Undead

This world is home to all manners of creature, not all of them number among the living. The Undead of Lume are corpses,or parts thereof, reanimated with Anima, the intangible matter that has permeated the Continent since the reign of the Deumana. Revenants vary in intelligence, appearance and ability; given sufficient time and resources, they may develop beyond their meagre origins. Customarily the Undead prey on the living to maintain their reanimation, though the more resourceful of them find sustenance elsewhere. All Revenants are difficult to overcome; it is fortunate most Folk will live out their lives without an encounter.

In regards to their origins, historically Necromancers are held responsible for the existence of Undead. The former argue that in most cases, the Caster was performing under duress, or the act committed by a renegade from the School. To their credit, and particularly since the calamity of the Liche Liege, the Necromancer School has taken swift action upon hearing of crimes committed by one of their own. It should be noted that the Deumana - one demigod in particular - hold the dishonour of first reanimating the dead. The Undead are customarily divided into two branches: the bipedal and humanoid Necrosapiens, and their unnerving kin, the Abominations.

Abominations: Undead of unrecognizable origin

These degraded creatures manifest in areas where Anima accumulates, principally in the fallout of a Casting battle, or as a result of sloppy [Casters|castmanship]].

Blotch

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A degenerate among horrors, Blotches' are belligerent sacks of organs and other invertebrate flesh. Lacking the skeletal frame which muscles affix themselves to, these Undead propel themselves in wet, heaving lurches. The Anima possessing a Blotch pumps through the heaving mass in a sick parody of life. Driven by primal hunger, they leech the life from victims by enveloping them within their gelatinous mass. A sleeping traveller caught unawares may be smothered, suffocated and partially dissolved by sunrise.

Blotches are relatively scarce, and targeted for elimination by Casters when discovered. As with all the Revenants, they are diffult to put down. Blunt trauma has little lasting impact, and piercing their flesh induces squirting jets of corrosive liquids. The cut then promptly heals over. Instead, relevant records advise immolation; they may also have their Anima drained by a skilled necromancer, rendering them a lifeless mass.

Various records indicate that Blotches are born from the offal and remnants of the dead. They form where inept or uncontrolled Casting occurs near remains, the misdirected Anima reviving the spilled, cadaverous contents. It is no secret many a novice Necrocaster has produced one or two in their lifetime, if only to destroy them shortly after. A final, desperate tactic for Necromancers on the losing side of a battle is to Cast a Blotch from the entrails of a fallen combatant. Amidst these fertile surroundings they are prone to feast on the remains of the dead and dying. The following day the victors, still weary from conflict, are confronted by a towering gestalt of friend and foe.

A well-placed Blotch can turn the tide after the battle is won.

Tickler a.k.a. Osseopede, Calcipede, Aranach, Spidoss

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These composites collect as an assortment of bones and osseous matter, sporting ghastly, makeshift legs that lend them an arachnid appearance. The skeletal union of several different creatures and devoid of flesh, they are the inverse of Blotches. They have a symbiotic relationship with them, each feeding on different parts of their victims, though Tickler sightings are by far more common.

Like their abominable kin they lack intellect; perhaps a mercy considering their disposition. Depending on their configuration, these creatures will adopt their own gaits, characteristics, and preferred prey. Affectionately dubbed Ticklers, these malignant Undead prefer to stab, tear and render their quary apart to reach the bones inside. Their destruction is challenging, and best accomplished by dismemberment, pulverization, and preferably followed by immolation. The sound of their joints clicking as they shamble along is one of the few mercies offered by these Undead.

There are worse things than rodents in the labyrinths and catacombs of Lume.

Manus

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The Frost Giants mutter of a time when, many cycles after the Schism, they battled a powerful enemy whose brash Casters attempted to raise fallen Giants from death. The relics of this conflict are the Manus; immense amputated claws walking on the digits that remain to them, terrorizing the Waste between the Inland Forests and the northern Cerulean mountains. This choatic hellscape is resplendent with lighting-threaded sandstorms and uncanny volcanic activity; a seemingly endless stretch of blighted terrain. Violently inhospitable, the sandstorms alone are capable of scraping the landscape bare. These conditions speak volumes of the beings that reside there.

