Xombis (Based on Xombi, A Milestone Character created by John Rozum. Hunt these books down, people). by Timothy Toner With a mighty sigh, the boy scratched one last response on the test, checked it over, and turned it in. His teacher, a tall but friendly presence in the library, had his customary, "How'd it go?" grin on his face. The student half-heartedly shrugged. "So, are you going to make it home okay, Kenny?" "Yeah. My brother's waiting at the corner store." "Have a good weekend then. See you next Friday." The boy collected his coat and book bag, remembering to zip up tightly. With the coming of winter, it was getting dark really early. Even now, at just before five, it was almost pitch black. He was so focussed on the way out, that he almost ran into the stranger. Dark and looming, as tall as Mr. Fredericks, his teacher, but nowhere near as nice. Something in the back of Kenny's head screamed "FEAR!" but Kenny ignored it. He pushed past the man, and went to his locker. "Do you teach them to be that rude?" Frederick glanced up, and the pleasant smile faded. "Sims. It's been a while." "Too long, actually. Four months, in fact. You're looking well." "Yeah. It's a curse. You're up awfully early." "Blame Sergei. He's been trying to master that ritual." "Please, Sims. No names. Not here." The raven haired man laughed convulsively. "So you think you've found your fragile island of stability? In this place, a children's library, a children's school. You were one of the greatest archivists, and now you're frittering your life away in this place. If I wasn't so envious, I'd be disgusted." Frederick breathed out slowly, reflexively. "So why did you come down here so early. What couldn't wait? I gave blood last week." "I know. Sergei...pardon, the master..." Frederick stiffened, and glanced at the door. Sims chuckled before continuing. "He was pleased to find that you came so readily, and were so obedient. One would think that you have accepted your fate." "In a sense, I have." "Then RETURN. There's no life for you here. Within ten years, fifteen maximum, you'll be forced to move on. Why play by their rules?" "I don't want to be a slave again. Not again." "As if any man could bind you..." "Sims, I have a hell of a lot of work to do. Tell me what you want, or get out." "Me? I was just in the neighborhood, and decided to stop by. After all, it has been four months." "Why the hell would you come down here? You hate the South Side." "With a passion. However, Sergei has guests this weekend, and they woke up hungry." "Guests? What kind of--" "Ventrue. I'm sorry, Fredrick, but they're terribly important, and they're not supposed to be in the city. We needed a secure area." It all came to Frederick in a flash. "Kenny. You son of a BITCH! KENNY!" He ran for the door. Or tried to, at least. In the time it took the teacher to make that realization, Sims had put his glasses back on, slipped on his favorite pair of bludgeoning gloves, and stepped in the path of Frederick. He gripped his associate by the lapels, and shook him briskly. Slowing down just enough to be intelligible, he whispered, "Don't worry. We have agents monitoring the Hunt. They'll make sure that he was seen leaving the school before they make the grab. Also, the janitor down the hall will establish that you never left this room. And I'm here to make sure that you don't." "You knew about this. You knew about me, and this place, and everything. You could have taken them somewhere else, but you took them here, to my children. You son of a BITCH." He began to pull. Sims eyes widened in horror. It wasn't that Frederick was too strong. On the contrary, Sims felt Frederick's arm stiffen and twist unnaturally. Frederick was using Sims' strength against him. If he didn't let go, then Frederick would be free...and Sims would be left holding his arm. Fortunately, it didn't come to that. As the tendons began to tear in Frederick's shoulder, he stopped his struggling, closed his eyes, and accepted the terrible reality of the situation. "Why? Do you hate me so much for what has happened? Don't you know what I've lost because of this thing? I didn't choose to go Revenant!" "No, you didn't." Sims drew Frederick close, mocking an embrace that they had shared many times. He breathed in his ear. "You can walk in the sun. You can behold the grandeur of an icon. And you will live forever, without once taking of the blood. You have it all, and you don't have to pay for a damn thing. Don't ask me why I hate you. You'd be a fool to ask." Frederick massaged his shoulder, and the tendons smoothed under the skin. "I've paid my debts. I was told that all accounts are balanced. My blood for my freedom. That was the deal. I don't have to put up with this