Rising from the Grave

by Lars Strobaek

The Risen are wraiths who have mastered the ultimate art of crossing the Shroud, and have reclaimed their earthly bodies. The art of Rising is a closely guarded secret of the Guild of Puppeteers, and the Hierarchy tries to stamp out all rumors of its existence. But the rumors persist, and there will always be wraiths who are willing to pay any price to once again walk in the lands of the living.

The ‘walking corpse’, or zombie, is a gruesome idea, and one that suits the horror of the World of Darkness. I, however, do not much care for most of the rules in the book about the Risen, and so have changed them as I saw fit for my own use. All the needed rules are collected here, with additions and alterations by yours truly.

– Rules –
The first and most important part of becoming Risen is that both the Psyche and Shadow must agree to the transition. Without this pact, the Psyche cannot make the final step and must limit himself to standard Puppetry or Embody. However, the Shadow Rises separately from the Psyche. It is still able to manipulate and influence the Psyche, which is inhabiting its old body, but instead of being a part of that body it takes up residence in one of the Psyche’s Fetters – the Conduit. The strenuous relationship between this object (or creature) and the Risen is the source of much of the energy that allows the dead to walk among the living. For every hour the Risen has no physical contact with his conduit he loses one Pathos. As long as the Risen has no line of sight to his conduit, he cannot regain Pathos.

The other requirements are that the former body of the wraith must be reasonably intact – the shriveled remains of the heart and brain must exist in the Skinlands. Finally, the Risen-to-be must possess at least the first level of Puppetry, as he must Skinride his body in order to claim it.

– Risen and Pathos –
The driving force behind the Risen is their burning desire. The energy derived from that desire, Pathos, is what keeps their dead bodies animated and relatively lifelike. As you can imagine, this requires tremendous effort on the part of the restless spirit.

The walking dead gain Pathos in the same way as wraiths, when experiencing their core Passions. But they need it more desperately than wraiths do, for it is what keeps their dead bodies from decomposing. When a wraith first attempts to Rise, he can try to rejuvenate his physical shell by spending Pathos, 1 Pathos spent equals three months of reversed decay. So a wraith dead for 8 months would have to spend 3 Pathos when crossing the Shroud to arise looking like he did when alive. The killing wound, if one is present, requires 1 additional Pathos to heal, all other damage is healed along with the rejuvenation. If this Pathos is not spent, the Risen is animated but is visible as being in the normal state of decay. This Pathos does not have to be spent all at once, the corpse can rise in a state of putrefaction but resume its former state with time.

After the resurrection, Pathos has to be continuously expended in order to keep the body fresh. 1 Pathos has to be expended every 24 hours, or the body will start to decay once more. Each day Pathos is not spent, the body ages 3 months, up to its original state.

If the Risen runs out of Pathos, his Shadow automatically assumes control. The Psyche is forced into the Conduit, otherwise it functions just like Catharsis. When the Psyche resumes control the Risen has one Pathos, and probably a lot of things to do.

– Risen and Health –
Since the body of a Risen and a human differs very little in construction, all Risen have the normal seven health levels connected with mortals. They do not suffer dice pool modifiers, however, as they do not feel pain, and they are able to heal one health level per turn by spending 1 Pathos. Aggravated damage does cause dice pool modifiers, and can be healed only through a successful 8 hour Slumber and the expenditure of 3 Pathos. The Risen can obviously not fade into a Fetter, but his Conduit counts as one, so Slumbering is essentially just a period of total inactivity, during which he must be in physical contact with his Conduit. Risen cannot soak the effects of fire, but can soak claws, teeth and most other sources of aggravated damage (not true Faith). They also halve all bashing damage, like vampires.

If the Risen loses all his health levels, but still has Pathos, he falls unconscious. The length of unconsciousness is determined by a Stamina roll (difficulty 10 minus the amount of Pathos he has):

– Successes Duration –

5 . One turn
4. One scene
3. 10 minutes
2. One hour
1. Six hours
0. 12 hours

A botch means the Risen falls into a Destruction Harrowing, see below.

If the Risen finds itself without any health levels or Pathos, his journey is over. He falls into a Destruction Harrowing – if he succeeds he returns in the Shadowlands, with one permanent and temporary Corpus, and can never again try to Rise. If he fails, he is dragged screaming to Oblivion. In any case, the dead body is once again inanimate and probably pretty decomposed.

– Risen and Arcanoi –
The Risen are initially lost regarding how to use their arcane powers, but through experimentation they soon learn which of their Arcanoi they are able to use to affect the living world. Castigate and Usury are usually highly prized by those Risen who possess them, as well as Keening and Pandemonium. After becoming Risen it is usually very difficult to learn new Arcanoi, with the notable exception of Necrologia. The only likely possibility for learning is from other Risen, Puppeteers and Proctors.

At a point some Kindred thought the Risen could learn Disciplines like Potence and Fortitude, but this was a misapprehension.

– NECROLOGIA –
The Arcanos developed exclusively by the Risen gives them the power to use their reclaimed body to the best effect. Since few Risen meet others of their kind, this Arcanos is usually developed individually and nearly all Risen seem to have the potential to learn it.

Basic Abilities:

Sense Conduit
If ever Pathos is lost from being separated from his conduit, a Risen with this ability may simultaneously spend a willpower point to receive a general idea of where his conduit is currently residing. A roll of Wits + Awareness is needed to activate Sense Conduit.

Necroempathy
The Risen can determine the approximate time of death of a corpse simply by looking at it. A simple Perception + Medicine roll determines how much information can be gleaned. Note that this only works on bodies where aging has actually set in, so not on vampires.

1 Fear of Death
By a combination of his faint odor of death and subtle body language the Risen can make the living feel uncomfortable, nervous and self-conscious. Without knowing why, the target(s) will have a strong urge to go home and crawl under the bed, feeling only dread and ill omen. It generally requires the expenditure of a willpower point to continue what they were doing undisturbed.

