desired by mages, Cool blue reasons are the collections of negative energy and the absence of emotion. A Reason appears as a tapering worm of translucent blue-black color, nearing one foot in length at the time of creation, though through their feeding on emotion can grow to be miles long.
    
    Reasons are fully sentient, and while driven by an insatiable hunger for life, do not express any need for sustenance, which, perhaps ironically, is the reason they feed. Reasons are telepathic, and their mental "voice" is always absent of all emotion. young mages, humans in particular, are emotional, power craving beings, and are the favored targets of Cool blue reasons.
    
    The Reason feeds off emotion, making its target, while far wiser, a cold, emotionless, and most likely insane shell. A Reason openly displays its connection with it's food source, unless it feels threatened.
    
    While "higher" emotions, such as hapiness and and love are more satisfying to a Reason, "lower" emotions, anger, lust and sadness to name a few, are easier to inspire, and a cool blue reason is more likely to murder your sleeping family instead of get a job and buy that new horse for you.
    
    When confronted (or attacking your loved ones) A reason lashes out with a powerful burst of negative energy, capable of killing most humanoids instantly. A being that is incapable of emotion due to a Reason's contact that dies rises up as a Cool blue reason themselves at midnight the day the were killed unless the corpse is purified by then.

19. The Horror of Pamplemousse

    #19

    Some years ago a dark cult was founded in the Forecastle area of Hahvrensburg. The cultists were defeated by a band of heroes and their secrets and plans were laid bare to the public and destroyed, well all of them save for one. The group of friends, and the city officials never found the final resting place of the cult's victims. Well over 100 men and women had fallen into their dark grasp and had not been recovered.
    
    The bodies were hidden in the cistern beneath the cultist's lair. During the raid on the lair to save the princess, the leader of the cultists, Hoarth Mattock was thrown into the mouth of the well that lead down to the cistern. He fell a good distance, breaking several bones bouncing off of the walls on the way down. His fall was finally broken by the heap of waterlogged corpses in the cistern. The evil cultist died, but not before a well planned Contingency spell activated itself.
    
    A month after the heroes left the city and went on about their business, something came out of the earth. It was massive, easily the size of a full team of draft horses and as tall as a building. The smell of wet rot and death clung to it, and it made a horrible noise. It moved quickly, smashing those who tried to oppose it, even slaying many of the town guard and even one of the Vizier's deputies. The freshly named Death Giant was warded into the Forecastle area by means of several well placed and strong wards, but none of the sorcerers or local swordsmen were willing to try and destroy the monster.
    
    Those who were defeated by the monster were absorbed into its semi-liquid, rotting body. Their voice was added to the symphony of agony that issued from the creature constantly.
    
    What had happened was the contingency spell tried to reanimate the mage as it was designed to do. The magic coursed through his body, but the axiom of contagion was in effect, the power coursed through his body as well as into the bodies off all of the victims in the cistern. They were drug into a sort of half life as zombies filled with the pain of rot and water damage. Nearly mindless the new creature shambled up out of the ground, breaking through the floor of the cultists lair. It had no goals, it was merely attracted to the warmth of life.

20. Of the Necrosia Animensis, by Solomon Haelbergh

    #20

    Of the Necrosia Animensis
    
    “…A foul thing to beholde, the Necrosia Animensis (Dead Man’s Seede in vulgar) is like to a great budding Plante, which bears numerous and singularly repulsive Tendrils, each extending a near seven handspans and each adorned with various clinging Spines which allow the necrosia a steady graspe upon its Prey. The Bulbe of the Plante is like to that of an enormous Onion, yet bearing upon it many Pustulent Boils like to those borne by Plague-ridden Vermin … Yet the singular most Repulsive aspecte of this Plante lies not with its outward Appearance, nor yet its terrible Stench, like to that of molde and Witches’ foul herbes. This Vegetable seems to exude an intangible Aura of Fear, Loathing, and Nausea, such that even were a Gentleman within sufficient distance of the Plante yet unable to see nor smell it, still would it work its vile Charms upon the minde, forcing those near to severe Discomforte and Mental Anguish.
    
    "Yet more repulsive than the Plante's aspects of Physical and Psychological nature is the manner by which it subsists, not upon the minerals in Soil that wholesome Vegetation so cherishes, but instead upon the discarded Bodily Manifestations of those that have Departed this Plane of Existence. With utter disrespect for the Healthe of the Spirit that has so recently evacuated the Body, this heinous Plante will spread its Seede within the Hearte of the newly Deceased and there spring to Budding and Full Growthe ... whilst Expanding within its Repulsive Neste, a bizarre Phenomenon will manifest itself, as the Deceased Corpse will begin to exhibit a Heartbeat, despite a compleat lack of the necessary Spirit for such an Operation ... As the Plante springs to Maturity, its tendrils curl around the Hearte, forcing its Chambers open and shut in a twisted Mockery of honest Living Entities ... The vile thing exudes a sort of Sap, which appears to function very much like the Bloode which courses in honest Men's veins, and is forcefully Injected into the Deceased's arteries, dissolving the dried Bloode which once made use of those very Passages for the Nourishment of a Living Being ... Within days, the Plante has gained enough Control over its Hoste so as to Animate it, as is exhibited in Twitches and Jerks of dead Muscles ... After a week, the Plante is freely able to move its Hoste as it pleases ...
    
    "Yet this gruesome Animation is filled with an utter Lack of Human qualities, as the Monstrocity does not walk Upright as a Man, nor displays any of the Four Characteristics of Humanity as set down by Maensen: neither Beauty, Logic, Emotion, nor Vigor is present in its Being, as it simply shambles, barely standing, in search of Prey, which it falls upon and Murders, afterwards implanting its own hideous Strain within its victim in a repulsive manner like to that of Impregnation. It is for this reason that I greatly advise Against the keeping, breeding or further study of this most Awful Abomination, especially in the presence of Ladies and Womenfolk of a Sensitive nature.
    