Machiavellian bullshit. I left that all behind." Sims broke the embrace. "Sad, you know. Your name came up again at the Primogen meeting. Because I'm the authority on your...case, they let me attend. Carlos says that you're a threat to the Masquerade more profound than any Sabbat siege." "Did they speak of destruction?" Sims chuckled. "No. They're not stupid. They understood the ancient scrolls that I translated for them. You can't be killed. Ever. They envy that, fear it, and what they fear, they try to destroy. Carlos did speak of imprisonment." The color drained from Frederick's face until it matched the pale shade of Sim's cheeks. "Imprisonment? What? I've done nothing wrong." "It's what you can do, and what they can't do in response. You represent a shifting of the balance of power in the Jyhad. Already three cases of spontaneous revenance have been reported this year in Europe. There's talk of regulation of ghouls, of extending the Tradition of Creation to include ghouls. Many smell the sulphur of war in the winds, and not a few are scouring for the texts I have uncovered, to try to duplicate...you." "Fools," Frederick breathed. "Don't they understand how...hard this is? It isn't a blessing! It's a curse. Every death takes me closer to that place. And the pain! It's no better than it was when I was alive. Each time I die, I _die!_ I only have the misfortune of waking up." "Yes, well, there are thousands who would trade places in an instant. That was always your problem, Frederick. You were too self-absorbed. Instead of using it, you squander it. A fucking librarian. Together, we could recapture New York, but you prefer to teach how to use the Dewey Decimal system, to creatures you know are no more than cattle to our kind. You had options..." "Your options are two parts lie, and one part crap. There's a path I'm on, Sims, one more tenuous than the one the Inconnu follow. If I fall, then I may as well be dead and in hell, for my suffering will truly not end." "Perhaps one day, you will know suffering and loss, Frederick. I cannot imagine how this could be so terrible. You can partake of food and flesh, of all the mortal world offers. You have unfathomable power without the price." "That's just it. Unfathomable power has an unfathomable price. You wouldn't understand it. Power of my type is its own curse." Silence filled in the room, and somewhere, a boy called out to deaf ears. Frederick stiffened. "Heightened hearing? A new talent, then? Frederick, I'm disappointed in you. Any new developments were to be reported. It is our agreement." "Oh, it comes and goes. Nothing reliable." He was cold, but it didn't ruffle Sims. "I'm sure. Well, I suppose that's all. Oh, here's this week's dose of the Prince's blood. Poor fool thinks that the bond will one day take. Don't laugh. Sometimes I think that it's the only thing keeping you alive. "To truly answer your question, why we came _here,_ this was a test of sorts. Loyalty, it seems, is a commodity more sacred than trust and honor. We wanted to see where you placed your loyalty, so we invaded your territory, and pissed in it. It wasn't my idea. There were concerns..." "Concerns?" "That you could be--controlled. You understand?" Frederick smiled. "Yes, I understand. Perfectly. Tell them, in fact." "Tell them?" "That I can't be controlled." Frederick's eyes narrowed, and Sims knew that violence was imminent. His angry cells devoured the precious vitae, and he moved like lightning. Unfortunately, that was a tad slower than Frederick, who was moving...faster. Frederick reached out with hands-now-talons, and caught Sims somewhere behind the rib cage. Shocked and terrified, Sims could only stand there and bleed, as he was thoroughly gutted. In a few moments, it was over. Mr. Fredericks called over to the janitor, and stared deeply into his eyes before giving his request. The janitor merely nodded, grabbed the all purpose cleanser, and began to work on the blood stain that marred the carpet. Frederick regarded the heart which he now held in his hand. "Hm. On second thought, perhaps I should tell them myself. Frankly, Sims, I don't think you have it in you anymore." His laughter brought a macabre warmth to the vaulted ceilings and cold, dead books. For a moment, Frederick was happy. Then it passed. --- Spontaneous Revenance Ghouldom, the sacred province of the servants of the Kindred, holds many rewards. The chance at eternal life must be weighed against the prospects of eternal servitude, coupled with the capricious nature of the master, however. Power only comes with age, and age is far from guaranteed. There are those called revenants, or ghoul families, who have had certain aspects of the vitae imprinted in their bloodline. Over time, their