Animus

Most animuses resemble powerfully built humans aged before their time, skin weathered and lined. About 25% are hideous, almost lichlike, and so effectively Charisma 3; these often go masked. Roughly 10% could pass for ordinary middle-aged people. Nearly all are a little vain and dress as finely as their former rank deserved, for in life they were nobles, generals, advisers, priests and warriors in service to the overking of a now-fallen empire.

An animus keeps any class or racial abilities it had in life, so a former 12th-level warrior still attacks twice per melee round and a former priest still casts spells by level. Spellcasters still need what they always did: wizards their spellbooks and components, priests the favor of their god. Every animus has 18/76 Strength and 18 Constitution; its other scores are those it had when alive.

Its touch causes fear. It can project a 10-yard circle of command and, once per turn, gesture at one creature inside it, forcing that creature to kneel (or the equivalent) for one round by sheer will. The gesture takes a segment, does nothing to creatures of Intelligence 3 or less, and others negate it with a save vs. spell. Its gaze dominates: a victim who fails a save vs. spell is frozen for as long as the animus keeps staring and does not attack, and the animus may plant one suggestion in the victim's mind. Using the gaze takes the animus's whole round. Mindless undead such as skeletons and zombies obey it automatically; other undead neither hate nor respect it.

Charm, hold, sleep, magic jar, paralyzation, poison, energy drain, fear of any kind and nonmagical weapons all fail against it, and it is too watchful ever to be surprised. Acid, cold and electricity deal half or quarter damage. To turn or command one, a priest treats it as Special and acts as if four levels lower, and the animus still gets a save vs. spell to resist. Holy water hurts it normally, 2d4 per flask, and a splash may be the best way to unmask one. Disease can afflict it but never kill it.

Worst of all is how hard it is to destroy. It regenerates 2 hit points per round in battle, and even after reaching 0 hit points it keeps healing at 1 per turn, its severed pieces creeping back together. Only burning the body to ash or dissolving it entirely in acid finishes it.

Mostly against their will, mighty warriors, priests and wizards were killed and raised as animuses by the priests and fiendish allies of a mad overking. Some already ruled lands of their own; others have since seized power in the broken provinces of the shattered empire, using their near-invulnerability to wipe out rivals.

An animus needs no friends, love, food, drink or pleasure, yet must live in a social world. Revenge, hatred and rage drive it, along with any old ambitions that fit, such as power, wealth or war. It also loathes itself and hates the living for reminding it of what it was, and needs long hours alone to brood; some use them to master a rigid self-control that hides their storms.

Most must manage hosts of servants and henchmen. Some rule by icy, sadistic terror; others are restrained but seethe within; a rare few have the detachment or cynicism to play at courtly manners. Nearly all are as paranoid as they are proud, seeing assassins everywhere and having their food tasted even though poison cannot harm them, which they excuse by saying no one can be sure no poison anywhere will work. Only the cleverest see the irony in this.

Nobody knows exactly how animuses are made, only that priests of a tyrannical war god joined with fiends, working a variant of resurrection magic on a dead human's corpse and soul to weave in its defenses and warp its spirit. The overking wanted single-minded, perfectly loyal servants. What he got were cold, implacable beings fixed on their own goals; whether that matched his plan is unclear.

Rumor says some animuses have one extra special attack or defense beyond the standard set, never more. Vharzol, who rules part of a ruined southern province, supposedly has skin like iron that turns aside edged weapons. The animus-priest Morvaine of Cindermere is said to raise blisters on his palms that weep a searing acid harmless to him, and he likes to clasp a captive's hand with them, beaming, while the prisoner shakes with terror. In that city, 'Morvaine's blessing' is whispered to mean that dreaded touch.