    "Since the vile Plante's Deceased Hoste is not technically a Part of its Anatomy, any attemptes to Kill the Monster using regular methods is likely to prove Futile, especially that of Beheading the Creature. It seems to regarde its Head as a most Unnecessary part of its Composition, and thus as it moves its Head exhibits a frightening lacke of Expression, and lolls in a way most Unpleasant to observe.
    
    "... I can but pray to Our Champion's Holy Spirit that my exposure to such a Vile Thing has not tainted my Soul for Departure, as many Witch-practices are known to do. Despite this Creature showing no signs of Enchantments of any Dark or Unnatural persuasion, still I feel an unpleasant similarity between this repulsive Vegetable and the varied methods used in the heretical Animation of the the Dead by the accursed Witches and Warlocks whose Kind would do better to be Expunged from our Good Earthe."
    
    -Exerpt from Solomon Haelbergh's Anthology of Natural Phenomena , Guildhall Presses, Long Ford, 1879.

21. The Cyahoi

    #21

    The Cyahoi
    
    The Cyahoi are horrific undead beings created as powerful servants by the cults of the frightful Lord Sarku, flesh-eating Master of the Living Dead. They are animalistic and violent creatures whose lower, animal souls have been driven wild with spiritual starvation, and whose higher, reasoning souls are held captive in their black hearts.
    
    The creation of Cyahoi is typically a ritual entailing the mass worship and chanting of an entire congregation of Sarkukai (the faithful of Sarku). This frightful ritual involves a gathering of the congregation into one room for a long ceremony of prayer and sacrafice. At the peak of this ceremony, the high priest of the congregation extends the magic of the living dead into the gathered Sarkukai, where it seeks out and finds the priest (or priestess, though it is rare for Cyahoi to be made from the Inamoratas of Sarku) which is best suited for the making of this thing.
    Within moments, the magic tears the heart from the priest's breast and it is summoned, still beating, to the high priest's hand, to be exhibited before the congregation, who go into a wild frenzy.
    The slain priest's body, typically hemorraghing blood, is borne over the arms of the crowd and placed upon the dais before the high priest.
    All chanting ceases, and silence falls over the chamber. The high priest, with ghoulish dramaticism, holds out the heart, showing to all that it begins to blacken and bloat.
    A great wave of corruption erupts from the body of the priest, and the blackened heart in the high priest's hand slowly and then more quickly resumes beating; blood, slick and black, pours from the priest's body.
    Then, grotesquely, the body, unleashing streams of stringy, sticky blood, rises and floats drunkenly beside the high priest as the frenzied acolytes below howl and wail, leaping and orgying at the power of Sarku.
    The corpse begins to cough, hack as if it is vomiting, and then it coughs forth great masses of blood and black phleghm and bile, huge sticky gobs and masses of blackened tissue. Then, horrifically, it is coughing forth it's organs, and cracked rib bones, it is coughing forth more slick, massy blood, splattering slickly across it's body. It's bleeding eyes roll back, revealing the whites, and it's jaw opens distended and wider than humanly possible. The skin seems to shrink against the bones, making the corpse more feral and fearful to look upon.
    Finally, with a last shuddering retch which shakes it's entire frame, the corpse (it's black heart still in the high priest's hand)vomits forth it's intestinal entrails from it's throat, along with chunks of shattered bone and bile, to drape abominably from it's mouth like a curtain of grotesque bloody tentacles which waver and swirl.
    The new being begins to crawl through the air, spidering across open space as if it hangs from denser and lighter sections of vapor, drifting outward with dreamy, disjointed movements, and stepping on nothingness.
    The crowded Sarkukai reach out to it, screaming and chanting "Sarku, Sarku".
    The thing, like a petulant dog, flees back to the high priest, clutches like the alien corpse of a demon-ape at the high priest's legs, draping the ground with the spewing entrails which drag from it's distended jaw. It's whitened eyes flash, and it's face seems locked in an expression of animal rage.
    This is a Cyahoi.
    
    Cyahoi are among the most formidable of the living dead. Along with their ability to crawl through the air, and their disjointed, juddering movement which seems dimensionally-disrespectful, putting them at places where they should not be able to reach so quickly, they are as strong as five men, and loathsomely durable, their hardened, shrunken flesh like wood. Their hands are gnurled claws whose nails are vicious talons, filthy with unimaginable diseases. But it's greatest weapons are it's entrails, which extend, twist, shoot forth, crush, slap, move at the Cyahoi's command like hundreds of prehensile intestines; it can vomit forth huge quantities of foul, steaming blood from these, and translucent acid, and most fearful of all, the Cyahoi can call forth baneful presences from the Underworld, which it vomits forth from it's tentacle-intestines like missiles and detonate in a flash of howling souls.
    Cyahoi are as intelligent as wolves, in a scheming, vicious, purely-evil way. They serve the High Priests of Sarkukai congregations, who keep their black hearts separate from their bodies; a Cyahoi's heart is the key to controlling and destroying it. Cyahoi are usually used only as trump cards by the devotees of the Lord of Worms, and the Sarkukai are loth to use them needlessly- the possibility, though rare, that the Cyahoi may be destroyed after the immense expenditure of energy that created it is too risky. Thus, the Cyahoi are kept back and used against major threats, or when a huge statement must be made.
    
    The key to destroying a Cyahoi is to destroy it's heart; this is no easy thing, for the heart of a Sarku-temple's Cyahoi is generally kept within the frightful Holy of Holies where only the High-priest may go. Cyahoi who are dismembered, burned, or otherwise destroyed while their heart remains intact reform within a day.
    
    A Cyahoi is a powerful but short-lived undead being; the magic of the living dead which sustains it keeps it chained but a year and a day after it's creation, at which point, the heart crumbles to dust, the body rots at a supernatural rate, and both human and animal souls flee howling to the horror-abode of Lord Sarku.