System: This art can be directed either at a specific person or all targets in the user’s vicinity. The feeling of uneasiness disappears when no longer in the revenant’s presence. This art gives the user 1 Angst, automatically doubled to 2.

2 Death’s Resilience The dead flesh of a revenant is no longer bound by mortal hindrances, but can be taken far beyond the scope of any living creature. With this art the Risen’s body becomes supernaturally solid and enduring.

System: The art can be invoked instantly at any time, and costs one Pathos. Make a permanent willpower roll, difficulty 8. A point of temporary willpower can be spent to decrease the difficulty by 1, down to a minimum of 6. The number of successes gained are added to the character’s stamina score for the duration of one scene.

3 Sepulchral Potency
Just as the flesh of the Risen can be enduring, it can be powerful. This art works exactly as Death’s Resilience, except that the attribute increased is strength rather than stamina.

4 Mortal Remains
This horrid art allows increased flexibility with the undead form of the Risen. When used, it allows the character to rapidly decompose, turning into a pile of soil, bone dust and ashes in a matter of seconds. Not only can it be handy for avoiding detection, but using the art in front of an audience can be most disturbing for the onlookers.

System: It costs nothing to decompose, and can take from one turn to five minutes depending what the user wants. Reforming one’s body, however, costs 1 Pathos and takes at least five minutes. While ashen, the Risen need not spend Pathos to sustain his mortal form, however he cannot see what goes on around him. If activating Heightened Senses, he can discern whether there are people nearby with a successful Perception + Awareness roll.

5 Tearing the Shroud
Using their basic powers of Heightened Senses, the Risen are able to detect wraiths nearby in the Shadowlands. When Tearing the Shroud, they can affect them physically. This impressive art stems from a psychic merging of the psyche with the reclaimed corpse. This insight gives new proportions to the worlds of living and dead. Few Risen are able to reach this level of acceptance, being preoccupied with whatever Passion brought them across the Shroud in the first place. To Heretic Risen this art is usually one of their goals, as it is believed to be first step toward Transcendence. Many Risen are wary of this power, as their Shadows gain way too much power when in control.

System: The expenditure of a point of willpower allows the user to take an action that affects the Shadowlands, like an attack, an embrace or an inscription. If used to attack a wraith, the user gains 1 Angst, doubled to 2.

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Red Rain

by Falcon of Lugh

Watching.

Waiting. I must have stooped there on that fire escape for hours before he entered the Song of Hellfire. The night air was wet from the winter rain falling. It was odd how I no longer felt the cold. Rather more was, how I welcomed it.

The girl smelt of weed mixed with the other poisons she put in her body, covered haphazardly by a bouquet of perfume. She moved inside the cage like a flame against the wind. Her body clad in as little as possible. An advertisement for all to see. "Who will take me home?"

He watched her with a predator look in his eyes. His lusts were making him whole. A dark decay that could be brightened by a swim in the carnal pool of lust. He was reading the writing on the wall as he approached her. He knew how to approach such a bold statement that was youth.

His hand reached out and held the railing of the cage, slowing its movement. Stopping hers.

"A caged beast within the confines of dance. Does the music not soothe the savage anymore?" His lips parted in a half grin as he spoke.

Her attention was on him like that of a child with a doll. His face was of purest porcelain, the flush in his cheeks as if a painters brush had placed it there. He wasn’t like the others in the club. He kept his hair neat, cut at a middle length with no dye killing its luster. She wanted to touch this toy to see if were real.

"Music is my only escape now. In this cage I am free to breath," she replied, her eyes still dulled in the gaze of him.

His hand stretched out to her, palm open and out flat. A beckon for her without words. Her own hands reached for the cage door and opened it, placing herself in front of him. She couldn’t have been a month over 16 he thought. Another child with the means to lie her way into a place such as this.

Her face turned to reflect an innocence immersed in lust as she looked up to him. His own scent now billowing over her. Or rather, the lack of scent.

"I can offer you as escape that needs no restraint. One that is yours to receive. All you need do. Is ask."

The music still blaring around them, stirring the masses in rhythmic waves. Here though, there was no sound. Only his eyes upon her could have possibly made a sound.

Then the silence broke when her eye shed a single tear. He could hear tears. Hers called to him in no other way but asking for salvation. His arm fell about her shoulder as he led her out the way he came. Away from the sound Song of Hellfire. And into Hell

The fire escaped creaked as I watch him return from the club. A new friend in his company. The demon sought to add another consort to his harem. Not this night he wouldn’t. Nor any night after this.

He led her down the street, away from the lines of people waiting to enter the Song. No matter to him though, they would dismiss their ever seeing him, or her, after this night was through. A calm alleyway gave passage to them as they descended into the shadows of the street.

A single red light bulb provided illumination. The misting rain drowning its attempt to allow sight. Red rain. His hand encircled hers as he opened the door that stood near the light. Holding it opened he spoke no word as she entered.

No longer did I wait as I fell upon him from the sky. My body crashed into his, throwing us both into the pavement of the alley. My bones ached as I knew I had broken a few. No matter. He would die as I healed. My hand reached inside my coat to pull forth my instrument of pain. Tonight it would sing most beautifully.

Homicide crawled over the scene they had decorated in yellow tape. The flash of a camera bouncing off the still wet street. Reporters arguing with patrolmen for access to the scene.

"What do you make of it captain? Another chalked up for our mystery man?" The obese cop questioned the one he stood near.

"All I know it that who ever he is, we aren’t finding him."

The coroners laid the sacks within the body bag. The first people on the scene had already covered the body of a Jane Doe. Her bloodless body on its way to the city morgue for identification. Another foot tag to be collected.