children inherit certain aspects of ghouldom, such as long life (though not immortality), the use of select disciplines, and the ability to access the powers of Vitae. Attempts to create these families through thaumaturgy suggest that it is best for this phenomena to happen naturally, over the course of centuries. The most detailed analysis of this phenomena is Via Revenient, or the Way of those Who Return. Written in the first part of the 16th century by Emeric of Clan Tremere, it gathers together various disparate studies of Ghoul Families, and suggests that the phenomena may be millennia old, with one account stretching as far back as the Second City. Buried in this moldering text is a single chapter of no more than seven pages, written in a code devised by Emeric and his chantry to hide their discovery apparently from their fellow Tremere. After the destruction of the coven due to rumors of demonic taint, the text was brought to Vienna, where its readable sections formed the definitive source for those seeking insight into Ghoul Families. It took the age of computers, however, to unearth the contents of that chapter. Ruurd Leeuwen entered the text into a code cracker he "borrowed" from the NSA. From there, it was a simple matter of learning 16th century Romanian, and the most puzzling chapter in the history of Revenants was revealed. The chapter discussed a stranger who came to the Chantry seeking to peddle mystical item in exchange for further magical training. Far from being a "noble" branch of the order, Emeric's chantry staked the stranger and left him on the roof to die. Much to their surprise, the stranger knocked at the door at noon, requesting his items back. He was holding the stake in his hand, and proceeded to drive it into the heart of the head of the chantry, casting him outside before he waded into the stunned pack. Fortunately for the magi, a Gargoyle had been placed to guard the sleeping chambers, and the stranger was subdued the moment he tried to enter it. The gargoyle's orders had been to slay any intruders, and this it tried fervently to do. After a solid week of playing with its toy, which included draining it dry thrice, the gargoyle gave up in exasperation. The stranger simply would not die. Even worse, he seemed wholly unfazed by his rough treatment, asking daily for either his belongings back or to be taught what he wanted to know. Emeric decided to experiment with the stranger, testing his limits. He was damaged as easily as a hearty human being, he bled and screamed in pain at the proper moments. Most attempts at permanent mutilation healed within a week, and he regrew a severed limb in a month. The healing rate was inhibited by lack of food and water, but it wasn't halted. Instead, it effectively doubled all healing times. Most incredible of all, the stranger spontaneously produced Kindred vitae within his own blood, of a type unknown to the Chantry thaumaturgists. Two months after his initial capture, the stranger finally began to show signs of aggression, and Emeric became terrified. He tried to placate the stranger by teaching him what he needed to know, but apparently the stranger was locked onto a course, and would not be diverted. Finally, the hapless magus ran across the description of a group of mortals who could only be killed by severing the head from the body. This he did, and at last, it seemed to kill the stranger. The corpse lay in the room, still lashed to the table, for a fortnight. All the magi were distressed that perhaps others would come for the stranger, and demand retribution for their crimes. Indeed, on the fifteenth night, the corpse was gone, as were all of his belongings. It was assumed that someone rescued him, until the gargoyle pointed out to all that the door had been staved in from the inside. Not even beheading could stop it. Emeric had apparently stumbled across a new creature, one who seems to be a bizarre hybrid of ghoul and vampire, and so much more. Legends of these unstoppable monsters can be found scattered throughout history, and are often confused with the Risen, those killed who return from the grave. The critical difference between the Risen and the Spontaneous Revenants, is that the Revenants have never truly died. They are locked into life as much as vampires are trapped in unlife. So confused are they with animated corpses and other lesser Undead, that they have acquired the name Xombi. Creation All attempts to simply create a Xombi have failed miserably, killing the subject outright. Lacking a proper means of creation, the Xombi are treated as apocrypha by many Tremere, the Philosophers Stone of states of Undeath. Since they seem to enjoy the best of all worlds, it isn't hard to see that a magus would