22. Ice Ghouls

    #22

    An Ice Ghoul is the spirit of somebody who was murdered in the freezing polar zone of Urania and who's body was left uncremated and unburied in the snow and ice. Twenty hours after the death the Ice Ghoul rises. It appears as a shadow the colour of frostbitten flesh, with long icy claws and fangs. It's very touch will cause frostbite. Such Ghouls search for humans, unable to tell the difference in most cases between the one that slew them and an innocent person. They rip the bodies of those they kill apart, warm their chilled bodies with the blood and eat the organs.If those who are slain by such a creature do not recieve the proper funeral rites they too will rise as Ice Ghouls.
    
    Should they reach the warm summer zone of Urania, they are less savage, although it is unwise to provoke one, but very destructive. They gorge on fruit trees and their very presense can kill a field of corn.Weapons pass straight through them,and unless there is a glowstone hilt, the person's hand will freeze.
    
    If the dead body that used to belong to the Ice Ghoul is found and cremated upon a pyre, the Ghoul will let out a hiss of pleasure and vanish to whereever souls end up.

23. The Corpse Eater

    #23

    In the strict caste based society of the mystical sub-continent of Valur,belief in re-incarnation is powerful and the concept of ''dah'', or the actions of one's previous life having far reaching consequences for the present one,holds powerful sway. Thus,does one receive great punishment or reward in his next life,depending on the actions of his current existence.
    
    And for one hailing from the elevated king-priest cast thato commits an unforgivable crime such as the killing of the sacred ox or the desecration of the holy scriptures,terrible indeed is his punishment. For him,there will be a cruel and sinister twist to the typical cycle of birth and rebirth.
    
    Two months following his inevitable demise,he rises from the grave as a Corpse Eater,a dreadful pallid thing that resembles nothing so much as a skeletal mockery of the human figure. Naked and utterly devoid of hair,this wretched thing is extremely emaciated with its bones streching out clearly against its parchment brittle skin. No eyes does it possess,with only twin slit like nostrils and a large slack maw filled with hundreds of shredding yellow fangs visible on its face. But this minor handicap does not thwart it from performing its functions.
    
    In charnel grounds heaped with massive numbers on unclaimed corpses,the Corpse Eater performs a vital task by feeding on them and stripping them of their flesh with its hungry jaws,thereby performing a very important task. It is a most lowly assignment in the scale of duties,one that not even the lowliest castes will perform, for getting rid of human corpses is regarded as rendering one unclean. Thus,the former son of the noblest caste in existence,is now compelled to do a task that no human will touch.
    
    But it is more than a mere cleaner of the grounds of the deceased. The unwanted dead are not all it has too feed on. On occasions,the Corpse Eater does find itself given the chance to relish the taste of live meat simply bursting with the nectar of fresh blood,when grave robbers make the fatal mistake of looting the grand mausoleums of important men that lie in its domain. Seemingly appearing from nowhere out of the night,it will pounce upon the stunned men as they hunch over their grim work,and begin to claw the skin of their backs with its wickedly curved yellow nails. Slowly it slays its victim,peeling off his skin with the utmost patience even as he screams in agony for the release of death. Taking its time,it will see to it that his torment goes for as long as it can before he finally succumbs to the release of death. Only then does it begin to lick the copious amount of blood oozing out of his freshly flayed corpse.
    
    Attempts to slay it are fraught with peril. Any wound inflicted on its pale hide,will issues forth a jet of putrid green liquid reeking of puss and rot,that burns the skin right off a man.When this happens,the toxic blood of the Corpse Eater will then seep into his bloodstream where it will poison him to death within a few moments.

24. Remaking the Undead

    #24

    The Penitents of Vaaski
    "He was a Savior."
    "No, he was a Madman.
    "A Saint."
    "A Monster."
    "A Criminal."
    
    Half a Century after his death, Vaaski remains an enigma. The details of his early life are sketchy- he kept many secrets. What is known is that he first appeared around sixty years ago, an itinerant preacher travelling from town to town, talking of a strange god. He promised a paradise after death for those who were sinless, and a means of forgiveness for those who weren't.
    
    Over the next decade, Vaaski grew in power and influence as his ministry recruited countless followers. He could heal with a touch, the rumors said, and he could purify even the most horrible of sins. The sick, the lost, the criminal flocked to him, looking for help. And, by and large, he gave it to them. Not without price, of course, for he claimed that a.) worldly goods were sinful, and b.) saving the ungodly wasn't cheap. Still, he found people willing to give up everything they had to follow him, and he was more than happy to oblige. They became his closest disciples.
    
    According to Vaaski, worldly sins could be purified, cleansed from the soul by suffering (Vaaski's sins, if he had committed any, were apparently long-forgiven, and he displayed a marked preference for fine food and luxuries) and Vaaski's followers would frequently be seen going around in sackcloths, sleeping in the streets, and even mutilating themselves as penance. As some of his followers died, however, it became apparent that even this was not enough, for Vaaski, through some strange magic, was calling them back from the dead. They remained conscious, even retained some hint of their previous personalities, but they were lifeless, dull, uninteresting. Vaaski used them as servants.
    
    A decade after he first appeared, Vaaski was at the height of his power. His followers numbered in the thousands, including several high-placed politicians; he had grown wealthy off of donations and, some claimed, elaborate tax dodges, and he owned a vast and luxurious villa, tended by throngs of his followers.
    
    The local government, on the other hand, saw it differently. Here was a charismatic leader preaching a bizarre new religion; his followers were a public nuisance; he was trying to sneak tendrils of influence into the highest levels of government; and, worst of all, he seemed to be recruiting an undead army. Vaaski, they decided, was dangerous.
    