The captain looked at the alley wall and shook his head. Once again whomever was responsible had left his calling card. Graffiti was one thing, but this was something that made the captain shake every time he read it.

"If I had a hammer"

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Purple

by Player of Ian

Just as the delicate fingers moved towards the hair, they were slapped away. Gregory looked at Ian with the pain of rejection in his round eyes. As the sire’s red lips parted, he filled his lungs with un-needed air and blew on the childe’s neck. The air was cold and Ian’s dead heart trembled with disgust.

"No," Ian said softly. Laden with disgust, the words slipped from his mouth weakly.

"You were great last night," Gregory susurated, his mouth touching the younger Vampire’s earlobe, the tongue a whip of lust, slashing the flesh. "You were beautiful." His voice was throaty, passion taking control of him, the feeling an expensive and costly drug. Sliding closer on the leather couch, he gently took the guitar in Ian’s hands away.

Ian watched as the guitar was slowly pulled away, his fingers languid, his mouth unable to protest. When the guitar was delicatly placed on the floor, Gregory stared up at Ian, his master peice. His eyes were filled with unrequitted love and the desire there seemed to ooze across his handsome face, spoiling his cherubic smile, wetting it with his carnal intentions. Again, Gregory lifted his hand and ran them towards the chaotic hair. This time they met no barrier and caressed the mane, the touch throwing him into a stirring calenture, his freezing body now calescent.

Torment. A line drawn and crossed. With all his will Ian swallowed his own dark emotions like a pill, choking on them. Heknew he wanted to scream, but the violation continued, the marionette mastering the strings of the puppet with each passing second. In the cavity of his morals Ian could feel the molding and it’s sickly effects. Beaten, he was passive at first, not responding to the osculation. The kiss was like a poison fruit, the touch on his sanity like water warping wood. Soon enough, Ian was reactive, unable to fight at all.

Hands pressed against his chest, lowering him to the couch. Gregory kneeled above him, the feelings he unnaturally inflicted upon his child aberrant. Tediously, he undid the botton to his sleeve. The eyes down he used to look down at Ian were glowing. Almost mad, Ian couldn’t decifer if they were pits that could barely hold down sadistic emotions, or truly caring.

The wrist was being lowered. There was no escape. Skin so close, so tempting, just a taste away. Ian could have turned away, but he would have been shattered. Instead he chose to be broken aprt slowly. His will capsized as his fangs extended…

His eyes bled purple that night.

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Sometimes there are no options

by D.H.Irving

"The bitch BIT me!" came the bellowed cry of rage and disbelief as mugger bent over in pain clutching his hand between his legs. Straightening he spun in a slight circle and held his injured hand to the alley’s single flickering light, assessing the wound. His partner in crime laughed sharply, holding the frightened woman tight to the dark, filth encrusted wall.

"Serves you right. I told you to be careful." He chided callously before turning back to his captured prey.

"And you.." His words trailed off as his beady eyes assessed her. She was a pretty young woman, early twenties he had guessed, dressed to kill, and most importantly she had been alone. Her eyes darted frantically, like a trapped mouse as her body trembled with each wracking wave of fear. The contents of her purse lay scattered upon the alley’s trash coated floor, cruelly discarded and cast away.

"How is it, a fine young woman such as yourself, of obvious wealth, has no money or even a credit card in her purse." He leaned in whispering. Her heart slammed itself against her chest as if trying to escape it’s fleshy cage. His breath was fetid upon her, each exhale brought the scent of whiskey and decay. The scent of death. Fear held her weak, and as her stomach knotted in icy needles, she could feel her legs wavering, threatening to give out. The injured man turned to them, still clutching his bleeding hand.

"Maybe she keeps it somewhere else man." He grinned despite his pain, leering suggestively at her. Fear gripped her tightly as she shook her head, every drop of willpower surging, forcing the frantic, desperate words from her lips.

"N-no…I don’t have anyth-thing….please…d-don’t hurt me." She stammered, her voice no more than a whisper. Tears ran her face in warm streams, tainted gray by her mascara. She begged sobbing for mercy, and somewhere deep inside she prayed. She prayed to a God she had forgotten, she prayed for forgiveness, and she prayed that her tears would somehow sear through these cold men, touching something dead inside them, causing them to release her.

The man with the beady eyes reached up, stroking her cheek gently, the gesture causing her to flinch under his touch.
"Shhhh…it’s okay Princess.." His voice dripped with sugar-sweet insincerity.
"We aren’t going to hurt you." An evil, almost inhuman smile parted his lips revealing broken, decayed teeth.
"In fact, you may even like it."

These last words burned inside her, igniting her fear like a blaze of hellfire as energy washed her anew. Screaming and kicking she struggled against them as the two men easily overpowered her, pulling her to the alley’s filthy floor. Somewhere dimly she heard the two men laughing cruelly as they tore away her blouse and bra with a single rough motion. The collar of her blouse burned her skin as it lurched against her neck before finally ripping. Her mind went numb to the lips on her neck, the hands that crushed her breasts with a feral desire absent of all love or tenderness. She was being raped, and there was nothing she could do. She felt helpless and dirty as he mounted her, his hands struggling at his own waistband and the length of dingy rope that held up his pants. She wanted it over, she wanted to die, she wanted out, but was helpless against them. They were stronger and set on their evil task.

The man was tore off her with such unbelievable speed and force that her body still registered his presence. Free from her human bonds she scrambled backwards against the alley’s wall, tears streaming her face. Huddled between two large bags of rotted refuse she watched the scene unfold before her. A third man had appeared, tackling her attacker, and rolling to his feet. Before the beady eyed rapist could move her savior was upon him, and for one brief glimpse the alley’s flickering light illuminated him. Her heart froze within her chest as her mind’s scream echoed through the stillness in her. His porcelain skin was drawn tightly again his face, his eyes those of a beast focused upon pray. But his teeth. His teeth were what froze her blood within her veins and clutched her in an ice cold grip. In that once brief second of clarity she had seen him, seen him perfectly. His mouth was set in a growling snarl of rage, exposing two long, dagger like canines that gleamed death white in the artificial light.

