Van Richten's Guide to Ancient Dead

Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inturn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous;' and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

- William Shakespeare
Hamlet
(Hamlet, to the ghost of his father)

The ancient dead are enigmatic creatures that often are hard to identify and thus are hard to combat. In many cases, their powers are similar to those of other undead menaces, though their vulnerabilities are vastly different. The hunt for a mummy is often fraught with unexpected perils, seemingly inexplicable mysteries, and a thousand other frustrations - some trivial, some deadly.

In this book I have compiled all I have learned about the ancient dead. Alas, this work is far from complete. My own knowledge is extensive; I have tread where no desk-bound scholar has ventured, and I have devoted myself to studying the walking dead with a devotion no priest or wizard, with a head cluttered with rituals and spells, could match. Nevertheless, the supernatural holds more secrets than one person could ever assimilate, even if given a dozen lifetimes dedicated to the endeavor. Nor had I the luxury of steadily accumulating immutable truths; all too often new evidence has caused me to revise my findings, and occasionally to abandon even my most deeply held convictions. Fortunately, I am not prone to despair.

In this chapter, I hope to acquaint the reader with certain terms and concepts that are vital to understanding the ancient dead. The material presented here provides a framework for all that follows, and the reader is advised not to treat it lightly.

I have identified five broad categories that 1 find useful when discussing and classifying the ancient dead. These are power rank, physical origin, psychological origin, form, and state of preservation.

The first and most important category by which 1 classify the ancient dead is their level of power, which I call their rank. Every mummy has a rank, regardless of the other attributes it may display. Readers familiar with my previous works know that I have developed similar systems for describing vampires and ghosts. A mummy's rank is similar to a vampire's age or a ghost's magnitude - the higher the rank, the more powerful the mummy.

I must warn the reader that the values of each rank category are neither absolute nor universal. A mummy of the first rank, for example, might exhibit some abilities of a higher rank, even though its general level of power is relatively weak. Use the guidelines below to your best advantage, but never take anything for granted.

As noted in the previous chapter, a mummy's powers are set, but not necessarily fixed, at the moment of its creation. The chief factors that determine the mummy's rank are the strength of its attachment to the mortal world, the deceased's emotional state at the time of death, the intricacy of the ritual used to create the mummy, and the opulence of the mummy's tomb. In some cases, other factors can increase a mummy's rank. These include the power of the creature or creatures creating the mummy, and the amount of respect, fear, or veneration a mummy receives from the living. The legend of the aforementioned Anhktepot of Har'Akir is a case in point.

If the tales are true, a desire to cheat death dominated Anhktepot's thoughts during life. Furthermore, as a pharaoh, Anhktepot could indulge in his obsession to a degree unimaginable for a common man. He had the resources of a nation at his disposal, and he used them. Anhktepot commanded for himself embalming and funeral rites on a grand scale, with an elaborate tomb to match.

Long after his death, this ruler still inspires fear among the people of Har'Akir. Anhktepot is an eternal bogeyman that haunts their dreams. If Anhktepot still haunts the sandy deserts of Har'Akir, he must be formidable, indeed. Likewise, any mummy created by the hand of Anhktepot would be a more fearsome creature than it might have been if it had been created under more typical circumstances.

Ancient dead of the first rank are created spontaneously, with little or no pomp and circumstance. Although they possess potentially dangerous powers, they are not particularly formidable. First-rank mummies usually can be annulled simply by destroying their physical forms, seldom a daunting task for an experienced undead-hunting group.

I never have knowingly faced an ancient dead creature of this inferior rank. I make this claim not out of arrogance, but to illustrate just how difficult identification of the ancient dead can be; in retrospect, I am certain I must have battled these creatures at least once. During our quest to defeat the lich known as Phantom's Bane [described in part in the section on liches, earlier in this volume - GWF], my companions and 1 suffered numerous assaults by livid, shambling creatures which we took to be some form of greater zombie, for they possessed a modicum of intelligence and proved to be disturbingly agile in combat. We never did grow accustomed to their gruesome visages, and fear clutched at our hearts whenever they appeared. Geddar Ironheart, our dwarf fighter, remarked after one battle that the bloodless creatures absorbed more punishment than he expected. Later, we discovered that several wounds the creatures had inflicted on us had begun to fester, and this sepsis proved to be resistant to my herbal remedies. Only a miraculous salve imported from a foreign city proved at all efficacious.

With the benefit of hindsight, I conclude that these creatures must have been first-rank mummies created by Phantom's Bane, probably from victims who had succumbed to his paralyzing touch. Fortunately for my party, these creatures were not so strong as to render our ignorance fatal. Unfortunately for everyone, mummies of the first rank are fairly rare. The majority of the ancient dead are not so weak.