    In the dead of night, soldiers broke into the villa and killed Vaaski and his lieutenants in their beds. When Vaaski spectacularly failed to resurrect himself, the cult slowly began to fall apart until only the undead, still performing elaborate and somewhat ridiculous rituals, remain in the decrepit, overgrown Villa.
    
    Those who visit will find the penitents to be harmless, if somewhat delusional; They are flat and uninteresting, but absurdly hopeful about their paradise to come. Although they have some knowledge of Vaaski's ultimate fate, they lack the depth of personality for disillusionment. Their bodies are slowly decaying as the magic of Vaaski wears off. and some of them have already 'died'- their bodies litter the hallways of the villa in various states of decay. Most of the others believe them to have finished their penance.

25. Remaking the Undead

    #25

    Excerpt from a moldy, rotting journal perhaps fiteen hundred years old, found in an unnamed tomb.
    
    

    
    
    Day 7. Tomb entrance opened --
    After seeing the stone slab collapse from our digging and prying, the feeling that all our hard work has paid off hit me head on. Finally, after months of preparation we are in! We set camp outside for tonight, and will send our first team in at dawn.
    
    Day 8. Tomb structure --
    Amazing! I went in partway with the first team today. We breached two more lesser doors into empty rooms before I left to record this in my journal. The architecture of this place is unequaled! I cannot seem to find similarities to any ancient cultures however, it's completely unique. The designs are intricate and the room structures seem to defy logic - I can barely understand how the rooms do not collapse in on themselves. Well, even with this superior architecture, it hasn't stopped thousands of years of disuse making it dusty and dank. The place has the smell of death about it. I will await the teams return for their report on what they find in there.
    
    Nothing --
    Dusk approaches and there is no sign of the team we sent in to study these tombs. I have decided to enter with Crawlins to see if we can find out what is taking them all so long. Our excitement from opening this tomb has faded from me, and I can't help but feel a bit uneasy - I'm not the only one. Everyone in camp seems to be looking over their shoulders this afternoon. I have no explanation as to why we all feel so sombre. Still - time to move on.
    
    Day 9. Team still missing --
    Crawlins' and I found no evidence of the missing team, and we searched the entire tomb: It isn't nearly as large as we first imagined. There seems to be only eight chambers with two corridoors connecting them. In the seventh chamber, we did find a fair sized crack in the wall, perhaps large enough for a man to squeeze through. It seemed to slope downwards, and there was a steady breeze coming from out of it, which smelled musty and moist - almost swamp-like. Myself and Crawlins will see if we can squeeze through there later today.
    
    Strange occurances. Horrifying discoveries --
    Where to begin? Crawlins and I made our way into the tomb once again. Before we even reached the third chamber I thought I heard footsteps coming from it. In the darkness of the tomb I thought I saw a shadow moving through the door. I moved to the chamber and stared in, but strangely saw nothing - Chamber three is bare, and there's only one entrance to it. I was ready to dismiss it as my imagination before I saw Crawlins' face filled with bewilderment as well - He had heard and seen it too. Still, we moved on. We were readying to enter the seventh chamber when I heard a faint whisper coming from the eighth. It sounded very much like the voice of Kalin - one of the members of the first team. I raced to the eighth chamber and searched but once more I found nothing. I was sure I could still hear her voice though, distant and almost drowned by the emptiness. It seemed to have an urgent tinge to it, but I couldn't make out the words. This time, Crawlins did not hear what I did.
    Unsettled, but determined to find the team, we entered the seventh chamber. Torch burning in front of me, I pushed my way into that crevice first, letting Crawlins take the rear. The crack wasn't too long before it widened out - perhaps ten yards - but it was awkward to squeeze through. On the other side of the crack was a small cavern, perhaps eight by ten yards. The walls were hard rock and the cave led nowhere - just this empty room. After a quick, uneventful search we turned to squeeze back through the crack and saw on the wall that the crack was on, A line of ancient runic writing split in the center by our route in and out of this cave. Abruptly, the flame of my torch began to flicker, then fade out completely.
    Absolute silence reigned for what felt an eternity, and in that silence and darkness, I was completely and utterly alone. After several millenia - or several seconds - A faint whisper broke the spell of non-existance which had tidalwaved over me. "Leave this place..." The dead torch in my hand flickered into life for a second before dying once more - and in that second I saw the entirety of the team we had sent into the tomb, surrounding us and all silently urging us to flee as quickly as we could manage. I saw two images of them in the one place - I saw them as completely healthy people; the people who I had been with for years. And at the same time, I saw what had become of them. I saw blood. I saw eyes violently torn out of their own sockets by their own hands so they didn't have to see what was happening to their team members. I saw flesh rendered from bone, organs separated from bodies, limbs torn in unnatural positions. And in that one second, I felt the reflection of all the agony which had become of our exploration team. My torch suddenly burst violently alight once more.
    Alone with Crawlins in the cavern once again, I fell to my knees and vomited. It was apparant that Crawlins didn't have the same vision as I, but he could sense my terror and urgency to leave. We pushed our way through the crack once more and ran out of the seventh chamber. without slowing to think of our own safety, we bolted down the corridoor towards the entrance. Crawlins was a couple of meters ahead of me.
    Just before we passed the entrance to the third chamber - the one where we heard the footsteps earlier - time seemed to slow to a crawl. A sense of indescribable danger emenated from that chamber, and as Crawlins passed in front of it a BURST of power slammed through that door. It moved so fast! - so quickly that it was difficult to track its movement at all, something surged into Crawlins. In a heartbeat my friend was crushed against the wall of the corridoor. I could hear his skull snapping against that stone with the pressure of the beast upon him. Foolishly, I stumbled to a pause for a second, turning back with the thoughts of helping Crawlins. I saw that I was already too late, and what I saw will stay with me long after I have entered the grave. It was not a huge beast, but it was clear that it was coursing with an unholy power. Its face was not unlike a skinned human head - it's muscles and flesh open for all to see - blood still fresh and moist. It had no lower jaw, however, and the teeth on it were long and sharp. Where its eyes should be was eternal blackness in twin caverns - at the very center of those sockets pale, white pinpricks of light emenated. The rest of its body was similarly skinned, its movements causing the occasional splatter of seemingly endless blood to drop to the floor. It was naked, though it had no genetalia, and its fingertips ended in sharp, bony protusions like claws. I watched for an instant as it easily tore apart the already lifeless body of Crawlins - as it shredded the cadaver it sunk its sharpened upper teeth into flesh, feasting. blood and entrails now covered half the hall, and I turned and ran once again.
    
