By Smiling Jack (smiling_jack@mailcity.com)
The streets were empty, which was unusual, considering the time, but then I remembered; there had been a spate of killings in this area. It looked like the work of a serial killer, and a particularly brutal one at that. All of the victims had been young women in their twenties, all raped and beheaded. It would be good if he were caught soon; he was releasing a lot of souls which instantly became wraiths. Some immediately transmuted into spectres, twisted gibbering things, a vile mockery of the people they had once been. I'd had to destroy them. It was an act of mercy, and of damage control; too many spectres can make things difficult for me. They always have, throughout the centuries.
I walked slowly, savouring the cool night air, relishing the various scents which came to me on the slight wind; car exhausts, frying, a whole host of different smells. The sounds and sights were equally fascinating. Our kind see many things which you wouldn't. The colours and textures seem more real, more substantial, but also less. The death behind everything warps your perception.
I caught a scent, this time a foul reek bringing recollection of the grave and death, of earth and decay. I swayed as the memories took hold, pitching me back through time to an instant over twelve hundred years ago.
". . . In nomine patri, et filii, et spiritus sanctus. Amen." I struggled, fighting for breath, losing my grip on reality, on life. I died, spiralling down into an abyss of darkness, an infinite sleep. EXIST. The word echoed in my head. EXIST. LIVE AGAIN. I gasped, sucking down great lungfuls of air, ferociously animate. I writhed, as my body changed, shifting and twisting into a new form. When it was done, I looked up to see a man, standing over me. We were in the graveyard. He was the stranger in the village, having arrived three days previously.
"Well done. You will be strong, young one." He extended a gloved hand, which he had just re-sheathed in leather. "Come. We have to go. If the other villagers find us here, we will surely be attacked. Even we are not completely invulnerable to our master. Let that be your first lesson."
He turned and walked out, not waiting for me as I scrambled to my feet, looking down at myself; the deathly pale skin was a shock. The hands were like pliable marble, just as pale, just as strong, and just as cold. I hurried after him.
The cessation of the smell brought me back to the present. I searched the alleyways, looking for him. It had to be the murderer; who else could it be? One of my kin wouldn't give off that smell, and neither would a mortal, unless they were very close to death, in dying or the dealing of it. Where could he be? It started again, and I followed, sniffing the air. It twisted through hundreds of alleys, so it seemed. Where were the others? They would not miss this much of a harvest.
There! Movement in an alley. A man on the ground. I enhanced my sight, watching things go more slowly, flickering like frames. The man, thrusting his hips over the prone body of a sobbing girl, his hand over her mouth. He turned his head and saw me. Everything slid back to normal speeds. He shouted something. I didn't listen.
Running to him.
The glint of metal in his hand. Moving, snake-like.
The stench increased as he stabbed the girl through the throat, almost overpowering in its reek. She writhed and contorted, making choking noises. He threw the knife at me. It span, shick-shicking through the air. I caught it by the blade, sheathing it in my belt. He had gone. The girl was motionless. I walked to her. Death was flowing off her, forcing out the life. It was almost palpable, the strength of it. My head throbbed in time with its pulsing. She saw me, and panic bloomed in her eyes.
"Shhhhh, be still," I whispered, taking off my right hand glove, "I'm going to take your pain away." She became calmer, still fighting the fear. The glove glided off, revealing the marble-white hand. The other came off. "This will make you better. I will catch him afterwards. I promise. He will not go unpunished."
I closed my hands over her temples, and the life slipped out easily. There wasn't much left. She shuddered, and grew inert. I let it go; I would not harvest. I drew my hands over her eyes, shutting them, shoving the gloves into my pocket.
The killer left a trail of death behind him, like a silk scarf winding its way through the streets as he ran about in a panic. It was easy to follow. Almost too easy. It went into a house. The door was open, the interior blacker than sin. I tested the porch, feeling it creak ominously as I walked in. His fist shot out from the left, and I grabbed it with my bare hand, tearing out his vitality, stealing it in one huge wave. His body quivered as the energies of death ran through him, drawn in by the vacuum of life. I took and took and took. I let him go, the body slumping to the ground, decay setting in already, the rot starting. I left the alley, the body slowly crumpling behind me.
Reapers are not human. They are the reincarnated spirit of a dead person, who has come back as a servant of death. They are typically made when a Reaper enters a place and finds someone young that they like the look of. They prefer younger people because of stamina or strength, and because the young are some of the most creative people, and often at their intellectual, if not learning, peak. The theory is that they can learn after they're dead. They then start to drain the person of their life force, either all at once, or in stages over hours or days. They then stop, and give some of their Harvest to the dying mortal, which transforms them into a Reaper. They can then learn the abilities of the Reapers. Another method is to go to the grave of a person no more than two days dead, and perform the same process on them. In both cases, the spirit rises out of the body and is slowly made solid and real. The process cannot be done at all if the person is more than two days and nights dead. Reapers are immortal; the only thing which can destroy them is a concentrated burst of life energy directed straight at them. Such strength is, however, found almost only in the hands of mage Oracles, who are difficult enough to find as it is.
