The long habit of living indisposeth us for dying  - Sir Thomas Browne Urn-Burial Introduction Poets and philosophers of every age and nation have bemoaned that life is an insignificant moment when compared to the enormity of death. It is undeniable that death lasts longer than life. For some, this is not distressing; one life span seems to be sufficient. Many others see death not as the end of life, but as the beginning of an entirely new state of being, often superior to mortal existence. Still, some bemoan their short lives, fearing what lies beyond the grave. There is no question that a spirit can endure beyond death, and that an incomplete or tragic life can bind a spirit to the mortal realm after its body has perished. Vampires, liches, and ghosts stalk this land of ours. They are twisted creatures, pathetic in their torment, but dangerous nonetheless. I  know these creatures well, having made it my business to oppose the undead wherever they lurk. Not entirely by choice have I taken up this unending quest. Unending it truly is, for the wickedness that permits some dead to mock and torment the living is eternal. Just as the procession of day and night will continue long after I am dust, so will the dead continue to rise from their graves after 1 am gone. Allow me to introduce myself. 1 am Dr. Rudolph Van Richten, sometime purveyor of herbs and medicines, full- time hunter of the undead. Once, I lived a mundane life as a physician, husband, and father. Had tragedy not struck, I  should have spent all my days in these happy pursuits. But a vampire, abetted by human agents, took from me my son, then my wife. It is ironic that, like the creatures 1 hunt, I too was transformed - reborn, you might say - through violence and tragedy. This book, in a sense, reflects what separates me from my undead enemies, for I have embraced what is holy. A corner of my spirit will always grieve for my wife and child, but that recess is bright. It is filled with warm memories, recollections of shared triumphs, and all the joys of enduring love. I do not brood on what I have lost, nor do I begrudge others their happiness. Rather, I strive to preserve those who cannot otherwise prevail in the face of evil. My own grief is less important than the struggle to spare others the pain I have felt. That one lifetime is too short to accomplish the lofty goals I have set for myself troubles me not at all. Others will take up my work when I am gone. Even now, folk I  have never met share my quest and carry on the fight. After all, I cannot be everywhere at once. I have written this book and others like it to share my knowledge, for knowledge is the most potent weapon in any struggle. I have no desire to linger in the world after death. Instead, I leave this volume so that others might benefit from my experience after I am gone. It is all the immortality I require. A Different Kind of Menace Legends of the living dead abound. This book concerns those corporeal creatures I call the ancient dead, more commonly known as mummies. But let me backtrack a moment. By and large, undead creatures can be neatly divided into two categories: corporeal and incorporeal. The first encompasses dread liches and vampires, creatures whose corrupted spirits dwell within their own dead flesh, as well as their weaker cousins, mindless automatons such as zombies and skeletons. The second includes ghosts, creatures whose force of will grants them an existence independent of the body, and a few lesser kin such as spectres. This dual classification is incomplete, but for years the shortcoming escaped my notice. 1 was long aware of the lore of mummies before 1 became an undead hunter. Even after 1 took up my work, however, I regarded mummies as merely a lesser form of corporeal undead. 1 easily dismissed legends of bandage-wrapped corpses rising from their tombs on many grounds. Ignorance of the world's more elaborate burial customs, 1 reasoned, was the mainspring of mummy legends. Funeral customs in many places include ceremonies that symbolically bestow senses and motion upon the dead, that they may enjoy the afterlife. A misunderstanding of these rituals, and an occasional incident involving genuine necromantic magic, would be enough (1 thought) to start many tales circulating among superstitious folk. The truth was not so simple. The Priest of theTor Some years ago, my comrade Shauten the wizard and 1 heard rumors of undead marauders in eastern Darken, and we decided to consult a former companion of ours in Nevuchar Springs about the veracity of the reports. Along the way, we visited several uncharted villages and questioned the locals about the tale. I We discovered very little in the way of hard evidence until we entered a picturesque little hamlet not far from [ the banks of the Vuchar. Tidy cottages lined a dusty main street, which gave way to a track that wound through fields bursting with ripening crops. However, there were no people. I Our search of the deserted village revealed signs of violence everywhere, but neither survivors nor bodies. The lack of corpses seemed ominous, and soon our fears were realized. As we studied the tangle of footprints left by the hapless villagers and their attackers, a quartet of ragged zombies emerged from the fields and attacked. Two monsters were foul and decrepit, and must have been in a state of undeath for months. The remaining two, however, were fresh and clad in the tattered remains of farmer's garb. We no longer had any doubts about the villagers' fate. Shauten quickly dispatched the zombies with a spell, and we had little difficulty tracking them through the trampled grain. We knew we took a risk, as the village was large enough to produce a veritable army of zombies. Nevertheless, I desired to rescue the living captives - if any - and Shauten too was eager to continue our investigation. The trail through the grain led us to a huge cemetery, ancient beyond belief. A sprawling expanse of headstones skirted mausoleums carved into a rocky hillside. Gaunt figures skulked among the monuments, keeping furtive watch on us. Our attention was immediately drawn to a particularly large hillside tomb with a classical facade and a massive iron gate. When we approached this edifice, the figures, which turned out to be ghouls, attacked. Shauten's spells prevailed once again, and we set about examining the gate. The portal was shut fast, and I  immediately applied myself to opening the lock, in perfect working order despite the tomb's great age. A cry from Shauten cut my efforts short. Several more tombs had opened, and a horde of zombies had shuffled out. Further, I began to discern motion within the inky blackness that filled the crypt beyond the gate. Shauten and I chose to make a hasty retreat. Our flight took us directly to Nevuchar Springs, where we quickly organized a proper expedition to locate and eradicate whatever creature held sway over the undead in the cemetery. Upon our return, we set about a systematic exploration of the hillside and soon came face to face with our adversary. What some might have taken for luck, but I recognized as adroit maneuvering on our foes' part, brought wave after wave of zombies, sometimes accompanied by ghouls, to attack us at inconvenient times during our exploration. Clearly, a keen tactical mind had been observing our movements and chose to advance when we were most vulnerable. Through our own shrewd observations, my companions and I  deduced where our unseen opponent must be standing, and we pressed forward to a final confrontation. Our foe proved to be a spellcaster whose skeletal body was adorned with several amulets, and clothed in a flowing robe embroidered with priestly symbols of an unholy nature. We concluded that we faced a cleric lich. Through sheer force, and Shauten's spells, we won through. We lost no time in entering the tomb, where we found a wealth of treasures and artifacts of great antiquity. We promptly assembled every object we thought could be a lich's phylactery and destroyed them all. Afterward, we kept a strict vigil over the tomb, as we could not be sure we had prevailed. To our dismay, the "lich" reappeared within a week. Its fury knew no bounds. Only after much fighting and travail did I discern our foe was no lich, but a wholly different creature! The most valuable clue that led to my discovery was the simple fact that the monster had returned from destruction in exactly the same physical form as we had originally seen it. Clearly, the creature's spirit had not issued from some still-hidden vessel to usurp another body. Yet our foe reappeared to menace us again and again. If not a lich, what was our foe? It was the creature I had dismissed from my classification system: an ancient dead. Not until we had specially crafted a mace, based on the symbols 1 deciphered from the creature's robe, were we able to inflict a final death upon the monster. In the years since, I have fought the ancient dead in many guises. 1 use the term "ancient dead" throughout this work; for all practical purposes, it is interchangeable with "mummy," and I  use it to remind the reader that these creatures come in many forms.

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