    All dead --
    Why I still live, I do not know. I entered camp to find all our team gone without trace - everything was still in place as it should have been but nobody was there. I was waiting in camp for my inevitable death, but the creature never left the tomb to come after me. A horrid, wilting screech did emenate from it though, the sound overwhelming me with dread - it must have been the beast within. It sounded as though it were feeling a thousand years of agony administered in a heartbeat.
    My theory is that this tomb was a prison for this creature, and the runes in that cave was some magical ward which entombed it. The force of our excavating must have caused that crack which broke through those runes, negating the enchantment and setting whatever this thing is free.
    I feel that I should return to that tomb - I will not be able to live with the nightmares for a lifetime, so I may as well end it looking for some way that I could lock this creature away once again.
    
    
    

    
    
    Forget the rickety, fragile skeletons. Remove all thoughts of the limping, weak zombies. Shrug off thoughts of blood-dependant vampires. Whereas the former are reflections of necromatic magic, the Mogrolyth is a creation derived from the pure essence of unholy power - namely pain. Originally used as a method of ultimate punishment for the worst of crimes, the process of creating this creature of death is gruesome indeed. It involves the surgical removal of all skin. Salt is applied to the exposed flesh of the victim to amplify pain. Eyelids are surgically removed and the eyes are deflated by the lengthwise slicing of the eye across the lens. All nails are plucked off, and the lower jaw is snipped away from the head, discarded. Death occasionally takes as long as three hours.
    After several years of using this form of punishment and torture for crimes, the ancient race which used it perfected the technique to the point that the victim reaches the pinnacle of pain. One such victim ended up pushing themselves through that height, breaking the barrier of agony and found on that other side a well of unimaginable power. He too died, his corpse left in a tomb made for the burial of the people who have suffered this torture. However - he did not stay dead. A day after his burial White pinpricks of light flamed into life behind the sockets and of his ruined eyes. Teeth lengthened and sharpened into claws and the dried flesh and muscle began to moisten again, running crimson with blood. The once dead form of this tortured soul dug its way out of its grave, it sought to give all living biengs a taste of what its very bieng was - Pain.
    The ancient race soon determined that the creation of this creature was due to the punishment they put on criminals and as such they have ceased such torture. It is thought that the amount of Mogrolyths existent is a single digit - less than 10 in the world.
    
    The Mogrolyth, spawned by a pain which refuses to allow them to die, will not ever age. Its strength and speed - fueled by emotions far more intense than any human could ever hope to grasp hold of - is unparalleled and if by some strange quirk of fate a human manages to fell one of these creatures, it will only stay dead for a matter of days before arising once more. Though its life can temporarily be snuffed out by the crushing of its heart, the Mogrolyth - bound by pain to the world - will never stay dead. As such, it can be said that the Mogrolyth is the only truly immortal creature in the world. The mogrolyth cannot be dismembered, - any object is able to pierce through the flesh, but the bone cannot be shattered or cut.
    
    Every life this aberration takes is completely devoured. No trace of blood or bone remains, and even the soul is consumed, leaving it tied to the creature. People who are in the same area as this monstrosity will sometimes be able to see images of people long dead - as the souls captured attempt to make contact with anyone around to warn them of the danger they are in.
    Finally: Though the Mogrolyth is one who desires suffering to be brought upon others, it does not actively seek out and hunt prey. As such, if one is able to slay the beast and get far enough away, there is little chance of it wishing to hunt its attacker once it is revived.

26. The Few

    #26

    Back in the distant past, there were great rulers of old who were buried in great barrows with everything they needed for the next life-including people to serve and guard them in the afterlife.Most of these people were dragged screaming to their doom, but the most popular of these rulers had a few people who volunteered of their own free will to die in such a fashion and turned down the chance to live on.
    
    The Few appear as glowing spectres of how they looked in life,and carry spectral but very physical swords.Most weapons pass straight through them,except for the spectre-swords,which can be blocked.Most magic will bounce-back upon the caster three times stronger then when it was cast.
    A weapon that has been blessed by the ruling king or queen, or by an arch-bishop/priest/head of the ruling church in the region, can banish these back to the Otherworld.Leading theologions and spiritulists have suggested that the Few spend their time in a sort of Heaven,serving their ruler happily, and only appear in the tomb when it is broken into. A spellcaster with a blessing from the Upright Soceity of Civic Mages will find his spells have a limited effect on the Few.
    
    They will not leave their barrows and will vanish once the threat has gone.Unlike many Undead they are only terrifying to grave-robbers, plus those very few with a legitimate reason for entering their tombs.

27. Mylings

    #27

    The spirits of murdered children, Mylings haunt lonely roadways late at night, waiting for weary and sympathetic travellers to come along. They feign innocence, crying for help from anyone who comes across them. Few are able to resist helping an abandoned child in the wilderness, especially one so adorable.
    
    This is exactly what the myling is counting on. It will remain behind the traveller, either piggy-backed or wandering a little ways away. As they travel, it will slowly begin to grow larger and less human, its teeth sharpening, its voice becoming raspier and growling, before finally becoming a hideous, almost tumorous monster, somewhere between fetus and shark and ogre. It will pounce upon the traveller, crushing and consuming them entirely.
    