Ancient dead of the second rank are generally not much more dangerous than their lesser kindred. In many cases, second-rank mummies rise spontaneously if the circumstances surrounding their deaths are sufficiently charged with emotion. In most other cases, mummies of this rank are created by evil spellcasters or by other undead. Consequently, they usually function as servants for more powerful beings, and defeating them is often but a single step toward ultimate victory. My first experience with mummies of this rank provides an illustration.

I undertook an extended expedition to gather herbs and found myself wandering among the bleached, dead trunks of trees that litter the foothills of the Balinok Mountains in eastern Falkovnia. I have often wondered what blight afflicts these trees, which are otherwise so hardy. 1 had no time, however, to ponder this particular botanical mystery because a more urgent matter drew my attention.

I came upon a mining camp where some thirty souls labored to wrest treasures from the very bosom of the earth. The camp overseer was a brutish woman of acerbic demeanor with a shovellike jaw. As with most organizations in Falkovnia, the camp was patterned along military lines. The overseer, Captain Twyla Kahl, also commanded ten haughty soldiers who protected the camp from animals and unfriendly local folk.

I had intended to pay only a brief courtesy visit to the camp and continue with my herb collecting. However, when the captain learned 1 was a physician she called upon me to attend a miner who had survived a tunnel collapse.

My patient was dazed and appeared to be suffering from septic wounds that seemed completely impervious to my treatments. Although the patient was in no immediate danger, my instincts told me I was dealing with a terminal case if I could not locate a cure. My suspicions were aroused, and I continued to treat the fellow while the collapsed tunnel was cleared and reinforced.

As the last bit of rubble was removed, the miners discovered an ancient chamber that must have been hewn from the living rock at a time when the mightiest tree in Falkovnia was a mere sapling. Three curving orifices opened near the floor on one side of the chamber. The trapezoidal blocks that framed the openings unpleasantly reminded me of snarling mouths filled with decaying teeth. 1 thought I detected a charnel stench coming from them as the captain and I surveyed the place.

My worst fears where realized when three hideous creatures emerged from these openings. They were fleshy, but with entirely skeletal heads. The captain and her soldiers had little difficulty hacking them down, but dismemberment seemed merely to inconvenience the creatures, and their sundered bodies kept on attacking. At my suggestion, the captain bade her troops fall back into the tunnel; the moment the living had quitted the chamber, I hurled three oil-filled lanterns, all lit, into the cavern. The creatures twisted and wailed as the flames consumed them, and soon all was blessedly quiet. My examination of the remains of these undead confirmed that they were mummies, which 1 would now rate as of the second rank.

When the smoke and heat from the funeral pyre had dissipated, we made a cautious inspection of the chamber, where we discovered nothing but a few trinkets - and the disturbing fact that the openings in the wall extended back into the mountain for an indeterminate distance. With this discovery, the captain ordered the chamber filled with rubble, then directed the miners to seek ore in other shafts. At the time, I felt this was a prudent decision.

For my part, I found myself faced with three more victims of the inexorable rotting disease that the mummies carried. With the captain's reluctant permission, 1 accompanied the victims to Silbervas in hopes of finding a cure for them. For the soldiers it was an easy task - the military folk in Falkovnia enjoy enough wealth and status to secure for themselves almost any service they need. The hapless miner who had been originally infected was not so fortunate, however, and 1 was forced to accompany him to Mordentshire before finally discovering a sympathetic priest who removed his vile disease.

Three months later, I was back in the vicinity of the camp, still seeking my herbs. 1 was dismayed to find the mine tunnel sealed and the camp deserted. I did not learn anything more about this case until some time later, when 1 sited a tavern in Lekar and encountered one of the soldiers 1 had assisted. The tale the solder related was, of course, secondhand, and many vital details were absent, but it seems the new tunnel dug on Captain Kahl's orders breached a second ancient chamber. This new area was huge, and it contained a colossal bas-relief of a face. The figure's eyes, 1 was told, were rubies the size of a man's fist. The captain immediately posted guards while a gang of miners went to work extracting the gems.

Just as the first chisel bit into the rock, however, the carved mouth sprang open to reveal a fanged maw! A legion of skeletal horrors marched out, directed by a dimly seen creature wielding a staff. The miners fled screaming, hampering the soldiers, who soon fell under the relentless onslaught. The captain was overcome along with her troops.

The remaining officer, being quick of mind, fired the mine as he fled. The conflagration undoubtedly consumed the advancing undead, but also collapsed the shaft. Rallying the terrified miners, this officer ordered the mine entrance to be completely buried, then quit the site.

I have no doubt that the mysterious figure wielding the staff was a mummy of great power. In my subsequent campaigns against ancient dead, I have often found that what first meets one's eye is seldom the whole truth. The ancient dead do not show all their strength at once, and an early victory often is an indication that the true battle is still to come.

Ancient dead of the third rank are powerful enough to pose a threat to even the best-equipped adventurers. Unless one is fortunate enough to discover a weakness quickly, destroying these creatures requires great force or meticulous detective work - or both. It is at this rank that the ancient dead first exhibit salient abilities, such as spellcasting and the creation of other undead. Some third- rank mummies are indeed vulnerable to physical destruction, but it is unwise to depend on such a weakness, as some ancient dead exhibit superior rejuvenation powers at this level.