Then the scene snapped back to reality, and unfolded with unbelievable speed. The new man’s teeth ripped through her attacker’s throat, rending the flesh and sending a hailstorm of crimson spray through the night air. The man’s eyes went wide, with both realization and fear as he staggered back, dropping to the alley floor. His injured partner screamed as the man beast turned to him. She could see the look in his eyes and knew the ice that tore icy shards through him as she watched a large spot of wetness appear at his groin almost comically. He turned to run, the only movement his alcohol dimmed instincts would allow, but the monster was too fast. Leaping upon his back the beast sunk his mandibles into the fleeing man’s neck as they both crashed to the hard floor with a sickening thud. Never making a sound except a low, constant growl she watched in revolting fascination as it bent over the struggling man, drinking from the blood that gushed like a river from the wound at his neck. Slowly, inevitably, the mugger’s struggling weakened and ultimately stopped as his life pour from him. The manbeast stood, his face, although wet with crimson life, appeared in all aspects normal, even serene.

Wordlessly he turned from the grisly scene, moving towards the mouth of the alley, never once glancing to her or in anyway acknowledging her presence. Struggling she tried to stand, knocking over a heaping garbage can, sending it’s contents to join the pooling blood at her feet.

"W-wait." she squeaked desperately, calling after the man, the thing, that had delivered her salvation. The man stopped and slowly turned, his face an emotionless mask of drying blood. Wolfen eyes of a predatory beast regarded her as she staggered towards him, dried tears still staining her cheeks, her undergarments gathered at her ankles, impeding her every step. Quietly she approached, timidly and looked up into his face.

"I..kn-know what you are…" she admitted to him the obvious in a shaking voice, her desperate eyes meeting his lifeless orbs. Her voice a pleading whisper she continued.

"P-please….I….I want to l-live f-forever…I.." Her words were cut off as a tallied hand tore across her throat. Her widening eyes watched her as warm blood spattered across his face, mingling with the clotting vitae of her attackers. His expression never changed as she grasped at him, his hands clenching his shirt as she sunk, dying, to her knees. Her mind screamed in desperate disbelief and confusion. This didn’t make sense, she told herself as she sunk to the alley floor, now slick once again with fresh blood. It doesn’t end like this, her mind frantically reasoned as she felt her body cooling, her eyelids growing heavy with sleep.

He watched as she collapsed at his feet, still weakly maintaining a hold on the hem of his jeans. Slowly her breathing stopped as she joined her attackers in death. Wordlessly he turned from the scene before him and walked calmly out of the alley’s mouth, the night once again swallowing him.

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Children of Nod

by MillieCat

Suffer the little children…
I loathe this world of nothing magpies and farthing dreams.
Suffer the little children…
"I hear god. He speaks to me."
Suffer the little children…
"Give to me your holy offering of blood,
and I will give you GOD!"

The children come to the one, offering their blood as he intones: "et erat in deserto quadraginta diebus et quadraginta noctibus et temptabatur a Satana eratque cum bestiis et angeli ministrabant illi"

"postquam autem traditus est Iohannes venit Iesus in Galilaeam praedicans evangelium regni Dei"

"et dicens quoniam impletum est tempus et adpropinquavit regnum Dei paenitemini et credite evangelio"

"et praeteriens secus mare Galilaeae vidit Simonem et Andream fratrem eius mittentes retia in mare erant enim piscatores"

Soft, small, innocent bodies, some motionless, some quivering at his feet, exalt in his words. "Spread your religion, your dictates, your sincerity, and all that you perceive in a vain attempt to have a shared reality. This is impossible. Cease your attempts to confine reality to a single interpretation. We know the answer. Bring back the land east of paradise, the land of dreams. It is the land of the Bride of our Father. She bore Enoch well for him, and she shall bear that son/city once more, and remake this place into the city of the Father." The vessel is brought forth, an empty, broken shell, waiting to be filled.

The mass of red bodies, washed in blood and gore, heed the words of the prophet/mage: "dixitque ei Dominus nequaquam ita fiet sed omnis qui occiderit Cain septuplum punietur posuitque Dominus Cain signum ut non eum interficeret omnis qui invenisset eum"

"egressusque Cain a facie Domini habitavit in terra profugus ad orientalem plagam Eden"

"cognovit autem Cain uxorem suam quae concepit et peperit Enoch et aedificavit civitatem vocavitque nomen eius ex nomine filii sui Enoch"

Thusly annointed, the night goes on…

[Mark 1:13] et erat in deserto quadraginta diebus et quadraginta noctibus et temptabatur a Satana eratque cum bestiis et angeli ministrabant illi
[Mark 1:14] postquam autem traditus est Iohannes venit Iesus in Galilaeam praedicans evangelium regni Dei
[Mark 1:15] et dicens quoniam impletum est tempus et adpropinquavit regnum Dei paenitemini et credite evangelio
[Mark 1:16] et praeteriens secus mare Galilaeae vidit Simonem et Andream fratrem eius mittentes retia in mare erant enim piscatores

[Mark 1:13] And they brought young children to him, that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those that brought them.
[Mark 1:14] But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.
[Mark 1:15] Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein.
[Mark 1:16] And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.

[Gen 4:15] dixitque ei Dominus nequaquam ita fiet sed omnis qui occiderit Cain septuplum punietur posuitque Dominus Cain signum ut non eum interficeret omnis qui invenisset eum
[Gen 4:16] egressusque Cain a facie Domini habitavit in terra profugus ad orientalem plagam Eden
[Gen 4:17] cognovit autem Cain uxorem suam quae concepit et peperit Enoch et aedificavit civitatem vocavitque nomen eius ex nomine filii sui Enoch

[Gen 4:15] Then the LORD said to him, "Not so! If any one slays Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold." And the LORD put a mark on Cain, lest any who came upon him should kill him.
[Gen 4:16] Then Cain went away from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the land of Nod, east of Eden.
[Gen 4:17] Cain knew his wife, and she conceived and bore Enoch; and he built a city, and called the name of the city after the name of his son, Enoch.

