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The Mind of the Vampire from DRAGON(R) issue #162
Role-playing powerful--and "twisted" --undead
by Nigel D. Findley
(C)1990 TSR, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
The lightless crypt is silent, as only a grave can be. No
movement stirs the dust on the floor, no stray currents of air
disturb the delicate drapery of cobwebs that embellishes the
ceilings and walls. Even the tiny but venomous spiders that dwell
in the webs are motionless. The crypt is waiting, endlessly
waiting.
Then in the blackness something moves: a figure lying on a
bier of black stone. Eyelids spring open to expose a sullen, red
glow burning in the sockets. The figure sits up and pulls its
moldering garments closer about its gaunt frame. It knows that
intruders are in the chapel above. Its arcane senses can detect
them; it can smell their blood. The figure's thin, pale lips draw
back from its fangs. The waiting is over. Now it is time to feed.
This is the way vampires (and undead in general) are usually
played in AD&D(R) games: as lurking creatures of the darkness
whose one goal in (un)life is to kill heroes. When they're not
draining blood or life levels, the undead are usually hanging
around in dusty crypts, doing nothing except waiting for a
hapless intruder to wander by so they can drain blood or life
levels. It's a rather empty existence, and it makes you wonder if
vampires and their undead kin haven't been shortchanged.
The undead aren't the only ones who've been shortchanged, of
course. DMs who play powerful but one-dimensional undead are
cheating themselves and their players of some great role-playing.
Remember, high-powered undead are free-willed and are often as
intelligent, if not more so, than many of the PCs who hunt them.
Liches and vampires have supra-genius and exceptional
intelligences, respectively, and even spectres have high
intelligence. Here we have creatures who were once humans or
demihumans, but have undergone a change and now must come to
terms with new powers, new limitations, and immortality. What
must their world-views be like? What goals and aspirations do
they have? What motivates a vampire?
This article points out some of the options that DMs have
when handling ghosts, liches, and vampires. Many of these options
are based on representations of undead in fiction and cinema;
others are logical outgrowths of the creatures' characteristics
as described in the [Monstrous Compendium]. Scattered throughout
this text are concrete examples of atypical undead. DMs should
feel free to mix and match options or replace them with ideas of
their own.
<Ghosts>
According to the [Monstrous Compendium], ghosts are
the souls of creatures who were either so evil or so emotional
during life that, upon death, they were cursed with undead
status. Their central motivations are usually revenge (a desire
to "get even" with people who wronged them during life) or the
discharge of obligations or obsessions that drove them while
alive. These obsessions might have been what drove these beings
to their deaths.
Revenge is an easy motivation to role-play, but only when the
DM knows exactly what happened to generate such hatred in the
ghost. Obvious examples involve a person who was murdered by
another or was put into a situation in which death was
inevitable. Thus a ghost might be motivated by a desire to kill
its murderer or the superior officer who sent it on a suicide
mission.
Other situations are a little more tricky. It's been said
that love and hatred are closely allied emotions, very similar in
their depth and power. This offers a convenient "character tag"
for ghosts in the AD&D world. For example, take the case of a
person hopelessly in love with another (in literature, this is
often a young girl who's fallen for a heartless cad). When the
girl realizes that her love is unrequited, she falls into despair
and kills herself. Her passion is so strong, even in death, that
her soul remains bound to the Prime Material and Ethereal planes
as a ghost. The ghost might respond to this situation in one of
two distinct ways; however, each is based on the desire to kill
the love interest.
<Undying love>: In the first scenario, the ghost doesn't hate
the love interest at all. If only she can be reunited with her
beloved (so she believes), she can persuade him to love her.
Unfortunately, since the ghost is dead and her beloved isn't, the
only way this reunion can come about is if her love interest dies
as well. Think it through: The poor, despairing girl finds
existence without her beloved intolerable. She responds by
killing herself, terminating her existence and her despair. But
then she finds that death doesn't bring oblivion after all;
consciousness and despair remain. This realization might be
enough to unhinge even the most stable of psyches--and a mind
that would choose suicide as an escape from pain probably isn't
particularly stable. Thus the trauma of death, and the
realization that the end of life isn't the end of pain, could
easily unhinge the ghost's reason.
In this case, the ghost could be role-played as a tragic,
pathetic figure, adding a new twist to the phrase "undying love."