    
    Defense
    Mylings are filled with a great amount of anger and pain, more traumatised than evil. They resemble, more than anything, the abused children that they are. Still, they are extremely powerful, and an enraged Myling is not to be underestimated. In theory, they can be vanquished by taking them to sacred ground and giving them a proper burial, sending their damaged souls to the comfort of whatever afterlife awaits them. They are seldom encountered close enough to sacred ground (or, indeed, recognized as mylings soon enough) to make this feasible.
    
    
    Incidentally, these are actual creatures from Scandinavian Mythology

28. Souless

    #28

    While I do not see these as a huge remake, but more of a reason behind their exsistance.
    
    Souless
    The Souless, also known to some as Vampyres, are previous clerics of other deities (priests of good religions) who have flocked to the call of Sethalis and have chosen to forsake their previous duties and follow Him unerringly. Whether Sethalis came to them, or they began searching for Him, the end result was a deal that took a portion of their soul and left them with powers they had never wielded before. High priests of Sethalis are required to hand over their mortal life to Him and are often pleased to loose their mortality and become one of the Chosen.
    
    Countless priests who have failed in their faith have flocked to His calling and taken the step over to the chaos of the unliving. They are no longer alive and have taken blood pacts from Him that has sealed their fate. This blood pact has given them the thirst for what they do not have, living blood. The dust of ages run through their veins, but for a single instance, when they drain a mortal of their lives blood they feel the beat of the world again in such a manner that they could never have known in their mortal life. This gives them their drive and purpose, to answer the whims and calls of their God and to rise in power and claw their way up the ladder of immortality.
    
    They look as they did in life yet twisted and torn. Their faces show no signs of laughter, no signs of remorse. A cold anger has formed their visage into a cruel twist of irony as they have changed their vestments into those of their new religion. Many tales have formed over these abominable fallen priests. Tales of them being burned by the sun's rays from the Gods anger of the early priests who flocked to Sethalis's call. The twin son Gods casting punishment on their turned priests forever cursing them to walk in the dark of night away from their view. Silver and holy water tends to hurt them deeply and does not allow them to heal. This folklore has never been proven to be true.
    
    The tales of running water halting their passage was found to be false when honored Kiaen Calin held his ground across a running stream. The Souless he was trying to dispatch had been one of his teachers in the church of Aduivo. Kiaen was shocked when this abomination walked through the water only to drain him of his life’s blood, all the while apologizing for his failure.
    
    Their bite is probably the most feared attack that the Souless has. While it may only do minimal damage there is a small chance that those bitten will contract a disease and become one of the Damned, under the full control of the Souless. This bite is two fold. One is it has the ability to turn the bitten into the Damned as stated, but it also drains the Stamina (Health) from the target and adds it to the Stamina (Health) of the Souless, repairing any injuries they may have.
    
    Their gaze is a powerful mental attack that can temporarily control those who succumb for a limited time. Actions that will cause harm to themselves will usually get a chance to resist, but the chance is small. The Souless picks the gaze of a target and literally attacks their mind. The target must mentally fight off this mental intrusion. Those who fail will be under the control of the Souless for five minutes.
    
    The Damned are no more then husks of their former mortal life. Turned servent to the Souless, they mentally cry for their condition yet outwardly appear pleased to obey their undead masters. Their body's cease to grow and age, yet the rate of decay is slowed to a point where they last for years beyond what a normal corpse could withstand.

29. Remaking the Undead

    #29

    While I think that these are all great Ideas, I am not sure that they make the undead scarier or more feared. The question is not what new undead can we create to make them scarier as a whole, but why are the existing models passed over.
    
    I think that one of the fundimental reasons is the whole Resident Evil scenario where masses of undead approach a single person as slow as they possibly can, giving that person all the time in the world to kill them all with a single shot pistol.
    
    I think that the answer is to make the undead more dangerous and more deadly.
    
    Imagine that you are a fighter (I use fighters as the general character class) walking through a deep tomb in search for gold.
    
    "You see a pair of red eyes peer at you from the darkness. Suddenly out of the darkness those red eyes turn into a man rushing out at you at full speed. You draw your sword and shield just before he reaches you, and you find your shield as the only barrier separating you from him.
    
    You plunge your sword into him, dealing a mortal blow, but only then do you realize what he truly is. Not a he, but an it. The living dead, the souls of those who were rejected by Hell itself, and Hell is looking straight at you from those glowing, eyeless sockets.
    
    With an animal fury the creature lunges foreward, pushing your shield to the side and clenching its hands around your throat, cutting off your oxygen. Pulling those hands away is only a secondary priority to holding back those blood stained teeth, that with a single touch could render your very soul bound to wander the world forever.
    
    You struggle with the creature. It has animal intensity and an inhuman strength as the two of you slam into the dirt walls and knock jars and pots askew. Your blows do nothing to slow the creature's stamina, and you are losing strength from the lack of breath in your lungs. With a surge of adrenaline you smash the creature into the wall with all of your strength. Its face does not register the ribs that just shattered under the force of your blow, but you have achieved the leverage that you need.
    
    You grab the creature's head and with all of your strength smash it down into the top of a stone coffin. Breath fills your lungs as its hands are torn from your neck, but you dare not stop. You smash its head into the lid of the coffin again and again in a primal need to survive until there is nothing but a shattered mess left of the creatures head.
    
    Dropping the corpse to the ground, you breath in sweet life, allowing it to fill your lungs. You reach down with your hand covered in blood and goo, and lift your sword, still recovering your breath.
    
    As you look up from your weapon, three sets of glowing red eyes peer at you from the darkness."
    
    Now, correct me if I am wrong, but I thought that that was pretty intense. If every undead creature was like that, I think that people would have a much better respect for them.
    