long to become one. What is known is that very few Xombi are created in exactly the same fashion. It often is a serendipitous event, following explorations in a new or poorly understood field of study. The subject must be a mortal, and most surprising of all, often is not a ghoul. In fact, there is only a handful of cases where a ghoul achieved spontaneous revenance, and all promptly divorced themselves from Kindred society before a proper study could be achieved. The usual story revolves around some attempt to prolong mortal life, or return a Kindred to a mortal state. A foolish human or ghoul stumbles into the experiment, and drinks or touches something he's not supposed to, and the transformation is begun. As stated above, all attempts to repeat the experiment fail horribly, and the newly created Xombi is somehow imparted enough common sense to get away before she becomes a lab rat. While the experiment often involves Kindred, tales of so called "Sleepers" coming into contact with potent Life magick create a very similar creature. Powers Regeneration The first and most formidable of the Xombi's powers is that she cannot die. No amount of trauma, of burning or scattering of ashes will keep the Xombi from eventually and inevitably reforming. Of course, the more trauma done, the longer the regeneration process. In general Xombi spontaneously regenerate 1 Health Level (HL) per ten minutes elapsed time. Xombi can be harmed by aggravated damage, usually defined as anything that would leave a scar on a mortal. This includes fire, certain weapons designed to inflict massive trauma, and any botches on a soak roll. If enough aggravated damage is done, the Xombi will sometimes go into a coma, giving the illusion that the Xombi has perished. In fact, the powers which govern the Xombi are often just taking a breather before tackling the damage. Aggravated damage is healed at the rate of 1 HL / day. All damage is healed in the reverse from when it was received. In other words, a Xombi takes 2 HL from an attack, then gets burned for 1 HL. He cannot heal the first two non-aggravated levels until he heals the more recent aggravated damage. Thus, a common tactic for fighting a Xombi is to use normal weapons to knock him temporarily unconscious, and then set the body on fire. Until that fire damage is healed, the Xombi is in no shape to go after anyone. Blood Use The Xombi may use Kindred vitae just as ghouls use vitae, albeit sometimes at a greater cost. The important difference, however, is that their bodies slowly transform their own blood into vitae, allowing them to produce virtually unlimited quantities. This can be construed to mean that Xombis are infinite reservoirs of vitae, and in a sense, they are. However, more than one Kindred has met the Final Death by making such a foolish assumption. Any Kindred drinking of the Xombi vitae will find it wholly unremarkable. Indeed, it confers no information about the Xombi, as it was created no more than a month ago in the alchemical furnace that masks as the heart of the Xombi. The blood, while unmistakably Kindred, has neither clan nor generation, and seemingly no impurities, whether germ or taint, can find purchase in the blood. Unlike Ghoul and Revenant blood, however, the blood manufactured by the Xombi can induce the blood bond, but it lasts only as long as the blood lasts. This is up to a month, when merely flowing through the veins of a drinker, and for a full week if the ingested blood is burned. As you can imagine, Bonding to a Xombi is inevitable. Soon after the third drink is ingested, the drinker becomes very possessive about the Xombi, seeing it as a prize worth more than mere jewels. Further ingestion only makes the bonding more acute. The drinker will not tolerate any sort of persecution of the Xombi, and often the most cruel taskmaster will release the Xombi that he has, only a week before, tied to a table, and inserted a spigot. Of course, the only valid protection is a previous blood bond, or the Unbondable merit, though it has been rumored that this bond can even defeat the vaunted Vaudlerie of the Sabbat (causing some penitent Sabbat to seek out the Xombi for this purpose alone). The Xombi doesn't bond so easily, either. The blood in his veins is constantly being purged and recreated in a method that confounds even the most gifted thaumaturgists. A bond lasts only as long as blood from the Regnant resides in the Xombi's arteries. The influence of the bond does ride out for a full week after the last of the blood is purged, whether through a month's elapsed time, or using it to fuel a power. Clever vampires make certain that a Xombi is kept filled with the correct amount of blood. What is not commonly known, however, is that