Everything

Man, they’re everywhere these days. Between the ubiquity of zombies in popular culture and the more mystical side of walking death, zombies seem unavoidable in the world of the 21st-century mage.

Still, zombies are far older that this recent fascination. In the earliest days of human memory, the walking dead reflected primal terrors. More recently, the “traditional” zombie of vodou lore mirrored the horror of a slavery that could continue beyond death. Later decades brought different visions: white guilt, fear of the Other, anxiety about betrayal by one’s closest friends, and the relentless consumption of the American “dream.” Regardless of specific cultural touchstones, though, the zombie represents a fearsome insight: Your neighbors want to kill you, and perhaps you’re looking for an excuse to kill them, too.

For mages, that fear is all too real. Among the Awakened, such reanimated monstrosities — and the fears behind them — are parts of everyday life. Whether the zombie in question comes from an inexplicable cosmic flux, Frankensteinian experiments, necromantic Arts (see How Do You DO That?), mystic slavery, or a simple yet appalling plague, the deadly walking corpse — or more often, a whole horde of walking corpses — has a nasty tendency to show up when it’s least wanted.

Vodou Zombi

Slain by ghosts, revived by magick, and damned to follow a conjure-man’s commands, the “traditional” zombie or, more properly, zombi embodies a state of perpetual servitude. His physical body crumbles, but the mind inside retains just enough consciousness to follow commands while acutely aware of his wretched situation.

Such pitiful horrors can be found in the ranks of ruthless bokors, sadistic necromancers, and powerful Infernalists… generally in numbers that make up for their decayed forms and glacial reflexes. Unlike the pop-culture zombie, these creatures neither eat flesh nor crave brains. What they do crave is release, a freedom denied to them until a zombi’s cursed soul is set free.

Suggested Attributes: Strength 5, Dexterity 1, Stamina 5, Charisma 0, Manipulation 0, Appearance 2 to 0, Perception 2, Intelligence 1, Wits 1

Suggested Abilities: Alertness 1, Brawl 4, Intimidation 5, Melee 3, Stealth 3

Willpower: 10 (but 0 against the mage who created it)

Health Levels: OK, OK, OK, OK, OK, ‒2, ‒3, ‒5, Destroyed

Armor Rating: 3 (eight soak dice, total)

Powers: Punch for Strength (bashing), or strike with weapons, as per weapon type. The animated remains of a vodou zombi continue to decay, yet never reach a state of decrepitude. Instead, this damned creature regenerates just enough to sustain its vile-yet-robust physical form. That regeneration heals one health level per turn, no matter what, unless the zombie was damaged by fire, acid, or salt. Salt, it is said, holds the key to a zombi’s freedom. Supposedly, a bit of salt on the tongue will release the captive soul and break the spell that holds the zombi together. For that reason, most necromancers sew a zombi’s mouth shut, cut out his tongue, or both. The thing no longer needs to eat or drink, after all, and speech from such unhappy beasts would be a liability; thus, the average zombi cannot speak… simply moan, if he makes any sound at all. Despite his apparently fragility, a zombi holds considerable strength in that desiccated shell. And despite the health-level rating of “Destroyed,” no amount of damage — short of complete consumption by acid or fire — can permanently annihilate a zombi unless his soul has been set free.

Image: A rotting yet ambulatory corpse, the traditional zombi can range from a stiff, gaunt figure smelling of decay to a pathetic scrap of a human being, skeletal yet still imbued with a mockery of life. Despite the abhorrent nature of this walking cadaver, though, the eyes remain its most horrible feature… because those eyes are still alive, and still aware.

Roleplaying Notes: Whatever remains of your original personality has been submerged under degradation and atrocity. Although you still manage an occasional flicker of self-motivation, your soul belongs to the man or woman who made you. Given just what it is he’s made of you, that master’s own personality is a terrible thing… and so, as an extension of that personality, you’re a terrible thing as well.

Cannibal Corpse

Driven by demons of Infernal hunger, the cannibal corpse fits the modern concept of a killer zombie. Despite that Romero-Russo pedigree, however, this flesh-gnawing thing has primal ancestry. The sorcerers of ancient Egypt and Akkad trapped minor demons and angry ghosts in prisons of flesh that could feed voraciously and yet never satiate their hungers. Such verboten magicks survive to the present day, when Nephandic malcontents and Infernal

cultists stage their own “zombie flicks,” sometimes actually filming an orgy of slaughter and then putting the results on YouTube for entertainment.

The angry re-animates of the Week of Nightmares fit a similar mold, although those monsters were apparently self-created. Slightly less voracious than their hunger-demon counterparts, they still waged impressive bouts of mayhem before time and enemies whittled down their numbers. Occasionally, though, such creatures still appear — often in hordes of near-mindless ferocity, tearing into every living thing until either the zombies or their prey are twitching smears of gore.

Suggested Attributes: Strength 4, Dexterity 3, Stamina 5, Charisma 0, Manipulation 4, Appearance 0, Perception 1, Intelligence 1, Wits 3

Suggested Abilities: Alertness 3, Brawl 3, Intimidation 3

Willpower: 7

Health Levels: OK, OK, ‒1, ‒1, ‒3, ‒5, Incapacitated

Armor Rating: 2 (seven soak dice, total)

Powers: Bite for Strength + 2 lethal damage; claw for Strength + 1 lethal damage. Unlike the vodou zombi, this breed of walking corpse tends to be fast and unspeakably aggressive. Utterly without mercy or self-preservation, such gibbering things fling themselves at prey (typically in packs), tear it to pieces, and then feed until they have consumed roughly half a zombie’s weight in once-living tissue. (Handfuls of more intelligent zombies appear to retain their human intellect and personality. Whether those gruesome exceptions to the rule are truly walking dead or simply demonic props remains a mystery.) Also unlike its vodou-crafted cousin, the cannibal corpse cannot regenerate; it can, however, continue to attack until its pieces are destroyed by fire or some other form of annihilation. (Whether or not a headshot stops such beings is a Storyteller’s call.) Spirit 4 magick can purge the animating demons or ghosts, essentially freeing the zombie from its rampage. This, however, is no soul-trapped victim, but a spiritual obscenity that combines malignant entities with awkward yet implacable flesh.

Image: Like its cinematic reflection, a cannibal corpse comes across as a near-mindless machine of dead flesh and lively hunger. Such things tend to be messy eaters, and they carry the stains of past meals and injuries with them.

Roleplaying Notes: Eat. Ravage. Destroy.