Resistant to these madcap elemental forces due to their scale, density, and unliving nature, Manus can rival even a Walker of the Waste, and often do. The bones have petrified in the arid conditions, their thick hides pulled tight over their frames, any moisture drained long ago. Unlike some of their Undead kin, they possess nor develop intelligence. It is believed they instinctively know the paths to follow that suffer least from the elemental rage of the region.

How the Manus came to be larger in scale than the limbs of their donors is a matter for dispute. It is possible that they grew in size over the many Rotations, or perhaps it is the Frost Giants that have diminished over this period. The Giants are not forthcoming on this matter.

The speed of these necrotic sauropods is reported to be astounding for their size, records stating they can pounce frightful distances. Should a traveller traverse the Waste and survive the deadly conditions, they may find themselves pulverised by a descending digit. Memoirs of a survivor of one such ambush claims the predator then rolled in the pulped remains of her companions; a grisly spectacle that allowed the witness opportunity to flee its territory. It may be that this gory bathing ritual is a rudimentary means of absorbing living matter and Anima. Prudent wanderers of the Waste would be wise to keep an assortment of distractions on hand - fireworks, even a kite - anything capable of diverting attention well away from themselves.

Cold hands that do no work and give no comfort, cast malignant shadows on lands once green.

Necrosapiens

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Skeletal or decaying Undead, these revenants differ from abominations in that they, at least physically, still resemble their former selves. Held together with Anima - the alchemical, genetic matter underlying Lume - it weaves unseen like sinews around its host. This ethereal matter cannot be made from naught, and the Necrocaster must siphon Anima from living hosts. Thankfully, most find this exchange to be irrational, to say the least.

Being Undead, they are resilient creatures, to eliminate them qualifies violent dismemberment. Their animation exacts a heavy toll during Casting, and demands long years of study. Revenants can linger long after their creator's intentions, or indeed the creator themselves.

Necrofauna

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Fray

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Not all the Undead found on Lume are humanoid. The corpses of beasts are also put to use, serving as steeds, servants, even hunters. Stalwart creatures that require little sustenance, they can, for long periods, be tasked with guarding sanctuaries and other areas of import. Frays are the historically preferred choice for reanimation by Necrocasters, however the practice has dwindled since the aftermath of the Liche Liege.

For undocumented reasons, Frays are restored with an intellect proportionate to their acumen before death. All beast-like Necrofauna learn via osmosis, increasingly so if the creature keeps regular company with the living. Kor, the skeletal familiar of the healer and necromancer Mestat, is one such creature. While it could be argued that cleverness makes them no less dangerous, they can be reasoned with, and as such are the most widely accepted of all the Undead.

There is great diversity among their number; only the ability of the Caster limits the target of revivification. The beasts may be large or small, skeletal or cadaverous, and still others ablaze. Records predating the Liche Liege indicate that Frays may develop over time, growing in size, ability, and picking up a few tricks along the way.

Companions for the companionless, though not above providing criticism to their colleague.

Gestalt

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Gestalts are an Undead assemblage of various non-human corpses. Less common than Frays, reports of gestalts are few, possibly because their creation is doubly difficult. If a Caster desires a familiar with certain abilities, they may construct one from the corpses of animals with the necessary attributes. Technically difficult, but possible for a skilled anatomist. Most challenging, however, is for the Caster to unite the fleshy components, fusing tendons, sinews, etc., suitably enough so as to prevent the newly risen composition from falling apart or tearing itself to pieces. The failures would seem to account for some number of the Undead Abominations.

Where wass'I? Fuckin' critters! Yeah, right, so, while the ol' fella jabbered on, this winged-cat-ish...thing just sat perched there on his shoulder, happy as you like, bits fallin' off'a'it like soggy bloody seaweed! I'm no artiste, but I think it wasn't, y'know...cooked right an' all.