Her undead status is such that anyone who sees her is subject to
[fear], and anyone she touches is aged by 10-40 years, but she
has no desire to inflict these horrific effects on anyone. She
won't actively attack anyone other than her beloved, either
physically or through her [magic jar] power, unless attacked
first. She would probably try to communicate with anyone who came
near, asking pathetically for information on her beloved and
asking that the intruders take a message to him, begging him to
dwell with her forever.
If she encounters her beloved, she'll probably beg him to
come with her, an invitation he would certainly refuse. Her
response would depend on his reactions. If he insulted the girl
or demeaned her "love" for him, she could easily fly into a rage
and attack him or anyone nearby. If he didn't, she might
concentrate her attentions on trying to kill him alone.
An attack on the lover brings about an interesting
role-playing opportunity: How would the ghost respond when she
saw the aging effect her touch had on her beloved? A sensitive
ghost might be horrified at seeing her beloved aging before her
eyes, and might stop the attack. She might simply withdraw to the
Ethereal plane and spend the rest of eternity wallowing in her
own despair. A more selfish personality wouldn't care what
ravages her attentions were having on her beloved and continue to
attack him until he died.
<Undying vengeance>: William Congreve said it best:
"Heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury,
like a woman scorned." What's true for a woman is true for a man.
The ghost's suicide might not be an attempt to escape from pain,
but rather an act of anger, a spiteful "grand gesture." In this
case, anger, quickly turning to hatred, will be the ghost's
primary motivation. His hatred might easily extend to everyone
(after all, they're alive and he's not), driving him to attack
anyone who comes near. The ghost would, of course, show the
greatest ferocity in attacking his one-time beloved, but others
might attract more than their fair share of his wrath. Any other
man who shows even the slightest attraction toward his beloved
would be hated above all, as might others who have found the love
that the ghost was denied. Thus, obvious lovers or man-and-wife
couples would be among the ghost's preferred targets. In this
scenario, the ghost wouldn't be a pathetic Ophelia-like
character, but a ravening killer.
In either scenario, the ghost's goal would be achieved with
the death of the love object. What follows depends on the
alignments involved and on the DM's preferences as a storyteller.
Ghost and beloved might end up on the same Outer Plane, where
either true love might blossom or their enmity might continue.
Alternatively, their spirits might go to totally different planes
where they'd be separated for eternity. In both cases, once the
ghost's goal is achieved, the spirit would fade away and never
return.
<Obsession>: A ghost's obsession might run in a
direction totally different from the pursuit of love (or revenge
springing from unrequited love). As with haunts ([Monster Manual
II], page 74), people who died leaving a vital task unfinished
might remain bound to the world by their own indomitable will or
sense of duty.
Since a ghost is noncorporeal, the creature might be unable
to discharge its obligation and might need the help of the living
to complete the task. Such a ghost would probably try to
communicate with living characters, trying to persuade or
threaten them (depending on the creature's alignment when alive)
into discharging the duty. The use of [magic jar] here is almost
guaranteed in order to gain a physical body as a last resort.
Imagine the frustration of such a ghost. Most attempts to
communicate would cause the potential helpers to flee in fear or
to instantly attack. Since the ghost is duty-bound to complete
its task, it would be forced to fight back, no matter how much it
regrets the necessity.
Possible focuses for such an obsession might be a binding
oath or other duty. Such a ghost could be role-played as a
strong, almost noble (but obsessive) personality, like the spirit
of Hamlet's father. Such a ghost can be found in Tanith Lee's
novel, [Kill the Dead] (required reading for any DM who wants to
add new depths to undead). The ghost would fade away forever as
soon as its task was complete.
<Spiritual anchors>: A ghost might be bound to the
world not by its own will, but by the existence of a particular
object. In literature, this "spiritual anchor" is sometimes an
item that was of great emotional importance to the ghost while
alive, but more often it is a piece of the ghost's mortal body.
In either case, the ghost's psyche is somehow linked with this
anchor. Destroying the anchor permanently destroys the ghost.
While the anchor still exists, however, the ghost--even if
apparently destroyed--will return and manifest itself again weeks
or months later. A ghost is usually but not always aware of the
importance of this anchor, though it often protects it to the
best of its abilities.
"Anchored" ghosts have no great goal, whether revenge or the
completion of a task, toward which they strive. Instead, they're
simply here. Just as mortals fear death, either because it's the
great unknown or because they hate the idea of nonexistence,
anchored ghosts fear their own destruction. Although they know
they're not really alive, they sometimes cling to the fiction
that they live and that the memories of their death are actually
nightmares. Such ghosts go through the motions of mortal life,
trying to convince themselves that they never really died. They
often frequent areas where people rarely come, since the
reactions of intruders force them to recognize their undead
status. Anchored ghosts will often attack intruders on sight as a
way to remove these unpleasant reminders of their true nature.