My own experience leads me to believe that third-rank mummies make up the vast majority of ancient dead. One can expect to encounter weaker mummies only when unusual circumstances prevail; even then, the lesser creatures are often tools of more powerful ones.

Mummies of the third rank do not normally rise spontaneously, though I have no evidence to suggest that they cannot do so. More typically, these types of mummies are created as the result of a powerful ritual or by the hand of a more powerful sort of ancient dead.

I place the mummy found in desert tombs in this rank. Many of these creatures are vulnerable to mundane fire, but they have a potent array of powers, including paralyzing fear, a virulent form of mummy rot, and immunity to nonmagical weapons. The so-called "greater" mummies (such as ancient dead priests of Har'Akir) are also third rank. Although they are formidable, they usually cease to be a threat once defeated in combat.

Ancient dead of the fourth rank are truly formidable. Most conventional methods serve only to delay or drive off these creatures; mummies of this rank frequently seem to have been defeated, only to reappear and menace their opponents once again.

Ancient dead creatures of fourth rank rise only after a powerful ritual has been completed and their bodies have been interred in elaborate tombs. Usually the deceased took active roles in planning their funeral rites and burial, fully intending to return to the physical world as mummies. Many of these individuals believe themselves to be so powerful that death has no sway over them; others actively embrace death in an attempt to seize greater power or to gain control over the afterlife.

There can be no doubt that to become an undead mummy is to wield power, but such power comes only at the price of the aspirant's own mortality. Power lies within a mummy's grasp, but the crucial fact (perhaps the fact most often ignored by aspirants to such unholy power) is that the flesh that encases an ancient dead's spirit is truly dead and capable of feeling no joy. A mummy can never be truly happy; the best it can hope for is to reduce its misery.

Likewise, an unclean spirit might escape whatever immediate torments await it beyond the mortal realm, but its heart, burdened with misdeeds, does not grow lighter. Instead, the spirit is shackled to the memory of its iniquities. In seeking to avoid one torment, the spirit merely dooms itself to another.

Consider the example of the Lamenting Rake of Paridon. Most accounts identify this creature as a ghost, a spirit so consumed by excess and debauchery in a famine-plagued land that it was condemned to walk the city streets where it once lived and witness revelries it could no longer share.

Timothy Strand squandered a bright future and a family fortune by making his life a continuous frolic. When he felt an early death approaching, he poured all his remaining wealth into an ornate tomb, which also was to serve as a temple to an evil deity. As part of this dark pact, Timothy was guaranteed a continuing life, surrounded by comfort and luxury. To seal the pact, Timothy had himself slain and embalmed. He expected to return from death and did, as a mummy able to appreciate - but never to enjoy - the pleasures of the flesh.

The raw emotional and supernatural power required to create a mummy of the fourth rank invariably leaves its mark on the individual. The lingering spirit develops a single-minded dedication to some purpose or possession; this makes it a relentless foe. Folk who thwart such a creature face the daunting task of preserving themselves long enough to find the mummy's weakness or to locate some indirect method to restrain or neutralize the mummy. The nature of the rituals used to create these creatures generally provides at least one avenue to defeating a mummy; see Chapter Four for a more complete discussion. Brave hearts and sturdy sword arms are useful in a quest to discover such an avenue, but they alone cannot bring the quest to a successful conclusion.

A mummy of this rank is all but unstoppable. Its powers are vast, its mind diabolical, and its weaknesses few. Fortunately, the wealth and labor of an entire nation is required to invest a mummy with this level of power. Few lands that I know possess the necessary means to complete this kind of endeavor, even if the will to do so is present. (Har'Akir comes to mind, largely because of the legends of Anhktepot.)

After many discussions with priests about the collective power of worship, however, 1 have come to a chilling conclusion: The living can grant power to the dead. Indeed, in some mist- shrouded corners of our land, devoted cadres of supplicants grant the power of their combined will to the ancient dead. In these cases the dead welcome the living, not to feed upon them in the manner of a vampire, but to draw sustenance from them in a subtler manner.

The means by which a living being is transformed into an ancient dead creature is often the pivotal factor in determining the creature's appearance, powers, and actions. When dealing with a very powerful mummy, learning the creature's history is a vital task, because that past often holds the only key to laying the mummy to rest.

Each ancient dead creature has a dual origin. First, a creature's mortal shell must be preserved so that it may house the spirit even after death. Second, the spirit itself must be compelled or induced to return to its body.

The first statement might lead some readers to conclude that destroying all corpses would check the propagation of ancient dead. This is true to some extent. The ancient dead can exist only within those physical bodies that were their own in mortal life. However, burial customs in most communities require that the deceased be interred intact. I have visited lands such as Har'Akir where it is believed that the deceased is denied an afterlife if the body is not properly embalmed, preserved, and interred. Adventurers who meddle with funerals and graves risk not only the wrath of the local community, but the displeasure of the gods themselves.