Reapers can sense death. The form this sense takes is as one of the five senses, which manifests as jarringly wrong, or a stench as of dead things, or something such. Examples are the smell version in the prelude, a screeching noise or low mourning wail are common as auditory senses, while those who have the medium of touch perceive a sudden shivering or scratching sensation. Reapers who can see death have a very strange time, in that people and objects with the power of death on them seem to be going continuously through many stages of decay and renewal all at the same time. Those with taste get a sudden bad flavour in their mouth. This automatically means the Reaper can see wraiths, and detect the presence of vampires, although not the exact location.
Similarly, they can also perceive life through the same medium, in just the same way, although it registers as a long throbbing continuous note, a smell of something utterly neutral, or an alternately warm and cool wind. To those who can see, it appears as if living things have a slowly-shifting aura of pale gold. To tasters, they can suddenly taste something really bland. This also renders the ability to sense anything that is alive; the more alive it is, the easier it is. Werewolves are particularly easy to find; they have very strong life-patterns, but they also often stink of death.
The touch of a Reaper is death. They automatically draw out life energy when they touch someone. The amount they draw out depends upon their Mortis rating. Humans have as many life points as current Health Levels. Therefore, someone at near-death will contain one life point at most. The life points so drained become part of the Reaper's Harvest, which can be used to power unusual abilities, or to create new Reapers. It is impossible to use the Harvest for anything else; life-energy is of no use to a Reaper. The Touch, as it is called, works on anything or anyone except other Reapers. If the Touch would remove more life points than the creature has, instant decay sets in. The Harvest need not be collected; the Reaper may choose to simply let it go, in which case it simply evaporates.
Mortis is the measure of how closely related to death a Reaper is. The higher the rating, the more unnatural and strange he seems. Those with extremely high levels will cause weaker life-forms to sicken or even die just by being near them; humans will feel uneasy near a Reaper -- no one likes to be reminded of their own mortality. Cats, dogs, and any other such creature will growl and hiss in the Reaper's presence, but be afraid to even go near him. This is because they can sense the death radiating from him. Mortis increases by one per every fifty years of existence. All Reapers start at Mortis 1, but it can be bought with freebie points.
Each of the Reapers' magical abilities are related to death and dying in some way, directly or not. They are called the Sword, the Shadow, and the Hourglass, dealing with death, hiding, and life-times respectively. Each Reaper has the capability to learn each of these alone, but will probably find it easier with a tutor. There are five levels to each, and it can take many centuries to fully master them.
Reapers, being already dead, do not suffer from wounds and so on in the same way as humans. Rather, they have the ability to instantly 'heal' as many Health Levels per turn as half of their Mortis rating. Any further wounds take one hour each to heal. This includes being physically destroyed, although after Incapacitated, each HL takes half a day to heal. There is no such thing as an aggravated wound to a Reaper; all types of damage take the same time to heal. They absolutely cannot be killed, except with a concentrated burst of pure life energy on the scale of the Life Sphere at level five, or Obeah at level ten, and so on. Also, Reapers do not need to sleep, indeed, they cannot; this, unfortunately, has led many to madness. As a side note, they are also not affected by the Ren-hekau powers of Mummies.
Reapers have strange eyes; they are always jet-black, in both the iris and the pupil, seeming to suck up light. They also carry a strange aura with them; humans either get angry or frightened, most of the time. To those who can view auras, Reapers don't have any as such, just a vague shimmering effect which warps and twists the air, generally giving those who view it a head-ache.
All Reapers are given some sort of weapon when their sire releases them into the world. It is partly ceremonial, and partly practical; if a Reaper is going to give death to someone who deserves the effort, he will carry his weapon. These weapons, connected as they are with death, are viewed as an extension of the Reaper's hands, drawing one Health Level per Mortis level, for each strike. For some reason, this cannot become part of the Harvest; it simply rebounds off the weapon, grounding itself at the nearest available place. It manifests as a streak of lightning careening wildly about. The most common weapons are swords or scythes. Reapers have been known to clash with Immortals before, which is a fight worth seeing....
System: Roll Strength + Intimidation [target's Willpower rating]. Each success causes one wound, up to the maximum per level. Even if a Reaper rolled five successes at level one, he could only inflict one wound. This power may only be used once per person per day. It costs one Harvest point per use.
System: When this power is active, to even see the Reaper requires a Perception roll, of a difficulty equal to 5 + the Reaper's Shadow level. A minimum of three successes are required to even see him.
System: Roll Perception + Occult [8]. Every success allows a greater degree of preciseness. If the death of the person is very close, the difficult rating will plummet.
"I refuse to comment any further on these creatures."
Garou: They have the reek of death on them. It follows wherever they go, like a shroud. We don't like them. They kill without thought, without justification . . . without style . . . .
"Wyrm creatures. They must be. They are agents of death!"
Mages: An interesting case, these. They have given many of us headaches over the years. But they are also only way that any of us may ever go free.
"We tend to stay away. They can destroy us without breaking into a sweat."
Wraiths: Family.
"Distant cousins at best. They have been responsible for a lot of pain, and a lot of mercy."
Changelings: They are bursting with life and energy. They have the power to enliven our endless existences. Unfortunately, they seem to stay away.
"They are chockfull of Banality. They're like leaden weights to be around, but they seem to become happy, briefly, when we meet."
Mummies: They often escape us. But not forever. No one can escape us forever. Even we are the mercy of our master. They are unnatural.
"Our antithesis. They seek to end us."
Immortals: A pain. They seem to delight in annoying us. We can kill even them, given enough time.
"They get annoyed because they can't touch us. Ha!"