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World of Darkness: The Mummy Companion

World of Darkness: The Mummy Companion

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Published by LabRatFan

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Published by: LabRatFan on May 16, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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By Lee ‘Spikey’ Nethersole
The Premature Burial
The veil was lifted from my eyes and the lightthat flooded in was the most wonderful agony Ihad ever experienced. It burned and I felt theshock of it like a hot nail through my eye, buteven as I cursed and beat at my face to shieldmy sight, I was overcome with joy.I was alive again. The tortures and theharrowing injuries inflicted upon me by thegods were over and I had defeated theslithering one with the gaping maw. I hadproved that hissing, whispering voice wrong. I
am worthy, I am strong, I am … triumphant.
 Even as I fought to screw my eyes as tight asthey could go, thrashing around in an attemptto find some dark corner, my mind wentthrough a checklist, tearing useful memoriesfrom the phantasms of the million years.Well OK, not a million. More like threethousand give or take, but back when I firstlived that was the in phrase. Everything was amillion. A million stars in heaven, Pharaoh hada million devoted subjects, eternity consistedof a million years - it was poetic license Iguess.You see, this ain't the first time on theroundabout for me. Not by a long chalk. I wasborn in Khem, or Egypt now they call it, duringthe reign of Psamtik III in the last days of the26th Dynasty. For those of you not big onancient history that would mean by 2,500thbirthday was about 30 years ago or so. I get somany candles because of what happened tome back then, the big mojo. I became one of the undying, the reborn ... an Immortal. As those names suggest, we are eternal. Welldamn near anyway - much closer toimmortality than those bloody vampires. Weare alive, human, and we can die. It's just thatwe don't stay dead, we die; we go to that other place; we party down with the other dead folkfor a while and then we get ... reborn. Samebody, same person, same shit - differentdecade.Yeah, seemed as though my memory waswarming up, it seemed the vagaries of amnesia that often troubled my kind were to beslight this time around. Which means I'd getscrewed somewhere else. That was alwaysthe way it went, the stars aligned right for onething they had to be all out of whack for something else.We often wake up confused, traumatised andwith holes in our memory. One really oldbugger I know said it was a blessing rather than a curse, that no mind could surviveremembering all of eternity. So while walkingand talking and stuff is always there, specificmemories often don't make the cut every time.The muscle memory is much more resilientthan the cerebral equivalent apparently. You'llrarely meet an Immortal who knows exactlyhow many times he has lived and died, andyou can never guarantee that they'll remember all their mojo or all the languages he was oncefluent in.Sometimes we return from the dark place withtotal recall, and sometimes we're like a blankslate, it
s different every time. The core never suffers either, a booze hound is always abooze hound, a floozy (such as myself) isapparently never going to wake up one day aschaste as a maid. You might forget your name,but you never forget to eat as that same oldbugger used to say. Annabel! Yeah, speaking of names that wasthe name I'd been using recently, AnnabelLee, and for good reason too. Why? Why that
 name .. oh yes of course, because of Edgar!Let me see, potted history of Annabel for thepast couple of centuries, I've been alive threetimes since 1800. Each time, maybe evenbefore then, I'd gone with Annabel. Because itsounded similar to .. oh, there we go, can'tremember my first name! That'll be thebalance I guess.Nope, complete hole where that memoryshould be, told you didn't I? I guess thesynapse with that nugget rotted or was anentrée for the maggots while I was in ... Duat. Ah yes, Duat, the underworld, monotone hangout for the dead but not quite departed. Whyare those memories always so clear and freshfor me I wonder? Maybe it's because I havewhat others call a morbid fascination with thatpart of the gig, a little imp in my soul with a
hankering for the creepy … the Imp of the
perverse.Oh, there you go, Mr Allen Poe, my Edgar!The reason for my nome de plume and theclearest symptom of my declining joie de vive!By the time I ran into him he had become apastiche, the living embodiment of thearchetypal tortured artist. Darkness hung over him so that at times he seemed like acharacter from his own works, a sweetmeat for the reaper. Those self destructive urges, fedby his sorrow and grief, they had broken him -and seduced me.I used to follow him as he made his journeyfrom the Bronx to Rhode island, courting somepoetess apparently. Shadowing people andnot being seen has always been something of a speciality of mine, apparently an ability thatborders on the supernatural although I have noidea how I do it. I just kept my head down andalways maintained a discreet distance - notthat I am shy, hell no I was a temple prostitute
when I was just a mortal girl …
 Hmm, I don't remember being one, but Iremember telling people about remembering it.Pretty sure I was telling them the truth. Yeah, Iused to screw for the Gods ... and I was damngood at it. Through every one of my many,many, lives I have enjoyed the attention of others, enjoyed what my shapely body and mygood looks brought me. You could say that Ihave survived on sex appeal and wits if itfloats your boat!Forgive me, the mind is like the sea in thesefirst moments. Like waves crashing on thebeach, leaving the flotsam and jetsam of memories, the froth of the underworld mingledwith the harsh sand of the living lands. Itdoesn't help that my corpse wasn't mummifiedthis time around, just dumped in a shallow
grave by that bastard ….
 But we'll come to that. For now I really ought totry and focus on the narrative. You, youbuzzing little bastard get to listen to me tell mystory. Again. Not that you care, but I need tolay it all out to make sure it's all straight and asyou know - I've always preferred an audience.Where was I? Oh yeah, no not shy, but under orders. I was working for the Eanead backthen, the council of Immortals who try to stopus turning on each other and letting the badguys win. Unity, you see, hasn't always comenaturally to our kind. There are groups of us,Dynasties we call them, from all over. Somefrom Asia, some from Europe, some from righthere and being human we are all more than alittle bit racist. Try as we might to be above allthat, pride rears its ugly head all too oftenwithout the intervention of our best and our brightest in the Eanead. As I say, New York in the middle of the 19thcentury and I was under orders. That placeand that time was something of a hotbed for people like me. Of the eight dynasties thatmake up Immortal kind, there were none whodidn't have representatives passing throughthe big Apple in that era. To cut a long storyshort, this was at a time in my existence whenI was more adrift than usual, ennui nipping atmy heels and in need of a direction. The handof friendship from one of my old admirers hadsparked an ember of happier times and drawnme to the city. You see, my Dynasty, theIshmaelites, we're lone wolves and outsidersand like so many of us, I was tired of theinfighting and the fractures, eager for theImmortals to really become one society. Evenif it meant working for the Shemsu-Heru, theCompanions of Horus!

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