Furthermore, the deliberate destruction of a body, no matter how well meaning, can set in motion a karmic resonance that creates a ghost. As I explained in some detail in an earlier work, the more charged with emotion a spirit is, the more powerful a ghost it becomes. Imagine the anger of a spirit that believes it has been denied a blissful afterlife because its body has been desecrated! Enraged ghosts are likely more powerful than whatever sort of ancient dead being they might otherwise have become.

Further, as I will explain in Chapter Three, the destruction of an ancient dead's body is not necessarily sufficient to permanently destroy it. I know this seems incredible, since the ancient dead are, after all, corporeal. Nevertheless, many of the ancient dead can reconstruct their bodies when the need arises. Assaulting a mummy with physical weapons and damaging spells is often sufficient to reduce the creature to dust. The immediate result can be satisfying, but do not be lulled into complacency. One can never be sure the creature has been permanently defeated without careful research.

Every ancient dead creature I know about falls into one of three subcategories: accidental, created, and invoked. The terms refer only to the processes that preserve the creature's body, and not to its motives or psychic traumas, which I will discuss in a separate section. Be warned that ancient dead whose origins bear no semblance to what I describe here might stalk the land. Undeath is a phenomenon that often confounds mortal understanding.

It seems that an ancient dead can form when a corpse is naturally preserved after its living form is suddenly overcome by death. The creature also suffers, usually dying in great pain or turbulent emotion. In many cases, the medium that preserves a body was instrumental in bringing about death - perhaps even directly causing it. The Bog Monster of Hroth was one of several armed raiders who were lured into a bog, entrapped, and slain by the defenders of a town the raiders meant to pillage. The raider who later returned as the bog monster must have felt a strange and awful mixture of fear, humiliation, and frustration as death overcame him.

Any environmental condition that prevents a body from decaying can create a natural mummy. The most common conditions include burial in dry sand, freezing, and immersion in swamps or bogs. Other conditions might naturally embalm a corpse. My colleague George Weathermay, a ranger of some renown, speculates that quicksand, the cool waters of subterranean pools, and tar pits might also preserve the dead.

Ancient dead creatures created unintentionally are extremely rare. They also tend to be among the weakest of mummies, since no outside agent exists to invest them with power. Nevertheless, even the most moderate ancient dead can be dangerous, and a natural mummy can attain substantial levels of power if its motivation is strong enough. The Bog Monster of Hroth was fairly weak as mummies go, but it was an unstoppable menace to the poorly equipped woodcutters who first encountered it.

The vast majority of ancient dead rise when preserved corpses are deliberately turned into undead creatures. The typical mummy found in many lands is created from the corpse of a priest, carefully embalmed and wrapped for the ritual that binds its spirit with its body once again. My observations and research lead me to believe that there are two types of created ancient dead: subservient and usurped.

When the entity that creates a mummy had control over the creature's mortal form, the resulting monster becomes its creator's servant. The greater mummies of Har'Akir, who were priests under Anhktepot while he was still alive, are examples of this. The nature of this bond varies greatly, but often it provides the key to defeat.

When the entity that creates a mummy did not hold sway over the creature's mortal form, the result is a usurped mummy. Many powerful mummies (and a few of their lesser brethren) have the ability to create other ancient dead, usually by transforming their slain victims through some ritual or arcane process. These usurped mummies then become the mindless tools of their undead masters.

Sometimes a usurped mummy has a more insidious origin. Even the most reverent and well-intentioned funeral rites can lead to undeath for the deceased if an enemy subverts those rites and lays a curse on the corpse. A person thus victimized often lies helpless for centuries, trapped in a state between life and death, denied the afterlife that funeral rites were meant to assure. Ancient dead of this kind are driven by inhuman rage born of endless disappointment and despair. Even if the victim was good and virtuous in life, its involuntary undead state transforms it into a corrupt monster. Careful research often reveals a method for putting the being back into slumber. Sometimes it can be permanently laid to rest, freeing the creature's tortured spirit and ending the mummy's threat forever.

This subcategory includes the most terrible and powerful of all ancient dead. An Invoked mummy embraces undeath willingly, laying plans for a corrupted form of immortality while still alive.

Such a being often lies undisturbed in its tomb for decades - even centuries - before stirring and walking the land. What passes through its unliving mind during its slumber, I do not know. All my experience and research leads me to believe that years of unnatural life weigh heavily on the once mortal mind. If a slumbering mummy dreams, its visions can hardly be pleasant. Certain archaic scrolls 1 acquired during an otherwise ill-fated voyage on the Sea of Sorrows indicate that such a creature's spirit might actually depart the mortal realm to dwell in a true afterlife for a time. This is not genuine immortality, as the spirit can be drawn back to this world to fulfill certain duties and maintain certain conditions.