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Neonate Burden

by Simon Kiasyd

Condemned to death everlasting am I,"
Exiled by the sun, banished from the flames,
To choke on the blood of man
to slake the thirst of the monster I have become.

My world is now composed of nightfall,
shadows and bloodshed in dark places,
Unfeeling members of my kind, who now
do as I do, act as I act.

The nights are cold to me, now,
I miss the sunrises took for granted,
and the daylight that was once mine
now gone forever from my eyes.

And yet I rise each night to witness
the moon, the only light I know,
as I fall farther from the man I was
into the beast I have become.

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MUMMY: The Return

by Lars Strobaek

The mummies of Egypt are creatures shrouded in mystery. They are halfway between life and undeath, but they are also torn by this very distinction.

The Shemsu-heru were the first of the Reborn to be created, and the Great Rite practiced by the Cult of Isis reinserted the ba and ka into the khat, thereby reviving it and returning it to its former glory. But at some point in time, the Rite was changed. The original Rite only worked on those bodies that were still warm, and had only been dead for a few hours. By changing the Rite the priests of Isis overcame that obstruction – the Rite would work as long as the heart and brain were intact and untainted by decay. But the mummies created by this Rite were different. Their flesh was cold, and they did not eat or breathe. Horus saw these creatures as tainted and drove them away, as he had done Ishmael, and they were seen as bastards by their living brethren. The Spell of Undeath, as opposed to the Spell of Life, was abandoned by the Cult of Isis, and was partly forgotten about. However, some members of the Cult, who did not have the same puritan standards as their fellows, still considered the tainted Rite superior. And so when Set attained the Spell, it was partly an attempt by the nameless one to keep the knowledge of the variant Rite alive. When the Spell of Undeath was combined with the dark sorcery of the minions of Set, the tragic result was the Children of Apophis.

The Secret Writings of Cabirus have also been based on the tainted Rite, and cannot create true mummies – only through some sort of reconstructive research could the true Spell of Life be replicated. Therefore almost all Cabiri are Thenemi, those of the dead flesh.


Seshet

Those mummies that are created while their bodies are still warm, and their Corpora unhooded, return to the body of their mortal self. These are the most exalted of awakened beings, as their immortality is virtually ensured. All 42 recognized Shemsu-heru are Seshet, as Horus sees the Thenemi as unworthy to carry out his holy crusade. Despite having lived through several millennia, they retain their human nature. It can be eroded, however, and exposure to both death and Oblivion can drive his Humanity, along with his human morality and outlook, to a minimum. His Humanity cannot disappear completely, however, as he is essentially still human. If a Seshet, ever drops from Humanity 1 to 0, he gains an appropriate derangement, and has his Humanity restored to 1.


Thenemi

Mummies created through the Spell of Undeath are very different from their living brethren. The soul of such a being has been unhooded, and his Shadow has manifested itself, albeit briefly. When the soul rejoins the body the Shadow is subsumed into the Psyche, but the mummy’s soul has been permanently changed by the seed of Oblivion (the nascent Shadow, or Khaibit) that has been planted. The most immediate effect of this is that the body doesn’t revive upon the soul’s return – it remains a husk, now inhabited by the mummy’s almost human spirit. This "undead" mummy, or Thenemi, has all the powers and limitations of a Seshet, except his body is dead, an unaging shell. What keeps the body animated is the enduring magic of the Rite. The disadvantages of this state is that the mummy is pale and slightly cold to the touch, and the closer his Khaibit is to the surface the more twisted and deathlike he appears. The Thenemi cannot use more dice in a social situation involving mortals than their Humanity score. Animals are uncomfortable around them. In addition, Thenemi cannot use potions or essences – Alchemical preparations must be applied as salves to have any effect. The advantages are that the mummy need not breathe, eat or sleep, and halves all received bashing damage like vampires. A problem for most Thenemi is that they do not heal naturally. Still, with a successful Stamina + Medicine roll (difficulty 7) and intense concentration, a Thenemi is able to heal one health level of damage at the cost of one Sekhem. This can be done once per hour of concentration. A botch means the mummy loses a point of Stamina permanently.


The Khaibit

Unlike a human mummy, a Thenemi has the Shadow-like Khaibit gnawing at his soul. This part of his mind wants only to cause destruction and punish itself for being sentient. That is not to say that a human (and Seshet) cannot feel hate or despair, but they are his feelings, not those of an alien part of his mind he cannot control. The Khaibit is quite similar to the Beast of the Kindred – the difference is that the Beast is born from the vampire’s thirst for blood, where the Khaibit is the manifestation of Oblivion’s pull. A pull that, most likely, will never be completed.

When a Thenemi feels angst or despair, when eternal life is more a curse than a blessing, his Khaibit may take momentary control. The Storyteller may call for a Joy roll in such a situation (remember that neither Seshet nor Thenemi can roll more dice for a Virtue roll than their Humanity score). The difficulty should be about 5, but may vary according to the situation. One or more successes means the character does not give in, and can act as he pleases. Failure results in his Khaibit sending him into a frenzy aimed at destruction, in which the mummy is immune to wound penalties and attacks all in sight. A botch also subtracts a Joy point and inflicts a derangement, as normal. Only the expenditure of Willpower can end a frenzy in progress. Humanity rolls are often required after frenzies, during which the Thenemi blazes with the black light of Oblivion.