Sometimes, other mortals will play along with this
self-deception. A living person who was very close to the ghost
while alive, particularly a parent or twin sibling, might be
immune to the ghost's [fear] effect and might delude himself that
the ghost never actually died (see the film comedy [High Spirits]
for examples). Thus, adventurers might meet twin sisters, living
far from any town, where one sister is actually undead. Or they
might find a widowed mother caring for and protecting her ghostly
son. (Such mortals will try to drive away or kill anyone who
tries to take their ethereal companion away from them, or even
anyone who poses a threat to their fragile self-deception.)
Again, such ghosts might be more pathetic than horrific.
<Alignment>: The AD&D game's [Monstrous Compendium]
classes ghosts as lawful evil in alignment, but this reflects our
prejudices more than it does the nature of ghosts themselves. The
lawful component is appropriate for ghosts bound to this plane by
an undischarged obligation, but ghosts with other motivations
could easily have other alignments.
The evil component is more obviously a human perception. The
merest touch from a ghost can kill an older individual. It's easy
to see how this can be interpreted as an active antipathy to
life. The ghost itself might have a totally different view of its
own alignment; take, for example, the case of the jilted lover or
the soldier whose duty was interrupted. In many cases, however,
the definition of evil as given in the AD&D 2nd Edition [Player's
Handbook] will apply: lack of recognition that what the creature
does is destructive or disruptive, and the belief that people and
things obstructing the creature's plans are mere hindrances that
must be overcome.
Many of these considerations could also be applied to the
other noncorporeal undead, such as spectres or wraiths.
<Liches>
Liches are arguably the most powerful and most intelligent of
all undead. All liches are mages or priests of great skill and
power, and all are highly formidable opponents.
But must all liches be opponents? From the description in the
[Monstrous Compendium], it seems so. But a creative DM can ring
in some interesting variations on the lich's personality.
<Unperceived change>: Horror literature contains
many tales of people who were too involved in their pursuits,
often magical research, to even notice their own deaths. Their
concentration is intense enough to bind their spirits to their
bodies, and to the Prime Material plane. Characters like this
present fascinating possibilities for role-playing, and liches
represent the best such candidates.
The [Monstrous Compendium] explains the process by
which prospective liches achieve their undead status, and
certainly this is the way most liches come into existence. The
world is wide, however, wide enough to contain atypical liches as
well. These atypical creatures are unaware of their true state
or, like some ghosts, are unwilling to admit it. Perhaps at the
time of their physical death, their concentration and willpower
was intense enough to bind them to the material world, or perhaps
the transition was the whim of a deity. In any case, NPCs like
this might guess that "something has changed" only when they
realize that they haven't eaten or slept for months or years, or
when their familiars start hiding from them.
Initially, these "accidental liches" would have no reason to
change their alignment or world-view. Thus PCs might encounter a
kindly, reclusive mage still completely immersed in her
research--but one whose body has taken on a withered, decayed
appearance. Perhaps the researcher isn't so kindly; her reaction
to the interruption of her work might be a blinding rage that she
is now uniquely able to vent on anyone unfortunate enough to be
nearby. These accidental liches may be of any alignment and may
vary in personality almost as much as living NPCs. DMs should
remember, however, that only reclusive and obsessive
personalities would ever get into this situation in the first
place. (For an example, see the lich Azimer in the adventure
"Lashan's Fall" from the DM's Sourcebook of the Realms, in the
[FORGOTTEN REALMS(TM]) boxed set.)
<Facing the change>: Eternity is a long time, and
even the most single-minded researcher would eventually realize
his true nature. The lich's reaction would vary from individual
to individual. Some would be horrified and might go so far as to
end their own existence. If they cannot face self-destruction so
directly, perhaps they could enlist the help--voluntary or
otherwise--of a band of doughty adventurers. One means to gain
such unknowing "helpers" might be to spread rumors that a wealthy
lich abides in a certain place (the lich's actual home), then
wait for the "lichbusters" to come and finish the lich itself
off. Other liches might send [charmed] intermediaries to actually
hire adventurers capable of destroying them.
Other NPCs would see lichdom as a boon rather than a curse,
focusing on their immortality and the whole of eternity in which
to continue their work. Liches like these would be protective of
this "gift" that fate has given them. Whatever their alignment,
they would probably use their considerable powers to ward their
homes and would fight furiously to ensure their continued
existence.