The chief condition to be kept is that the deceased must be remembered and venerated by the living. Without such support, the spirit is forced to return to its mortal body and exist in a state of undeath. The spirit is preoccupied with assurances that it will receive this support, and it must be willing to return from death whenever necessary. In many cases, the deceased was interred with the understanding that it must return from death to attend to some business so important as to beckon even beyond the grave, or to assist the living.

An invoked mummy is not only very powerful, it is often revered by a cult (see Chapter Seven). Timothy Strand, the Lamenting Rake of Paridon, almost certainly was an invoked fourth-rank mummy. The priests and worshipers who used his tomb as a temple doubtless served as his supporting cult.

Once a physical body is transformed into a vessel capable of holding the being's spirit, some other factor must secure the spirit within that body. Remains that were merely animated, and thus lack an intrinsic sense of self, become a mindless automaton such as a skeleton or zombie. Ancient dead, by contrast, possess at least a modicum of intelligence, and often a mummy has a formidable intellect. Even a first-rank servitor mummy follows orders with a sense of purpose and the ability to adjust its tactics. If a hapless party has misidentified such a foe as a common zombie or skeleton, even the weakest mummy can be deadly.

The motivations of the ancient dead defy easy classification. Often the circumstances of a person's death, or events that occurred afterward, determine what motivates the mummy in its actions. I have discovered four broad categories that describe a mummy's psychological origins: servitude, restlessness, recall, and dark pacts. That I identify only four categories should not lead the reader to believe that ancient dead are simple or predictable creatures - far from it. Rather, the reader should understand that the ancient dead rise only under specific circumstances, and these factors often leave their mark on the resulting creature.

I list psychological factors separately from the processes of preservation to underscore the fact that preservation and motivations can occur in myriad combinations. A mummy's dual origins usually are tightly intertwined. What exists separately in theory is often inseparable in reality. Further, many ancient dead I have documented could fit in more than one category of motivation. Even in such cases, however, one factor is dominant and has the greatest influence over each mummy's exact nature.

These creatures exist under the control of others. The extent of this control ranges from independent service to complete mental domination, in which the servants must act against their own self-interest without resistance if so ordered.

Servitor mummies are most often created by other mummies or by a mummy cult. Such servants are never the only ancient dead associated with the cult. They usually serve as guards and soldiers, front-line troops that delay and wear down an enemy until the main strength arrives.

Most servitor mummies are fairly weak, but exceptions have been noted, especially if the controlling creature is a powerful one. The lich-priest Pythian had at his command a force of third- rank mummies that obeyed it even unto their own destruction. Their final assault also ended the lives of three of my companions.

Not every ancient-dead guardian is a servitor. Many restless and invoked mummies stalk the mortal world, seeking of their own volition to protect something.

When facing an undead menace, it is important to keep in mind that a servitor creature might be pursuing its master's goals, which usually are not immediately apparent to an observer. A servitor mummy may have access to vast resources or be backed up by a horde of other creatures. Fortunate hunters can discover the link between servant and master and sever it. Even if one cannot break the link, one might discover that the terms of a mummy's service restrict its actions in some manner. This knowledge could help in the development of plans of attack that exploit a mummy's limitations.

Servitor mummies are almost always deliberately created, usually by the creature that later controls them. The tomb guardians of Har'Akir, for example, were created for the express purpose of watching over a pharaoh's tomb. Invoked mummies may be servants, especially if they have returned from the dead in order to render service. Such creatures are rare, but 1 have no less than three independent accounts that document them. Natural mummies seldom become servants unless they fall under the sway of more powerful undead creatures or evil priests.

If a mummy is not created specifically to serve, then its servitude is a condition of its continued existence, rather than a part of its origin. If the control over such a mummy is broken, the creature immediately begins acting in a manner consistent with its own motivations. One of my own experiences illustrates this point.

My companions and I had been long in pursuit of a vampire into the snowy peaks surrounding Lake Kronov in Tepest, and we were finally within a few feet of our goal. As we approached the creature's final stronghold, a tiny cave atop an icy slope, a horribly emaciated figure clad in rotting furs rose from behind a boulder and attacked us. The cold and the slippery footing didn't hamper it in the least. For a moment we stood dumbfounded and overcome by pure dread, yet we soon recovered and battled the creature.

The monster seemed to ignore blows from our weapons. Corwin, our priest, finally raised his holy symbol with a triumphant shout and thrust it toward our assailant. The monster froze in its tracks. Success? No - it merely turned and scurried up the slope. When the creature reached the summit, it dove into the cave.

To our amazement, an inhuman screech immediately split the air. A scant few seconds later, the creature reappeared, dragging a plain pine coffin with a vampire still sitting upright in it, into the open air. We watched motionless, dumbfounded at the spectacle. As the vampire squirmed powerless in the sunlight, the mummy snatched an object from the coffin and held it aloft. It was a small hand ax with a weathered haft and a corroded copper head. Hooting with delight, the creature scrambled out of view once again, escaping with its prize while we advanced on our original target.