If a Thenemi’s Humanity reaches zero, his Khaibit assumes full control and devours the mummy’s soul, and with it his ba. Such a creature is an undead horror controlled by the Storyteller. If the twisted killing machine is slain in the Skinlands, or if the Khaibit assumes control in the Underworld, it becomes a malignant and insane ka-spirit, that lasts until it runs out of ka points or is destroyed. Nearly all the Thenemi that have met Final Death fell to their Khaibits first.

Note: Mummies cannot follow a Path of Enlightenment. Their sanity is too reliant on their memory for them to be able to completely abandon their mortal sensibilities and still function in either the Shadowlands or the Skinlands.


The Underworld

While dead, the viewpoint of the Reborn is drastically changed. One part of their soul, the ka, is charged with protecting the khat, while the ba must secure future rebirth by attaining sufficient spiritual vigor to reemerge into the world of the living.

For the Thenemi, however, an additional dilemma presents itself. The ba is the seat of intelligence and memory, where the ka represents instincts and passion. While the ba seeks fulfillment in Amenti or the Tempest, it is close to the reason for its Khaibit – The Void. But the Khaibit can assert itself not through the cool reason of the ba, but only the impulsive and physical nature of the ka. Thus, when the ba feels the force of Oblivion, it must make a Joy roll to avoid frenzy as normal, usually at a higher difficulty than in the Skinlands. If the roll is failed, the ka, not the ba, flies into a frenzy on the closest object, human or wraith. If the mummy has a ka vessel, the effects can be quite devastating.


The Children of Apophis

When Set stole the secret of Rebirth, it was inherently flawed. In addition, dark mages in Set’s employ tried to strengthen his new warriors by invoking spirits of Apophis. The subjects came back from death stronger than anyone expected, but their souls had been devoured – not by their Khaibits, but by powerful bane-spirits. They chose to serve Apophis, their true master, rather than Set, and have wandered the earth spreading corruption in the name of the Wyrm ever since.

Humanity has never existed in these creatures. Instead of a real soul, they are ruled by two factors – their Khaibit and their Bane-spirit. The Khaibit is their drive and mindless ferocity, a pure vessel of Oblivion. The bane-spirit is temper and cruel intelligence. In effect, the Children of Apophis are fallen mummies enslaved by a higher force – Apophis, in the form of his bane servitors. Instead of the standard Virtue of Integrity, they posses Unity, which represents how well the two parts of their soul act together. In order start or end a frenzy, a Bane mummy must roll Unity. Otherwise, their Humanity count as zero for all purposes.

In the land of the dead, the two parts of a Bane mummy’s soul completely separate. In fact, only one part of it remains in the Underworld. That which would be a mummy’s ka becomes the bane mummy’s Khaibit. It still remains with his khat, but it is a mindless beast just like the last part of a fallen Khaibit-mummy, and cares only for destruction. The Bane-spirit retains its original evil sentience, and is detached and cynical. Most Bane-spirits travel not to the Underworld to collect ba energy, but rather to Malfeas. The only one who normally goes to the Underworld is Saatet-ta, who travels the Labyrinth and is rumored to be connected to the Hive-mind of the spectres. The other Children of Apophis are still able to enter the Tempest, and will do so if they have sufficient purpose. Most of them have twisted, demonic forms in the spirit worlds, and will be recognized for what they are: vessels of entropy and corruption.


Seshet Only Merits & Flaws:
Light Sleeper/Sleepless, Offensive to Animals

Thenemi Only Merits & Flaws:
Smell of the Grave, Monstrous, Flesh of the Corpse

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Jack

by Todd Shaddox

Oneness with nature is a crock of shit. Its magnitude smothers rather than nourishes. It is a constant reminder that we indeed are not a part of everything. We are aliens. The curse of introspection has separated us from that which exists here naturally.

The universally accepted (yet endlessly debated) theories of change are simply macrocosms of the instability in our lives. The thought that all is born,changes and dies is not reassuring; it’s disturbing. At best, subtly shifting the rug under our feet; at worst, propagating a horrific feeling of apathy.

The man who stepped into the elevator had half of his arm sewn into his torso. Jack had heard this unnerving technique quickened the healing of tissue – but that was merely a finger, a hand at the most. This was from the elbow down. Where was the rest of that arm?

He could hear the fingers, their joints flexing and nails clawing through thick goo; swimming in mucous. The man looked at him with a knowing grin and winked. They went down and the man went out, taking with him the sweet and sour smell of oxygenated blood and fetid puss.

Jack got off at the bottom, walked into the foyer and sat in the watching chair. As they entered from the elevators, a semi-vertical ray of light passed over their faces. The light illuminated more than their physical features. A sit fell across them, he knew everything.

To maintain his sanity he had created thousands of categories. Today, as always, he was distinguishing the good from the bad. He had tried this before with limited success. It’s really a lot harder than it seems. He eventually learned it necessitated the answering of one specific question. It didn’t matter what the question was as long as none of the possible answers were open to interpretation.

Today’s question was, “Would you destroy someone merely to better your own situation?”

“Ding.” The doors open and a tall, thin man steps into the future. He’swearing a fairly pricey suit with sub-par shoes. He tucks a folded newspaper under his arm as Jack laughs at the irony. Seven steps and the light slices through him. Six more and he’s out the door.

Jack follows with a confident stride. He has never, ever, been spotted. The man, whom Jack now called Stan, walked seven blocks to a coffeehouse, sat down with one cup black and began reading his newspaper

Jack lit a cigarette and coughed. He couldn’t quit smoking so he had decided to smoke only half a cigarette at a time. He was trying to decide which half to smoke. The tobacco crackled and he thought of the immigrant he had married once and how her eyes shone in the bright light. He thought harder and remembered her tooth and her sweater and the windshield.

As the fan blew the smoke to the corners of the room he saw the scars on his hand and the sculptured rug beyond. He stopped thinking and traveled through the deep gullies in the rug, pushing the strands from his face as he went.