Whatever their outlook, liches will find that eternity is a
long time. Liches who don't destroy themselves or have themselves
destroyed would eventually change their outlook. As they forget
the day-to-day details of their mortal lives, they'd lose their
sense of kinship with the living. More and more, the concerns of
mortals would seem petty things, and the liches wouldn't concern
themselves with mortal affairs. Such liches would eventually
consider the death of a mortal as nothing important. What does a
human lose when he's killed before his time, after all? Thirty or
forty years, perhaps as many as fifty. How can that seem
important to a creature who's existed for a thousand years and
might continue for eternity? For this reason, most accidental
liches will eventually swing further and further toward evil.
The key word in the previous sentence is "most." Some few
liches might see the boon of immortality and their continually
expanding power in a different light. They might decide that with
privilege comes responsibility. From their reclusive retreat,
they might use their great powers to further the cause of good or
perhaps neutrality. Their actions would almost certainly be
indirect, but even the indirect actions of a creature as powerful
as a lich would be significant.
Another consequence of accidental lichdom is that these
creatures won't create a phylactery in which to store their
life-force--at least, not until they've realized (or admitted)
their true nature. Even then, certain liches won't bother.
<Free will>: The majority of liches have chosen and
actively sought their current state. These are the individuals
that use the process described in the [Monstrous Compendium ]to
achieve lichdom.
Why would a powerful mage or priest seek this rather horrific
form of immortality? (Remember, the outcome isn't guaranteed, and
the price of failure is instant death.) The motivation to take
this gamble will certainly vary.
As an aging mage feels the chill winds of approaching death,
he might decide to risk the chance of instant death, and the
avoidance of perhaps a decade of diminishing facilities,
senility, and pain, against the chance of gaining an eternity in
which to continue his work. There are interesting nuances here.
Does the prospective lich fear the waning of his abilities and
eventual death? Or is what he fears the fact that his work might
remain unfinished? Both motivations reflect different world views
and different personalities for the lich. Dedicated researchers
who choose to gamble death against the freedom to continue their
work will probably share many characteristics with the accidental
liches discussed earlier. Those who fear personal death will
probably tend more toward evil in alignment; at least, the
alignment shift will probably take place earlier.
The most common motivation for choosing lichdom is probably
power. Again, however, there are various nuances that can be
interesting to explore. What kind of power is the prospective
lich seeking, and why is he willing to risk instant annihilation
for that goal?
One candidate for voluntary lichdom is the despot of a
country or region, a "magocrat" or autocrat who rules mainly by
virtue of his magical prowess. The decision might be made when
the despot starts to feel the ravages of age and realizes that
his position as "President For Life" might be coming to an end.
For an individual like this, there might not be too much of a
choice. Age brings with it diminishing capacities, that in turn
brings with it the possibility, developing into a certainty, that
someone will eventually stage a coup. The despot might quickly
decide that the possibility of becoming "President For Eternity"
is worth any risk. If the process is successful, the lich-king
can continue his rule, his authority backed up by his new power.
Despots rarely show concern for the life and well-being of
their subjects to begin with. How much worse this would be when
the ruler is undead. A lich-king would be pragmatic in all its
decisions, quite willing to "spend" an entire army if that's what
it takes to achieve his goals. (After all, the dead could
conceivably be animated and would thus be less likely to question
orders than they ever were in life.)
There are other kinds of power than rulership, of course,
such as the power to change the course of history. Powerful
spell-casters might take the lichdom gamble in order to acquire
power that they'd never have while alive. (For example, a
magic-using ruler has been deposed by overwhelming outside
forces. Although the desire for vengeance still burns in her
heart, she recognizes that she's not powerful enough to ever turn
the tables--at least, not while she's still alive. The mage might
decide that risking death to gain the power to finally wreak her
vengeance is a good gamble. After she's completed her revenge,
the mage might try to take back the reigns of government or might
be completely satisfied and go about other concerns.)
There's another kind of lich that actively sought its undead
status but for very different reasons. This is the good-aligned
archlich, from MC7 [Monstrous Compendium], SPELLJAMMER(TM)
Appendix]. Archliches are caring individuals who've deliberately
become undead so they can better serve a cause or protect a
beloved being or place. While the archlich is classed as a unique
type of monster, there's no reason why some good-aligned
characters might not engineer their transformation into "normal"
liches.
<Liches in society>: Liches are almost exclusively
played as reclusive monsters or as the rulers of evil empires.