I shudder at might have been if we had held that ancient copper ax. It was doubtless a relic of evil held by the vampire, and it would have brought about our doom. Corwin's attempt at turning the mummy instead broke the vampire's control over it in some manner, freeing it to turn on its former master and deliver the vampire to us - almost as a gift. Of the mummy and its precious ax, nothing more has been heard; perhaps it now rests in peace, the ax at its side. Thus did fate intervene on our side and grant us a swift, if somewhat anticlimactic, victory.

Readers familiar with my earlier work on ghosts will understand some of the emotional forces that bind the dead to our world. Some ancient dead arise from the same circumstances that create ghosts. This is particularly true of accidental and invoked mummies; something in each creature's psyche maintains a link between spirit and body that outlasts death. This link can arise without a conscious desire on the dying person's part, perhaps providing a path through which an outside agent can create a mummy. This type of mummy strongly resembles a ghost, but the creature is fully corporeal.

Restless ancient dead are often quiet unless their tombs are disturbed or allowed to decay, or until some task they could not complete in life suddenly becomes possible. Mummies with unfinished tasks might rise periodically to set about trying to complete them.

I have recorded many stories involving a dedicated collector of fine armor. This wealthy man, Quinn Roche, ordered that the choicest items from his collection be placed in his tomb along with him. It is said that when one of the items was later stolen, Roche rose to regain it. A second account alleges that Roche rose when groundwater seeping into his tomb caused valuable armor to rust. The collector came forth not only to see that this armor was restored, but also to insure that his precious collection would not be so endangered again. Yet another tale maintains that Roche awoke to tirelessly pursue a victim who owned a rare suit of plate mail of etherealness, which Roche (spelled Rotch in this particular manuscript) sought to add to his collection. After studying these materials carefully, I concluded that these stories, which cover a span of 260 years, all refer to the same being, which rose several times for different but obviously related reasons.

My own experience with restless ancient dead involved a pitiful, though romantic, tale. During my visit to the parched land of Kalidnay, I struck up a friendship with several priests.

One morning, we woke to find the whole community in an uproar, for a young woman was missing. A quick examination of her home led us to believe that she had simply wandered off into the desert, yet the natives remained convinced of foul play. Suspicion immediately fell upon one

Iurudef Hamid, a visiting stranger who had shown an uncanny familiarity with the people and customs.

In due course, the priests and I were able to determine that Iurudef Hamid was actually Ahmose Tanit, a warrior priest who had died some 300 years before. Ahmose Tanit was a successful adventurer whose life was marred by a great tragedy. His greatest love was a young woman named Simbel, who died during a terrible pestilence while Ahmose Tanit pursued his career as an adventurer in a distant land.

Tank's powers as a priest might have saved his sweetheart, had he been present. Remorse and guilt seem to have mingled with the passion this adventurer felt, building instead of easing over time. Ahmose Tanit lived for many years thereafter, but died an unhappy man.

The missing woman, we discovered, was an indirect descendant of Simbel's, and was very much like her in every way. Apparently her mere presence was enough to attract the ancient dead. With the "reappearance" of Simbel in the area, Tanit was compelled to seek her out and claim her as his bride.

This tale does not have a happy ending. My friends and I located Ahmose Tank's tomb, but we were unable to save the woman. In the end, we were obliged to acknowledge the union that Tanit had consummated with his victim, and we laid the pair to rest together. Should the two bodies ever be separated, 1 have no doubt that Ahmose Tanit will walk the land again. Perhaps his unliving lover will rise as well.

Sometimes the ancient dead rise in response to events that occur long after their deaths. After many hours of study and countless interviews with priests and mediums who have had some experience with these matters, 1 have come to believe that beings can pass fully from the mortal world, only to be drawn back then certain conditions prevail. Some force or summons compels the spirits to reenter their mortal bodies.

Ancient dead of this type are usually invoked, but not always. In one case I documented, the creature returned in response to an ancient curse it had successfully avoided throughout its life. Strangely enough, when one of her descendants triggered the curse, the blight fell upon the dead ancestor. The curse was worded in such a way that the victim's repose in death was interrupted so that she would waken and feel the curse's effects.

One might be tempted to place the aforementioned Ahmose Tanit into this subcategory. However, it was clear to me that this being had stalked the land for centuries, waiting for his sweetheart to be reincarnated. Had Ahmose Tanit risen only when his reincarnated Simbel had reached marriageable age, I would have placed him in the recalled category. It is lamentable that Tanit walked the land for so many years, learning as he went. If he had slumbered for three centuries, his mannerisms would have been several generations out of date. That, in turn, would have marked him as an unusual being and made him a more obvious danger, one that might have been defeated or thwarted before he could claim a victim.

Quinn Roche the armor collector might also fall into the recalled category. Instead, I labeled him "restless" because of his continuing fascination with his vast collection of armor.