    -Nobody

30. Remaking the Undead

    #30

    Abolutely Nobody. But how do you define THAT in a description. That isn't a description of a creatures but an excerpt from a story. That would be very ood to add into the description as it were for fuel and fury... but making a descript based off of a story doesn't have full merits I'm thinking. But that is just me.

31. Remaking the Undead

    #31

    Yes, you are right, I did give you an excerpt from a story, but the reason why I put that out there like that was because I wanted to show that the classic undead Zombie could be a whole lot more than what people give it credit for.
    
    And in rebuttal, I would describe a Zombie exactly as such to a player in a campaign, as if the player were experiencing it themselves. However, keep in mind that I did not really post this as a classic description. That Zombie description does not have the same merit as the others posted here so far, I agree. My post is more of a side note on the general thread theme, but I think that it is one sorely needed.
    
    The point is, is that new undead aren't needed to bring the whole frightening undead concept back from the grave, if we only do a better job of portraying the old ones there will be plenty of respect for these terrors of the night. Maybe even more pertinent however, it is not sufficient to create a whole slew of new undead if you fail to present them as the terrifying masterpieces that they are.
    
    

    So why do we not fear the undead? Why do the heroes of our favorite games not flee in horror from the shambling zombie? Why do pale corpse-lords who thirst for blood not inspire shaking terrors from adventurers who come to steal their treasure? -Captain Penguin

    
    
    
    Good question
    
    I hope that I have contributed in some way. I realize that most of you are veterans, and probably already know and implement most of this stuff, but I felt that this aspect needed emphasis.
    
    -Nobody

32. Remaking the Undead

    #32

    The Pestilent
    
    These abominations arise from the ritual practices of an old kingdom, which preferred to trap the tombs of their nobles by trapping a few peasants in the tomb with disease-tainted food and water. While most of the peasants resigned themselves to slowly dying of starvation, one would usually be desperate enough to escape that they eat the food to prolong their lives - and in so doing become infected, spreading the disease to the others. Only once the symptoms begin to manifest - usually horrific symptoms of the worst sort, with living flesh rotting away as the plague kills it - do the victims realize the true horror they're destined for - not just as unwilling guardians of a spiritual sort, but as the very real and horrific bearers of another, deadlier sort of protection.
    
    After life has ended, however, the torture rarely ends - instead, having gone through despair and grief into the white-hot hatred on the far side, the spirits of the peasants remain in their flesh, driven by the need for vengeance upon those who did this to them. This part, unexpected by the wizards and priests who designed the tombs, has given the tombs of this lost kingdom a terrible reputation.
    
    The monstrosity that results from this practice is a loathsome thing, vaguely humanoid in shape, covered in festering, repulsively rotted flesh that reeks with a stench powerful enough to nauseate most anyone. The fingertips are bone, worn down to brutally sharp points over years of scraping at the walls trying to find freedom, and the whole is clad in filthy, stained rags - all that remains of the clothing once worn, now soiled by the oozing secretions of the still-diseased flesh. Many adventurers finbd them deadly and loathsome without ever learning of the true horror of these undead, however: the disease that killed them still remains, transmuted into the same kind of unholy unlife as the peasants themselves. Those who survive encounters with the Pestilent will find themselves falling ill in a matter of days, the undead plague necrotizing their flesh until they begin to resemble a Pestilent themselves. Eventually, they die, and some - those who raged the most fiercely at those who could not heal them - will rise as a Pestilent themselves.
    
    The undead plague is highly resistant to all forms of magical cures, with a large number of tiny undead motes in one place infusing the victim with such negative energy that the power of the gods can only slay a tiny section at a time. Arcane cures are just as bad, the energy being absorbed by the plague to fuel it to faster ravages. The only cure for it is an infusion made from holy water created by a priest of a nature god (a druid, mayhap), distilled sunlight, and powdered sunstone. The victim will be cured of the disease, but the effects remain - often horribly scarring the victim for life.

33. Remaking the Undead

    #33

    While I think that these are all great Ideas, I am not sure that they make the undead scarier or more feared. The question is not what new undead can we create to make them scarier as a whole, but why are the existing models passed over.
    
    I think that one of the fundimental reasons is the whole Resident Evil scenario where masses of undead approach a single person as slow as they possibly can, giving that person all the time in the world to kill them all with a single shot pistol.
    
    I think that the answer is to make the undead more dangerous and more deadly.
    

    
    
    I agree with you, Nobody - in that the undead should be seen as more of a threat, which is what I tried to do with my post. Instead of a slow, limping, cannon-fodder zombie, the undead should be intense. They should have a raw power and urge to inflict pain caused by their own suffering.
    However, the reason I think we SHOULD overlook the existing models is because everyone is simply used to them. they don't have the same shock they used to because we know what they are.

34. Remaking the Undead

    #34

    Personally, I see merit in both points...
    My original intention was actually to provide "revamps" for the good old undead we all know and love- the zombie, the vampire, the skeleton. Must have forgotten. ;)
    I'm going to be a hypocrite (because I've already created some new undead) and say that I think, perhaps, that creating a billion new types of undead is simply expanding the problem. Because if the more undead there are, and the more common they are, the less interesting, scary, and unique they are.

35. Remaking the Undead

    #35

    There is a certain thing that makes the undead scary. It really isn't the fact that they cause level drain, smell really bad and are just generally gruesome to look at. It is the fact that the undead are US.
    
    When the heroes face the band of zombies, they might recognize some people they knew before death. The barkeep who let them slide when the gold was a little thinner than their tab, or the kindly old woman who once thanked them with an apple pie? Okay, so that's a little thick, but I hope it conveys the point.
    
    You can take the undead and mutate them, and graft things onto them, and give them funky names, but you cannot escape the fact that the undead were at one point living. They had lives and families and if they ever interacted with the PCs there is that background to fall on.
    