the growing fanaticism infects the Xombi as well. The more blood a Xombi ingests, the more zealous he will become in the defense of the Regnant. The immortal Xombi will sometimes go so far as to eliminate _potential_ threats to the Regnant. Xombi often burn more blood than kindred to use vampiric powers. The body of the Xombi actually fights itself, resisting the changes the blood induces. Additional blood is needed to push the effect through, and unless the Xombi has Kindred blood readily available, he will often be sparing in his use of vampiric disciplines. Consult the following table for more information: Healing normal damage 2/HL Healing aggravated damage 7/HL Boost physical stats 2/dot, lasts 1 scene As you can see, even their legendary ability to generate blood doesn't come close to meeting their blood needs. Often, a Xombi will save these powers for truly special moments. Disciplines Like the Caitiff, the Xombi have access to the blood powers innate in all vampires. The raw thaumaturgic power creates a dynamo of vampiric powers when first created. Beginning Xombi get four dots in virtually any discipline, as their uncanny nature explores the limits of their power. However, change comes slowly to the Xombi, particularly with disciplines. New dots cost 10 X.P.s, and advancement occurs at 7 x current level. The slow development often helps Xombis, as their vampiric "masters" improperly gauge their true potential. Death Contrary to opinion, the Xombi hate to die. Their deaths are just as agonizing as our one mortal death. The only difference is that they wake up. This has a sizeable influence on the sanity of the Xombi. The more the Xombi dies, the deeper his soul sinks into nihilism. Every time a Xombi dies, he must make a Humanity roll with a difficulty equal to 3 + the number of total damage dice in the killing blow (the more painful the blow, the more horrid the trauma). If the roll fails, a humanity point is lost. This roll cannot be botched. Once the Xombi reaches zero Humanity, he becomes a truly unstoppable monster. Most of the time, a Xombi sensing the futility of her existence will seek out certain people or isolate herself and essentially bury herself in eternal agony. A loose coalition of Euthanatos and Giovanni, operating beyond the sphere of their respective groups have banded together to find such Xombi a final resting place. In one case, it was the main support pylon of the Brooklyn Bridge. At times, it is said, one can hear a deep, echoing weeping coming from within the bridge. When a Xombi recovers from death, there is usually some external sign of rejuvenation. This can reange from a flash of light, a dim red aura which manifest, a smell of bitter almonds, or even an angelic song that wafts in the breeze. Any normal damage is automatically healed upon awakening (usually within five minutes of death), with aggravated damaged pushed to the top of the health levels. If a Xombi had 2 Aggravated HL at the time of death, these two move to the Bruised and Hurt levels. A Xombi would be at Injured -1 until he heals the aggravated damage. Generation All Xombi begin play at 14th Generation. This really only comes into play for purposes of Domination and determining blood pool. Some scholars claim that the Xombi can use their blood to concentrate that which remains, avoiding the effects of Dominate against those who should have easily controlled them. The Legends of Xombi suddenly shrugging off the effects of Dominate lend support to this theory [It's a little known fact, even among Xombis. For every 2 bp burned, effective generation drops by 1. Effects last for 1 scene.] Generation can be brought down with the Background. Immunities Unlike the Highlanders, Xombi are not truly immune to much of anything. Their state, however, drives most permanent effects away. For instance, a Xombi is robbed of his eyes by Vicissitude. He does well and truly become sightless, but immediately his body begins to "reset" itself. Each day that passes, a success is taken off the roll. When the successes are negated, the "damage" is healed. Obviously, items such as tattoos, piercing, and ritual dismemberment have no lasting effect on the Xombi. Magick, being an essential aspect of the universe, is handled a bit differently. A mage who tries to use his magick to affect the Xombi in some permanent way finds that his Sphere Magick easily bullies the inferior Blood Magick. Like all things, however, this is temporary. A Permanent Magickal effect lasts for a number of days equal to the Effect's highest Sphere Rank plus the amount of successes on the roll. For instance, a Xombi turned into a talking paramecium with Life 4 after four successes on the roll would remain in that state for a minimum