I have acquired several accounts of guardian mummies rising to protect ancestral estates, temples, and other areas that were important to them in life. One case involved a dedicated priestess who was interred beneath a temple, returning when the building fell into disrepair. In each of the cases I labeled "recalled," the individuals appear to have died and departed from the world in the normal way, only to return in response to events that occurred long after their deaths.

The material I have on the priestess who returned to save her temple from ruin is fragmentary, but she might have been interred with the stipulation that she protect or maintain the temple when necessary. If this is true, as 1 suspect it is, she is an example of an invoked mummy, recalled by a specific trigger. (See Chapter Six for more information.)

To many shortsighted individuals, the thought of physical immortality beckons like a sweet, radiant dream. It is true that our world offers many pleasures, but fate has decreed that only mortals may enjoy them. There is no shortage, however, of dark powers all too willing to indulge the misconceptions of the foolish.

I do not know, nor do I care to know, how or through what agency undeath is granted. I can attest only to the results. The victim always superficially gains what is desired. In the case of the ancient dead, this is most often continued ownership of material things. I am sure that agents of darkness always take more than they give, however, and the victims never gain any joy from their possessions. Instead, possessions become obsessions.

Often, one or more of the objects associated with a mummy is a key to destroying it. (A mummy that can be destroyed in this fashion is said to be dependent upon the object; see Chapter Four.) I must warn the reader that a mummy is the most single-mindedly possessive creature that exists. Tampering with the goods in a mummy's tomb is almost certain to bring about a curse or deadly assault.

Ancient dead that gained unlife through dark pacts are most often housed in elaborate tombs filled with guardians, traps, and curses, frequently maintained and guarded by cults. Cults often regard "their" mummies as direct representatives of their deities, and sometimes cults venerate mummies as their deities.

A mummy might depend on its cult for its powers, even for its continued existence. The mummy could become powerless unless its name is remembered and celebrated by the living. I do not mean to suggest that my readers slay every mummy cultist they find. Such extreme - indeed, vengeful - acts can bring terrible retribution upon the perpetrators. More importantly, some cults actually serve to keep mummies at rest. If such a cult ceases to venerate a particular mummy, the monster rises in a rage, seeking to reestablish the interrupted rituals.

Since the ancient dead are fully corporeal, each creature's form is fairly obvious. Further, one can deduce quite a bit about a mummy's origins and powers just by observing its physical form. Unfortunately, the physical form one sees is not always the creature's true form. Also, forms can be deceptive, and one can never be certain if one is dealing with the ancient dead or some other, often lesser, undead menace. Disaster awaits those who classify their foes without careful research and observation.

When one thinks of the ancient dead, the most common images that spring to mind are of the classic mummies found in the desert lands of Har'Akir and Kalidnay. These horrifying creatures have desiccated human bodies swathed in yards and yards of musty linen bandages. They move with a shuffling gait that seems ponderous, but their movements can be deceptively quick.

As the following subcategories reveal, the ancient dead vary greatly in corporeal form and physical appearance. 1 am convinced that familiarity with the full range of aspects a mummy might assume can prevent fatal mistakes. The four forms 1 have identified are humanoid, animal, monster, and composite.

Beware: Misidentification is all too easy. To further complicate matters, I have compiled no less than twenty-one authenticated accounts of various ancient dead that had command over their own forms, changing shape at will. Readers who value their lives and the lives of their companions should not discard clues that their senses reveal, but neither should they depend on pieces of information that are not backed up by careful research. The undead are complex and deadly foes, and deception is one of their most potent weapons.

Most of the ancient dead have humanoid form. These creatures were once living, breathing people, and they retain recognizably human shapes. Without careful study, it is not easy to tell what a humanoid mummy's origins were. Details of dress, ornamentation, hairstyle, and even facial features may provide clues to the culture or era from which an ancient dead first issued. Sometimes an observant hunter can deduce the pertinent facts by observing a mummy's actions for a short time, but I must reemphasize that haste and fatal errors go hand in hand.

In some cases, the preserved body of a common animal can be reanimated as one of the ancient dead. Nearly every animal mummy is created deliberately, as an animal has neither the intelligence nor the force of will to return to the mortal world on its own. The animal mummy serves either another mummy or a mummy cult.

Nevertheless, an extraordinary animal can return on its own, especially if it was carefully interred upon its death. The fabled Hissing Cat of Kantora was such a creature. In life, this creature was a mage's familiar that wasted away and died after its mistress, Caron de Annemi, met an untimely death. The slain wizardess's companions carefully laid the animal to rest to commemorate their fallen comrade, whose body could not be recovered. The cat returned a generation later when a foolish young wizard claimed de Annemi's research into illusions as his own.