    For an imagination excercise, think of the nicest person you know. Maybe your mother, or an aunt, or the nice lady at church who fixes the really god mac'n'cheese at the pot-puck lunch. Got the person in mind?
    
    No really, think about this one.
    
    Now this person is dead.
    
    That should be a good jab in the gut for most of you who really did imagine that person I asked you to. No more mommy hugs, or auntie cheek pinches with the fat cash in the birthday card, no more pasta on sunday.
    
    Now, prop them up, let them rot. Their skin is going to swell and discolor. They are going to smell.
    
    Did you know that the pancreas will digest itself after death?
    
    Think about all of the stomach acid that isn't being controlled by the lining of the digestive system.
    
    It paints an ugly picture. And we still havent ventured into life beyond death.
    
    Now they are hungry, they will desire the blood and the flesh of the living. Grandma will kill you to get at the moist meaty goodness inside your skull. The sweet girl who gave you your first kiss would rather eat your liver raw.
    
    You know what? Despite the fact that it is a blood thirsty zombie...this person is still going to be fairly recognizable.
    
    Sleep tight.

36. Remaking the Undead

    #36

    I think this is particularly relevant on this most awesome of days... Hallowe'en.

37. Remaking the Undead

    #37

    Scras, that’s sick – true, but sick

38. Remaking the Undead

    #38

    The one thing I have done to my undead on Hewdamia is give them a reason for being undead.
    
    The most classic of fantasy games our currently have undead laced full, for no real reason at all. Oh, the exception is the really bad necromancer who has a thing for dead flesh. Did any DM ever think what a smell that would make to have an entire castle protected by undead because a sick twisted necromancer thinks using dead bodies is worth it.
    
    Now, I took these undead and thought why are they here? The vampires... what would be a good reason why a living person would become a vampire. Birthing to much of a cliche'. I went with the Gods favor. Not a curse mind you (not 100% anyway.) So a good priest abandons their god of good and seeks the dark. Why not make them cursed, yet give them power at the same time?
    
    Wraiths, goules, zombies... all by products of the undead. They can not be made by necromancers, by evil priests in dark covens. Although they can help the transition. It is due to the undead, being undead. They can spread their cause like a germ. They infect others and in turn they become that which people are afraid to think about at night.
    
    Now think of it like a pyramid effect. You have the higher undead. Those turned by the gods for turning their backs on their religion. They in turn can create servents, which have different capabilities. My Souless (vampires) can create wraiths, wraiths can create servents of their own, the next step down. Its a all a top down effect that I think gives a perfect reason why they exist and why they are powerful.
    
    The undead answer to know one other then themselves. They are intelligent, they are cunning, crafty, and scary.
    
    Thats my view. I am in no way saying anyone is wrong. I enjoy reading different ideas from everyone, even if they don't pertain to me they might get the creativity flowing. Anyone who puts forth any effort to create, define, or detail is worth the time to applaud.

39. Re: Remaking the Undead

    #39

    
    Yes, you are right, I did give you an excerpt from a story, but the reason why I put that out there like that was because I wanted to show that the classic undead Zombie could be a whole lot more than what people give it credit for.
    
    So why do we not fear the undead? Why do the heroes of our favorite games not flee in horror from the shambling zombie? Why do pale corpse-lords who thirst for blood not inspire shaking terrors from adventurers who come to steal their treasure? -Captain Penguin

    
    
    
    I agree, yes I know I am bringing this back into rotation. Someone make a scroll out of it.
    
    The last time I gamed with my players was a few weeks ago. They were charged with finding the source of a wasting desease that a large town was afflicted by. To make a long story short, the town had recently within the past few months nearly destroyed an entire tribe of Obak'e. (What you would call orcs) In retaliation the shaman secluded himself and the rest of the tribe in a nearby mine complex and asked their god for a divine curse to pay their aggressors back in kind. The problem is, the people who died from it, both Obak'e and human, rose up as undead as a result.
    
    So in enters party. Tracking down the source of the desease they enter the mines and run into light resistance and filtering shadows in their field of vision they can not make out as their torches only go so far. They come to a central room in the mine, a staging point for ore. Originally a large vien was unearthed, then it was used for hauling the ore out of the mine. A pile of bodies littered the floor both Obak'e and human. A cursory look revealed them all dead. But as the last member walks by they spy movement.
    
    "One is still alive!" They cry out. "Be still we will get you out."
    The party not involved in excavating the moving body sees more begin to move, then one moves into view and shows they have half a head. "Damn get out of here!" One crys and runs deeper into the mines as their path out was right through the moving mound of undeath.
    
    The undead move slow, which the players think is typical and they outdistance them easily. They come to the source of the problem and end up defeating the shaman, but the curse does not immediately go away. The only entereance into the room they can see and hear the undead following their smell, so they do what any normal experienced group will do. They 2 x 2 in front of the enteranace to the room. They throw torches down the hall and behind them and see the undead slowly walking towrad them about 20 feet away. When they get within 15 feet, I describe their movement as, "Their slow ungainly steps immediately become determined and a busrt of speed erupts from their lifeless legs as they rush the last few feet to you, closing the distance in mear seconds."
    
    The first two were forced to make a check to stay on their feet which one failed and they were taken out of the passage allowing roughly 15 of the undead to swarm them. All I remember hearing at first was a whispered, "Can they do that?" Then a "OMG WTF WAS THAT!?!"
    
    So yes I agree it is all in presentation, but you can describe a race or creature as you would a story. You can add a snipit of a story to it but nothing as drawn out as that. It would take up to much space.
    
    Sorry that was a longer short story than I had intended.

40. Re: Remaking the Undead *

    #40

    Can we move this one back to the Catacombs?  I move all of these (that the authors wanted moved anyways) to the Citadel.  I left it in the Catacombs because I thought the the things people did not want to move (or didn't want to move themselves) wouold be useful.

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