of eight days. For the mage's trouble, however, interfering with the rigid pattern which binds the existence of the Xombi creates undue friction. Each magick effect against a Xombi creates at least one point of Paradox. Nickname: Revs (short for Revenants), Z's Appearance: Any hapless fool form any walk of life can become a Xombi. All seem completely normal and healthy, which can be a disadvantage in a plague or famine infested area. Haven: Most Xombi prefer to be mobile, occasionally settling down in a quiet area for a time, until people begin asking too many questions. A Xombi skilled in Chimestry or Obfuscation, or even Vicissitude can live for years in the same area. Character Creation: Standard 7/5/3 and 13/9/5. Chooses 4 disciplines, 5 backgrounds, and 7 Virtues. Spend 20 freebies (standard). Backgrounds Generation: As per book, except that maximum Generation is 9th. Resources, Allies, Contacts, Influence, Retainer: As per book Haven: More a reflection of the character's storehouse of antiquities. See Memory Mentor: More often than not, a Xombi will attract _weird_ individuals. A Xombi mentor might be another Xombi, a sympathetic Vampire, or even a mage or werewolf. In one instance, a Garou with a high past Life acted as a liaison with the Xombi and a Garou caern. The Xombi would watch over the fledgeling pup, who would one day protect the Xombi). Often these mentors tend towards the darker side, and Nephandi, Sabbat, and Black Spiral Dancer Mentors are not unheard of. Memory: Characters may purchase resistance to this loss with the Memory background. Every die of Memory bought, however, neutralizes the speed of the healing process, as a method of forestalling this loss. At one die, it's mostly cosmetic. A Xombi will scar. At two, healing times are doubled. At three, tripled, and so on. Truly powerful Xombi have 5 memory dots, but are so slow in healing that they are often buried from time to time, and have to dig themselves out. This activity may lend credence to zombie legends. A Xombi cannot purchase the Merit: Eidetic Memory. Weaknesses: Memory Loss Certain older skills become "dead" over time. This is a reflection of the body's renewal process. Old facts are often simply discarded over time. This is akin to the Mummy's weakness, but it goes deeper. Talents, skills, and knowledges are steadily forgotten over time. Each time a Xombi dies, or each time a year passes, a Xombi must roll a number of dice equal to 10 - Intelligence (diff 6). Each success represents a dot in an ability that is forgotten. Players may choose which dots are forgotten, with help from the Storyteller, to make sure that certain skills haven't been acquired just to be lost at another date. Characters should roleplay a loss of memory to the best of their abilities. Most of the time, memories lost tie into the abilities that were lost. Thus, a Xombi who lost a dot in Dodge can't seem to recall with perfect clarity those battles which lead to his once fine instincts. True Death Yes, the Xombi can truly die. However, this is a secret so mysterious and occult that not even the Xombi have a clue that their existence can be ended. The precise method is left to the Storyteller, and can be subtly alluded to during play. For instance, a fortune teller can foresee the death of the character as you cross the street.' The character may interpret this in a variety of ways, as suits his needs. Organization: The Xombi are too few to have any real organization. They have no method for determining if someone they're sitting next to on the bus is a Xombi. However, informal occult groups have gathered to study the perplexing phenomena surrounding their eternal existence. A Xombi may contact one of these groups to learn more information about others like them. This is often far too dangerous to be contemplated, however. Quote: "Camarilla. Sabbat. Archons. Inconnu. Mages, Garou, Wraiths, Pixies, ARGH! They made this world. They made their wars, and I'm a casualty, a victim of another's eternal hate. Some amputees can feel a phantom limb, aching and itching. They can almost feel their toes squirming at the end of two feet of nothing. I've got the same damn thing, only it's a phantom _death._ I can feel it, squirming in my marrow, but I can't ever have it. They say I'm a consequence of the universe. Bullshit, and there's only one way to prove them wrong. Where's that third rail?" Stereotypes: Camarilla: Stuck up little cliques that take, take, take, all with the highest of ideals. They claim to be no worse than the Sabbat. That's because they choose to brush their dirt under the sofa, rather than leaving it right out in the open. "A Xombi? Where?!? Uh, oh, no, I haven't heard of them." Gilead, Clan Tremere Sabbat: I've