He traveled until he reached the furthest wall, where he laid beneath the baseboard and concealed his nest with a scrap of paper. And he was happy just smoking half a cigarette at a time.

Stan paid his check, left a one-dollar tip and abandoned the diner. He rounded the block and walked by a small church Jack had never noticed. He strode into a barber shop and immediately sat down for a trim. Jack wondered exactly what stakes would lead poor Stan to destroy the happiness of another. The answer to his question was colorblind. There was only black and white. There was no scale of absolution.

In Jack’s opinion, Stan’s hair was now slightly too short. He followed him back to the building in which they had met and called to him as the reached the glass and brass doors. Stan turned just in time to receive an incredibly swift strike to the head with a pair of nunchaku. Actually, it was more to his face than his head. If you run your finger across the ridge of your eyebrow, you will come to the apex of an angle. This specific point is crammed full of nerves and merely pressing on it causes discomfort. This area of Stan’s face shattered like red clay and his left eye shot from its socket.

Jack watched him fall and noticed he could hear both the blood pouring from the gaping hole in Stan’s head and the arterial blood striking the pavement some three feet away. He stuck the nunchaku in his jacket and smiled at his retro weapon of choice.

He walked seven blocks to a coffeehouse. There was music playing and he leaned his head against the brick wall and let his eyes adjust to the browness. After awhile he could see and with this new vision, he noticed a girl sitting in front of the bar. She was pretty and all alone so he sat down next to her. As she ordered a drink he realized she smelled strawberryish and he blushed as he passed gas.

He was about to ask her name but as she turned and smiled he knew she was the Devil. The last of the spit mingled coffee washed over his teeth and he left. The sun was gone now and he could tell by the stillness of the air that the night would be foggy.

Todd Shaddox’s work has appeared in Apparent Depth, Huge Magazine, The Nepenthe Journal, Write Times, The Rage and The Little Rock Free Press. He exhibits the self-destructive behavior patterns of a great writer but lacks any genuine talent. He can be contacted at c_halton@hotmail.com.

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Inanimae

by Lars Strobaek

Introduction
(The idea of inanimate changelings is a really good one, but for several reasons, the rules in the Inanimae book just don’t sit well with me. Firstly, I do not think that the elemental pattern the book displays fit in very well with the imagery of Changeling, it has more of a Magic:tG feel to it, the same thing goes for their wars and empires. The enchanted glades and mystical ponds are fine, but a magical bonfire doesn’t speak to me (I really love the mannikins though, and I know I’m going to write them an entire kithbook once, when I get sufficiently inspired). Secondly, I cannot accept the fact that the Inanimae’s dream-form can just create a physical, mundane body out of nothing. I know they are supposed to be playable, but if you want to play something as exotic as an Inanimae you’ll have to adjust.

So, these are the changes I have made to the Inanimae systems for my own chronicles: Inanimae can only reside in Anchors made up of the material associated with their phyla. That means no solimonds, except maybe in an Arabian oil-fire. They cannot create Husks either. When they move around outside their Anchor, they do so in chimerical (dream) form, and are indistinguishable from chimera. Otherwise, they act as described in the Inanimae book. These are the basics, for the details please read on…)

The Inanimae are faeries, but differ from the Kithain changelings on one important point. They did not survive the Shattering by seeking refuge in mortal form, but instead sought the materials from which they were born: enchanted pools, mystical menhirs, and witches’ oaks. The Inanimae are created by the Glamour released when an object is dreamed to be magical or alive, and in order to exist in the mundane world their faerie souls are locked into the mundane objects that gave them life. During the Sundering, some Inanimae tried to seek shelter from Banality in living forms like the Kithain, but this was difficult to achieve, and those who managed it never emerged. It is theorized that the abstract dreams of inanimate sentience were too incompatible with rational human thought patterns, and as such the faerie soul was unable to overcome the basic Banality of the human mind. Many Inanimae fled into the Dreaming to sustain their chimerical selves, where they exist as chimera to this day.


Glamour
The Inanimae utilize their Glamour differently than Kithain. Their physical Anchors possess very little Banality compared to humans, and are not exposed to it as often. Their Anchor is a natural source of Glamour, due to its empathic link with the Dreaming. Gaining Glamour is detailed in Inanimae, and the Players Guide. But in order to experience the outside world, to get in touch with other creatures of dream, as well as the dreamers who create them, they have to draw on that Glamour in order to separate their faerie mien from their inanimate Anchors. While in this state, the Inanimae’s senses along with its chimerical form are able to roam outside the Anchor as they will, and can use any abilities the Inanimae possess. However, the Inanimae’s soul can never leave the physical Anchor, and therefore its chimerical form has +2 difficulty on any rolls to gain Glamour when it does not reside in the Anchor. It is also more vulnerable to Banality, a vulnerability that becomes more severe the further the Inanimae moves from its shell. In order to affect the mundane world while in chimerical form, the Inanimae has to call upon the Wyrd, which can be a harrowing experience for any unenchanted mortals present.

If the Anchor of an Inanimae is damaged, she suffers the approximate wound penalties, as well as the pain. If it should be destroyed, she dies. Unlike changelings, her faerie soul cannot exist without its source.


Kiths
The kith(or phyla) of an Inanimae is based on the material they inhabit. The most numerous of the traditional phyla are the kubera, who live in plants and trees, or sometimes dead wood. Most kubera are dryads, like described in the Inanimae book, but another kind also exists, the ents (for lack of a better name). They are protectors of the woods, big and strong, but ugly and slow-witted. Ents have the birthrights Fertile Minds(like dryads) and Strength of the Oak(like glomes), and the frailty Gruesome(max. appearance one, and cannot have the Face background(see below)).