Clinker

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The skeletal revenants of Folk, these ghouls represent the humanoid grunts of the Undead. Their bare bones are wreathed in Anima, forming ethereal muscles that account for the creature's movement and cohesion. Unless the corpse was a Caster during their lifetime, the resulting revenant is typically dull-witted, and commanded by their creator or allocated superior. Walking cacophonies, what they lack in stealth or wits they account for with persistence and fearlessness, performing their tasks like golems. They are easily outrun, but otherwise efficient in their movements. Undead are best avoided, however should that option not present itself, Clinkers are susceptible to bludgeoning, dismemberment, or Anima draining. Surviving osseous matter can catalyze into unthinking, rogue abominations.

I understand the process, but what I keep asking myself, I mean, what really keeps me up through the moonlit hours, is 'why'. Why would anyone create one of these on purpose?

Skullcap

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An armored Clinker that retains martial skills from their former life. Their equipment is not part of their being and can be replaced; by looting a fallen adversary, for instance. Any armor they wear and idle weaponry on their person is suspended on invisible shoulders and scabbards. Long-surviving examples tend to develop sentience, often becoming captains and strategists of their kind. The Recalled/Evoked are famed individuals who, in undeath, continue to exist in this manner.

Why these attired Clinkers develop further, when their exposed counterparts do not, is unknown. Controlled experimentation to discover the cause is unlikely to be pursued, however one theory proposes that their garb and weaponry triggers muscle-memory - or the next closest thing - and acts as a catalyst for intelligence. This is consistent with the documented behaviour of Casters returned from death. Their personality wakens gradually, a mercy that allows them opportunity to accept their circumstance, and once developed, is ended only if they are.

Rusty sword in hand, the namesake of Skullcap Saloon regails its customers with tales of bygone glory, swashbuckling across tables and fencing with recollected opponents, ale splashing everywhere as it guzzles from a mug between sentences. She's quite an attraction for the town, and generally considerd one of the fairest barkeeps in the region.

Torch

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These smoldering skeletons occur when anUndead is set ablaze, typically by someone intent on destroying the creature. This choice of action is regrettable, as the fire only adds to the creature's arsenal. Undead don't need flesh to function; the Anima coursing through them provides their reanimation. It keeps the fire at bay, providing the being with a patina of liquid flame that does not harm the bony physique. This is a precarious balance, and newly lit Torches who still have flesh attached are unlikely to last long; particularly if the flesh is bloated with flammable gasses...

Dangerous when first ignited, Torches become more formidable with age, gaining a level of control over the flames. Research implies the hard-won bond is symbiotic; the fire consuming the flesh of the prey, while the Anima is siphoned by the Undead frame. Among the talents recorded is the ability to quench and relight themselves, to consciously combust, to billow flames from their hands and mouth, and the swathing of adversaries with noxious smoke. They gain in strength the longer they continue to exist, however starving them of oxygen demotes their kind to Clinker status. Should their undeath prove persistant, the fire eventually seeks refuge inside the osseous pores, morphing the flaming skeleton into a frame of red-hot embers. These are very old Torches indeed, and were their animation to cease, their ashen remains would scatter to the winds.

The Liche Liege was nothing if not efficient. The streets surrounding its fortress were kept lit throughout the night by Torches buried to their waists. For whose benefit is unclear.

Stinker

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A cadaver raised to undeath during the stages of decomposition, after the systems of the body can be functionally revived; typically done in haste to bolster numbers and spread desease. Only their bones are animated, the dead flesh still rots, falling away as they move. Their physiology makes them tougher than their naked counterparts, and the diseases they carry only increase the danger. Volatile creaures with gas pockets often bulging and exploding from their bodies, they are not the first choice for necrocasting. If allowed to settle in bogs, swamps, or other environments condusive to biodiversity, they may merge with their surroundings, mutating into other forms of Revenant.