passed through a Sabbat controlled city three times. Never again. Twice I got dragged to death and run over repeatedly, and the third time I was the "cooler" at their party. They seem to have this uncanny ability to sniff us out. I'd stay away, to be on the safe side. "Yeah, I was there at that Kegger. Christ, we were sick for a week, and the Bishop wouldn't let us Vaudlerie for six whole months afterwards, to make sure the poison' was out of our system. If you find one, stay the hell away." Jughead, Antitribu Brujah Inconnu: They keep to their mountain retreats, and I don't like high altitudes. Nose bleeds, ya know. Enough said. "Strange and powerful creatures. They are nature's cleansing force. We seek to correct the damage the supernature has inflicted on this world, but we are at odds with less enlightened souls. We must work more diligently, lest these creatures become self-aware, and divine their true purpose." Emily Ashton, Inconnu Elder Anarchs: I actually got to know a whole bunch of these guys back in Frisco. They're all right, but pushing this vampire thing into the open is the whole wrong direction. Of course, when I voiced my opinion to the wrong fella, they gave me a cement straightjacket and a self-guided tour of the Bay. "If it's true they cannot die, then it is paramount that we recruit as many as possible. They should be at the front lines of our struggle. The end of the foolish Jyhad would benefit them more than anyone else." Garou: I've had my head mounted on a spike once. I have no intention of letting it happen again. I find it ironic that I could escape once the rest of me grew back only because the pack that did it were slaughtered by the formori I came to warn them about. Go figure. "They smell of the weaver, and with each death they stink of the Wyrm. It behooves us then to keep the vital force within them from extinguishing unnaturally. Either that or we bury them under a large rock, and hope for the best." Guano-In-Fur, Uktena Theurge Mages: Learn to avoid these bozos. It's either poke, poke, poke, or go on this impossible mission and I'll have you a twinkie and a coke. Either they use you or abuse you. Just like everything else, right?" Wraiths: GOD, DO THESE GUYS _HATE_ US!!! I know I've sent three or four people to an untimely demise, but sheesh! I've had beds _fade_ away from under me once these bastards figure out what I am. I sure as hell wish someone would tell me why. Is it my deodorant? "One night, I and my circle were searching for a nihil that was flaring open, spilling spectres into the area. We came upon it just when it cracked wide...right underneath a quick. Now when I say, Quick,' I don't mean the phantom images we see from time to time. It was as if he was _there,_ and the nihil should have swallowed him whole. Instead, the ribbons of darkness seemed to melt as they touched and caressed him. As we watched, the nihil, which should have dumped his ass someplace unpleasant, got smaller and smaller, until it was gone. He had _eaten_ the nihil! All attempts to contact him have failed, and he seemed oblivious to his true power. How like the Quick to flaunt salvation before our eyes, and feign ignorance!" Marcus, Centurion of the Iron Legion Changelings: Hah. Funny joke. Yeah. It was funnier when Uncle Milty did it FIFTY YEARS AGO! I should know. I WAS FREEKING THERE! Don't get me wrong. They're a neat bunch, but if you don't laugh right away, they'll keep on doing it until you _get_ it! "A Xombi came to one of my parties, down below. I started talking to him, because he was so deliciously depressing. Angst here, and ennui there. So I reached over to harvest him, and found myself chomping on pure banality. It took me three months to recover. A hint: nibble first." Fleischman, Sluagh Grump Notes: The Munschkin Factor: Kee-rist! What must Toner be thinking? A group of people who can't die? Where's the fun in that? Ironically, a lot. These fellas might seem powerful, but they're packed with real pathos. Imagine how horrible it would be to forever die, over and over, with each death bringing you closer to the darkness at the pit of your being. Imagine that each passing year robbed you of warm memories, until one day, you cannot recall what your parents were named. There's a special sort of hell for the player of the Xombi. He may outlive the attack of the Technocracy against the Troupe, and scrape together a whole new group to gain revenge. He could be the villain, a pathetic wretch angry at a world that won't let him die. He could be a macguffin, pushing along plot, or a pawn in a dark game. If a player wants to be one of these things, let him, but be sure to make him roleplay the loss with every bit as much horror as the Hunt which goes wrong.