There's another possibility, of course: partial assimilation into
society. Because of their incredible "life" spans, liches have
the opportunity to develop unique spells. Some liches might
develop dweomers that disguise their true nature: spells that
mask the power to detect or affect undead, for example, or that
temporarily counteract the liches' [fear] aura. Using these
spells, coupled with disguise spells like [change self], liches
could conceivably dwell in the close company of mortals.
Why would they choose to do this, though? Perhaps some liches
are simply lonely; they don't feel the distancing effect from
mortals that immortality usually brings with it, and they ache
for the company of others. These liches might be helpful, if
sometimes irascible, purveyors of magical wisdom. Or maybe a
lich's intricate plans require the unwitting aid of many people.
(Remember, with the whole of eternity to play with, liches can
afford to be eminently patient. Their plans might take centuries
to complete, and their day-to-day actions, when viewed without
the long view of immortality, might not make much sense.)
Liches who dabble in society are taking serious risks. While
the population of an entire town might be unable to physically
harm a lich, it can certainly slow or destroy any plans that the
creature might be brewing. Only the most confident or heart-sick
lich would take the chance.
<Ars longa>: When dealing with liches, the old
Latin aphorism [vita brevis, ars longa] could have a second
translation: "Life is short, but the Art is longlasting."
Although the concept is already discussed in the [Monstrous
Compendium], it's worth stressing again that a lich has literally
unlimited time in which to research and develop new or
"customized" versions of familiar dweomers. The nature of these
idiosyncratic abilities depend on the lich's personality.
A power-driven lich, for example, would obviously concentrate
on spells that increased its influence on those creatures around
it. This kind of lich might wield enhanced versions of [mass
charm] or [domination], and combat spells of hideous lethality. A
lich whose dominant emotion is scientific curiosity might have
developed extended versions of scrying or divination spells such
as [speak with dead] or [contact other plane]. Finally, a lich
fascinated with the aesthetics and nuances of magic, rather than
its eventual outcome, might have eccentric versions of familiar
spells: [magic missiles] that look like multicolored sparks, or
[fireballs] that explode accompanied by a musical tone, for
example.
Like any other high-powered spell-casters, liches can be
great sources of new magical powers. A PC mage who acquired a
lich's spellbook is in a marvelous position. Of course, getting
the spellbook is no easy task. Even a lich of the most benign
personality will defend its spellbook with wards and traps, some
of which might never have been seen before.
A "living" lich can also be a source for new spells, if the
PCs are lucky enough to locate one with the right alignment,
outlook, and personality. No matter how friendly the lich may be,
the principles common to mortal spell-casters will hold true.
Liches won't freely reveal the details of spells that they know,
particularly any "customized" dweomers they've developed.
Everything will be [quid pro quo]; the lich might exchange a
spell for another spell of equal level (and good luck finding a
spell that the lich doesn't already know!) plus an interesting
magical item. Acquiring something that a lich might accept as
barter could develop into a series of adventures.
<Vampires>
Although not as powerful as liches, vampires can be even more
interesting NPCs than their magically inclined kin. The recent
overwhelming popularity of vampire-related books and movies show
how compelling these creatures are. DMs who prefer the dark and
labyrinthine trappings of psychological horror to simple-minded
slash-'em-up combat could find few monsters better suited to that
playing style than vampires. (DMs will also find the new AD&D
RAVENLOFT(TM) supplement fits this style perfectly.)
<"The Dark Trick">: In her cycle of vampire novels,
Anne Rice uses the phrase "the Dark Trick" to describe the
transition from life to vampirism. The circumstances of the Dark
Trick, when and how it happens, as well as the nature of the
victim can have a great effect on the personality of a vampire.
Take a young, naive man, raised in a sheltered household, who
fell prey to a vampire that was stalking the region. The man knew
nothing about the vampire until it attacked and killed him.
Compare this case with a determined vampire-hunter who was cut
down by her quarry in the heat of battle. When the new vampires
arise from their graves, their views of the world will be totally
different.
The naive man might at first be totally unaware of his true
nature. He might come to the (seemingly reasonable) conclusion
that he actually never died but merely was badly wounded and then
buried prematurely by his overzealous family. At first, he
wouldn't understand why people run when he tries to explain to
them their mistake, or he might decide that the townsfolk have
wrongly assumed that he's "risen from the dead" (how ludicrous!).