Bearers of plague and contagion, their smell serves as a warning of their approach. The cadaver may contain nests of rats, insects and other creatures; they may develop a symbiotic relationship with these occupants. A long-lived Stinker may foster a sense of responsibility over these inhabitants, and defend them fervidly. Stinkers typically lose their flesh, eventually transitioning into Clinkers. A few persist long enough, form strong enough bonds to other creatures, and find a reclusive area with a niche to exploit, that they grow to become Bog Fiends.

I once saw a stinker with a bird's nest in its noggin'. No joke! I'm hiding up a tree, waitin' for it t'go on its merry way, and as its shambling past, this little bird pops out of its eye socket! I almost fell from the flamin' tree! The weirdest part was hearin' the lil' chicks tweatin' for grub from inside its rotting head. (shudders). Haven't touched an egg since.

Marrow

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A specialised Clinker whose bones have been hollowed by insects or otherwise, leaving behind a lightened frame. This needs to occur prior to reanimation, with necrocasters preparing the skeleton of their target specifically for this purpose. These lightweight ghouls can glide on currents of air, descending on their prey with sharpened finger and toe joints, causing horrible wounds, even instantaneous death, with the force of their impact. The scouts and assassins of the Undead, they require little upward force to catch an updraft, often simply leaping off the shoulders of their still-standing victims.

Though not as robust or sturdy as their kin, if one considers their specialisation, they don't need to be. They may use cloaks, old skin or other materials to increase their range, and are equipped with nothing that would weigh them down. Marrow's are sufficiently intelligent to navigate air currents, and can speak in a rattled whisper. Their destruction is more easily achieved than others of their kin, if one can first land a blow.

While others scanned the ground, expecting ghastly hands to reach up through the moist earth, I kept my eyes to the skies for those freakish kites.

Morgus a.k.a. maleficum, veneficius, death caster

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Casters spend a lifetime achieving their communion with the Anima on Lume, and this connection does not end with their death. In undeath they retain their abilities, as well as fragmented memories and shades of their former personality. This makes these Undead Casters both unpredictable and unstable. They are servile to their Caster, for a time. A Morgus will continue to learn during Undeath, and can become exponentially more powerful Casters than they were in their lifetime.

Their physiology resembles that of a Clinker, though their magical traits vary. Records depict them garbed in tattered robes, punctuated with occult artifacts, wielding rotting staffs and rusted long swords. They may be larger than Folk in stature, possibly due to having other bones grafted to them. Sources are unclear on this. Most distressing among the records are those Revenants schooled in necrocasting. Infamously fiendish beings, they may raise and control their own Undead serfs, able to convert defeated foes, or happles bystanders, into loyal troops. Since the Liche Liege, Casters have carefully monitored, and quickly silenced, any necrocaster whose studies wander down this disastruous path.

Morgi have few vulnerabilities, both magically and physically. It is their mental state that is most fragile, as their tendency towards introspection sets them apart from the more practical, grounded Skullcaps. For long, sleepless years, Morgi contemplate their existence and motivations, all the while mocked by visions of the simple pleasures of a mortal life. Emotions and memories all weigh against this ruminative undead. Despite their accumulated powers and the bastion of psychological callouses they develop, their lingering humanity and unstable sanity can be used against them.

The Continent has only recently recovered from the last plague of Undead. Countless species were wiped from existence, not to mention the many Folk who hadn't the time, ability or opportunity to flee. If it wasn't for their own mindlessness, and failed leadership, all the Races would be shambling husks of their former selves.

Bog Fiend

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The Undead of Lume are resilient, adaptable creatures, and when cast adrift from their Caster, some find creative ways to sustain themselves. The Fiends are those Undead who stumble into marshes and swamps; areas that are rife with living matter, and are scarcely visited by the Races. If conditions are ideal, such as revenant may sustain themselves by feeding on the small but plentiful Anima found in the living organisms of the swamp. Gradually, over many Rotations, the Undead adopts the traits of its surroundings. They are in essence a living, mobile swamp.