Monsters tend to die violent deaths that do not leave behind intact bodies. This makes ancient dead monsters mercifully rare. Likewise, only fully mortal and corporeal creatures can become ancient dead. Though many other types of creatures have physical bodies, not every body remains a suitable vessel for a spirit once death overtakes it. Evil spirits such as the rakshasas of Sri Raji, extraplanar creatures such as aerial servants, and created creatures that never were truly alive, such as golems, cannot return as ancient dead. This is a blessing for which we all should be grateful.

Like ancient dead animals, ancient dead monsters are most often created on purpose. My collection of documents includes one harrowing account of a visit to a huge, royal tomb in an unspecified land (probably Har'Akir). The intruders found a catacomb infested with creatures collected from widely scattered lands and pressed into service as guardian mummies. The final portion of the narrative is in a different hand, which suggests the original author perished before the venture was complete. This second writer describes many weird creatures, all dead, which attacked out of the darkness. The account is disjointed, and the creatures described are so bizarre that I suspect the author is guilty of embellishment. The most improbable example is a trio of tall but wiry creatures with warty green hides, gangly arms ending in wickedly clawed hands, vacant white eyes, and absurdly long noses. 1 suspect that this final narrator sought solace in the bottle after the adventure, then was plagued by armies of improbable brutes for the remainder of his life.

One of the most horrifying and physically imposing groups of ancient dead are composite creatures. These mummies are almost certainly created. (My years of undead hunting have bred in me a sense of caution that prevents me from saying "always.") They are constructed from bits and pieces of several different creatures, sewn or otherwise Joined together in the same manner as flesh or bone golems are fashioned. Some humanoid parts invariably decorate the mix, and a humanoid spirit animates the mummy. Rarely are such creatures independent, and their presence is a sure sign the area containing them is a vast complex teeming with vileness. (My years as an undead hunter have also taught me that bad news is unfortunately far more reliable than good news.)

No discussion of the ancient dead would be complete without considering each body's state of preservation. I grant that the four subcategories I have identified - skeletal, withered, intact, and pristine - are somewhat arbitrary, but remembering them is important. How well the corpse that houses an ancient dead's spirit has withstood the ravages of time often determines how easily the creature can be identified. Unfortunately, the creature's state of preservation is not a reliable guide to its rank. Further, ancient dead in advanced decay are easily confused with lesser forms of mindless undead. Mistaking an inferior mummy for a common zombie can have (forgive me) grave consequences.

A mummy is most likely clad in funerary garments or wrappings. The exact type and appearance of the mummy's raiment depends on the type of funereal rites that were performed over the corpse, and these in turn vary with local culture, religion, and fashion. A lack of garments or wrappings often indicates a relatively weak mummy, but this is not always so. A colleague of mine once recounted a tale of a vengeful mummy who had returned because grave robbers had unwrapped the corpse to strip it of its burial goods.

A skeletal mummy's physical body has been reduced to bare bones or bones clad in shards of dried flesh. Such a creature is easily confused with a common skeleton or other undead. As I related in the introduction to this treatise, I myself once briefly feared I had come face to face with a dreaded lich when in fact I faced a skeletal mummy.

I once reluctantly employed a Vistani medium to uncover a particularly difficult mummy's secrets and learned a previous group of invaders had succumbed to a skeletal composite mummy that they had misidentified as a bone golem.

This is the typical state of preservation for a mummy, though few onlookers realize this as a mummy is often fully wrapped in bandages or clothed, its desiccated body concealed under its raiment. The emaciated body may look skeletal, but the bones are fully covered by leathery skin and dry but flexible tissue. Almost all naturally mummified ancient dead survive in this state of preservation.

An ancient dead in this state of preservation has a body that shows little or no decay. Often it appears to have been dead for only a short time, or even alive but very old or seriously ill. This kind of ancient dead can be confused with a (solid) ghost or vampire. When facing this type of being, one can often quickly determine that the foe is not a ghost because it is fully corporeal and always remains so.

One fairly reliable method for distinguishing this ancient dead from a vampire is through the use of a mirror - the ancient dead will cast a reflection, and it will not recoil from a mirror as a vampire does. Be warned, however, for herein lies a trap for the overeager. If one approaches an ancient dead creature intending to expose a vampire, seeing the mummy's reflection in a mirror could lead the hunter to overlook his true foe, who is perhaps the mummy's master or ally and is somewhere nearby, waiting to strike. Or, have you been fighting a mummy all along? Be wary of all things. Self-inflicted misdirections frequently lead to tragedy.

This is the most insidious type of ancient dead, for the mummy's body, though long dead, appears to be healthy and alive. It is nearly impossible to identify such a being as undead until it reveals itself, usually through its deadly powers. By then, of course, it usually is too late.

The ancient dead are complex creatures, as any reader who has come to this point in my text has no doubt surmised. The path to an accurate classification and assessment of a mummy is often tortuous and filled with false leads and blind alleys. Do not be tempted to neglect the tools presented here just because the task is difficult - the work carries great rewards. Once one understands something of a mummy's origins, physical characteristics, and motivations, one has the keys to unlocking the monster's entire trove of secrets.