(The idea for the ents came from the Sandman, the ‘a midsummer night’s dream’ story, by Neil Gaiman, and the related ‘Books of Faerie’. Look at the guy talking about Peaseblossom, and you get my picture.)

Other phyla include the ondines, who live in streams and pools of water, and are also called nereids or water nymphs. The glomes inhabit rocks and stones, and are slow and heavy. Relatives of the ondines, the extremely rare parosemes live in places of perpetual fog, mist, or gasses. Each phyla has its own art(or sliver, see the main book), dealing with their chosen element, but Inanimae cannot learn Kithain arts(nor can Kithain learn slivers).

The chimerical form of an Inanimae in most cases look like a cross between their Anchor and the human form. It is not always human-like though, many are abstract representations of their material, and some even look like hideous monsters. Kubera usually have green, leafy hair, and ondines often have transparent flesh and/or fish-like features. In game terms, the Husk background is replaced by Face, which represents how human the Inanimae looks; three dots are required to fool anyone, while five dots are a perfect image.


Mannikins
The last Inanimae kith actually walk the line between Inanimae and Kithain. The mannikins, or effigies, inhabit objects created to imitate the human form. While the Banality of being made in a factory and subsequently sold off cannot be disputed, it is more than made up for by the fact that few people can look at a Anchor and not, somewhere in their minds, imagine it to be alive. Indeed, with children’s toys, this is their whole purpose. Because of this, mannikins are by far the most numerous of the Inanimae.

As their suggested by their name, mannikins thrive in department stores, but just as many are found in movie studios and art schools. The largest department stores hold entire mannikin courts, complete with feudal titles and intrigue, in mimicry of their Kithain cousins. The fae in service to such a court usually move around without their Anchors during the day, visiting other courts or running errands in the Dreaming. At night, however, when the mundanes are all sleeping soundly, the mannikins hold their grand balls and councils, being able to wear their physical forms safe from prying eyes. Their relationships with both Inanimae and Kithain are strained, though, as the puppet courts seem untrustworthy to even the most dim-witted redcap or glome. The mannikins, of course, have no idea why they are so unpopular.

Few of the effigies make good knights and paladins, as their personality tends to lean towards the introverted. They dream of worlds where there is no distinction between ‘real’ and ‘artificial’, and have a deep love of chimerical toys and gadgets, preferably nocker-made. Secrets and mysteries are the mannikins’ main assets, and wisdom springs from their unique outlook on life and dreams.

Because of their closeness to humans, mannikins use Kithain arts instead of slivers, usually with emphasis on Chicanery, Soothsay, and Wayfare. They gain also Glamour as Kithain, not from Harvesting or Reaping.


Birthrights
Puppet strings: Unlike most other Inanimae, the mannikins can actually move in their Anchors. By spending a Glamour point while in her Anchor, a mannikin is able to move the body as if it was alive, as long as no banal creatures are present. In this state the mannikin cannot use a greater physical dice pool than her Glamour score. As soon as anyone who is not able to see her chimerical form notices the Anchor, the mannikin finds herself frozen in place, and unable to move unless she leaves her body behind(or calls upon the Wyrd). The mobility lasts until forced to a halt, or the Anchor is immobile for more than a hour, and gives the mannikins the advantage of being able to transport their Anchors themselves, without resorting to drastic measures.

Simulacrum: The pseudo-human form of their Anchors usually affect a mannikin’s faerie mien as well,the notable exception being stuffed teddy bears. Unless it possesses the flaw Monstrous, a mannikin’s chimerical form looks human enough to pose as either human or changeling, without the Face background (see above).


Frailties
Alien: There always seems to be something odd about a mannikin’s behavior to others, no matter how hard she tries to fit in. Social rolls concerning non-mannikins have a +1 difficulty.


Character Creation
A couple of things to consider:

Your Legacies should be chosen according to your Court, and in the case of Inanimae, Gladeling corresponds to Seelie and Krofted to Unseelie. Note that mannikins are always krofted – honor and courage just doesn’t come naturally to them. Also, remember that Inanimae cannot use arts, and mannikins cannot use slivers. Otherwise, refer to the Inanimae book for details.

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Daylight

by Falcon of Lugh

The door splintered at the second hit of the barricade bar. The team tossed it aside and in a matter of one minute, all thirty had entered the house. Boards and other barricades blocking the windows were quickly torn away, the sun’s rays filtering in for probably the first time in years.

"I’ve got movement Lieutenant!"

A section of the team quickly dispatched towards the one who had called out. Another door busted down and they were in. The smell would have pushed most away, but this group had seen it all before and was destined to see it again.

The floor was strewn with the decaying corpses of an unlucky couple. Rats had come to devour what little was left. One had been fortunate enough to feast on the tenderness of an eyeball. It’s blue iris glazed over from shock was being torn asunder by the rodents teeth and claws.

Every room in the on the first floor was given the cleansing of sunlight, the debris now heaped towards the center of the house.

The door to the basement was all that stood in the way of this team. How easily it creaked when they forced it open and swarmed down the steps. Their shoulder lights kicked on, the bright halogen forced white beams into the darkness.

Gunfire erupted as something crossed in front of one of the lights. The creature now lay almost completely separate of it’s legs. He snarled and lashed at the team though it was only a last attempt in scaring them. He knew it was too late when one came closer and pulled a long thin pike from his gear on his back and drove it through the creatures chest, impaling him fully through the heart and into the basement floor.

"One down, Sir"

The basement was systematically scoured by the team, each creature they found was either killed or rendered immobile by staking. Five in all had met their enemy at their weakest moment.

"Let’s get out of here, time to finish and burn it down," the lieutenant called out.

Fire consumed the house, the creatures along with the corpses were reduced to ash. The fire dept. had taken it’s own sweet time in getting there to put out the remaining flames.

The lieutenant picked up a cell phone and dialed 7. "Let the Viscontis know objective is swept and cleared."

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