The longer a Bog Fiend exists, the stronger they become, growing in intellect and in their ability to control the elements in their vicinity. The have been known to bond with the mud, vines, plants and water around them, making their dense, soggy mass difficult to damage. Truly ancient Fiends can quickly drain the area when threatened, growing immense in size. Few who battle these Undead elemental forces directly survive to brag about their victory, however, Bog Fiends' are documented as being indifferent to peaceful passers by; likely as they no longer need to prey on such travellers.

As is the case with all Undead, it is recommended Folk avoid them entirely. Bog Fiends in particular are noted for attacking only when threatened, and typically behave as guardians of their marshes. They may even have enough sentience to communicate with. Should a confrontation be rendered necessary, we can only assume what methods may be effective. Intense heat should damage the elemental exterior, the skeleton inside would then need to be destroyed to completely eliminate the creature. One approach may be to expand their mass beyond their control, using Druidic Creepers for example, feeding and diluting their core organic mass until the being is no longer able to hold their form. Theoretically, if they are robbed of their marshy flesh, they could be disposed of like their Clinker kin, or their Anima consumed altogether. The author stresses the aforementioned suggestions are purely conjecture.

Stumbling upon a pond when lost in the Inland Forests, I noticed a skeleton sitting propped against a rock at the water's edge, submerged up to its waist. Before I could react, a whisper reached my ears, stay, and drink with me, it beckoned. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and though I was lost, and thirsty, and the voice was welcoming, I pivoted on my heel and ran. Better not to take chances with a haunted puddle.

Field sketch of a triumphant Arborius Cadaverous, believed to be made in the West of the Continent, an altogether mysterious and unexplored region. The scribe must have taken great risk to create this study, perhaps with help from local inhabitants. Attempts were recently made at pressing an attachment of visiting Druids for some explanation, as they hail from the area, though disclosures from the haughty folk were not often forthcoming. There may be a link there worth investigating..

Corpse Tree

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There are many odd things - some magical, others mundane - to be found in deep forests. Perhaps one of the most ghastly is the arborius cadaverous, or corpse tree.

They are an oddity, even for Lume's menagerie. An amalgamate of flora and Undead, they occur when an old, sickly tree feeds from the bodies of the deceased; or the dying. Now death is common, particularly in the wild places, and it is commonplace for bodies to break down and enrich the soil; but it takes more than a dead rodent or ailing vagabond to contaminate such a tree. The exposure must be more pronounced; the site of a battle, massacre, or the location of repeated hangings. The roots of the tainted then tree feeds on the cadaver's nutrients, and the Anima contained within - much like a conventional, humanoid Undead - and in this way become Undead themselves.

Though a corpse tree can feed on a body for some time, being of slower metabolism than animalia, it must continue feeding lest it wither and die, the roots and vascular system being irreversibly adapted to a more ... specialised diet. If the newly enchanted tree survives, the morbid growth continues. It will store victims in its boughs, trunk, and roots, the bark and limbs distorting in the process. Given enough time, a corpse tree may become mobile.

It is unsure how the midling trees come by their prey, for no creature in its right mind would stray near one. At least, not of its own accord. Rumours claim the wild Fey maintain a sacrificial practice begun by the former school of Necromancy, though the contemporary Casters deny any association with the act, and a wild Fey is not likely to help demystify the matter. An alternate, and more likely explanation, suggests that the Faux Giants use certain trees to store their victims, much like a butcher bird. As approaching these maligned and bellicose ogres is perhaps even more dangerous than meeting a Fey, the matter is still unresolved.

A final note should be made regarding the disposition of these topiary aberrations. Unlike Bog fiends - Undead humanoids that eventually meld with their surroundings - these Undead, former trees cannot be reasoned with, being wholly hostile. The conditions required to support them are rare, and any extant examples are best avoided.