Evidence of his true nature would quickly build up, however: the
fact that he doesn't cast a shadow or appear in a mirror, the
fact that he feels an uncontrollable urge to return to his coffin
when sunrise is imminent, and the steadily growing urge to feed.
When he finally realizes his fate, the shock might drive him mad,
turning him into the ravening monster that is the stereotypical
vampire. Alternatively, he might hang onto his sanity but believe
that since fate has decreed that he become a monster, he has no
option but to act the way he thinks such a monster should act. A
third possibility--and maybe the most interesting of the
three--is that the poor wretch is unable to fully renounce the
life he once had. A pathetic figure, the vampire "haunts" his old
home, watching from the darkness and trying to pretend that he's
still part of mortal life, if only as a spectator. Such a vampire
would feed rarely and would never deliberately kill, stopping
before he'd drained all his victim's life levels. Using his
[charm] abilities, the vampire could easily make sure that his
victims don't remember what happened to them, thus sparing them
the emotional trauma they'd otherwise suffer (and, incidentally,
protecting the vampire from detection). Pathetic or not, such a
creature would be likely to viciously attack any vampire-hunters
who came after him. After all, the adventurers are trying to take
away even the semblance of his old life.
The intrepid vampire-hunter who rises as an undead would
certainly have a different view of the world. Since she's very
familiar with her one-time quarry, she'd immediately realize what
happened. Her reaction would probably depend on her motivation
for becoming a vampire-hunter in the first place. If she took up
the career as a moral duty, to rid the world of vicious monsters,
then the shock to her sanity would be profound: suddenly she's
become exactly what she'd once dedicated herself to fight. She
might easily go mad. Alternatively, the new vampire might make
best efforts to destroy herself immediately. Since only the
strongest-willed of vampires could overcome their "instinctive"
revulsion to sunlight or running water, the creature might take
the easier way out and enlist the (voluntary or involuntary) aid
of adventurers, as was previously mentioned for liches. Or the
vampire might continue to dedicate herself to her former life's
work. She might use her powers as an undead to help her track
down and destroy others of her kind. (See Tanith Lee's [Kill the
Dead] for a portrait of such an undead ghost-hunter.)
But what if the one-time adventurer originally got into the
vampire-bashing business for other reasons: the money, for
example, or the adventure? The undead character might decide that
being a vampire isn't that bad after all, since she's got a much
better chance now of reaching her goals than she did when she was
alive.
As with ghosts, the fact that vampires are described as
chaotic evil says more about human perceptions than it does about
the creature's true personality. "Chaotic" simply means that
these creatures put their personal interests over those of the
masses--understandable, considering that they're immortal. And
since "evil" is defined as "holding life in low regard," a
creature who must drain life force to survive could be classed as
evil, despite its other behavior.
<Vampirism is fun>: In most role-playing games, the
main motivation for creatures such as vampires is to simply kill
the living. Why is this the be-all and end-all of a vampire's
existence? Vampires are exceptionally intelligent, which means
they're capable of abstract thought. They're also immortal. When
you've got the whole of eternity spread out before you, the
simple pursuits of draining innocent maidens and trashing
adventuring parties would eventually grow stale. Immortality must
be a pretty bleak picture if all you've got to look forward to is
your next kill.
Assume that a character can make the transition to vampirism
without being driven insane by moralistic shock and without
otherwise becoming the stereotypical "exists to kill" vampire.
What, then, would be the character's motivation? It can be almost
anything.
Vampires have powers far beyond the capabilities of most
mortals: exceptional strength, the ability to [charm] with a
glance, superhuman combat abilities, the power to change to
gaseous form or [polymorph] into a giant bat, etc. To the right
kind of personality, these powers would be boons beyond price.
The person would relish his new-found powers, constantly pushing
their limits and "living" an existence of otherwise unattainable
fun. ("Can I spy on Lady Maretha's mansion? Sure. Can I move the
ceremonial cannon from the town square into the mayor's office?
Why not?") Feeding is still a necessity, but he would probably do
it in the most humane way possible, never killing his victim and
only rarely leaving any evidence behind. Fun-loving DMs could
easily develop a vampire who'd fit well into the movie [Animal
House].
On a more serious note, a thief turned into a vampire would
find her supernatural abilities tailor-made for her career. Who
needs grappling hooks when you can [spider climb], or needs
lockpicks when you can assume gaseous form? A thief-vampire might
cut a swath through the rich inhabitants of a city, cleaning out
their valuables in daring raids that leave the constabulary
scratching their heads. The vampire's den would be full of
opulent furniture and fittings. (If the character couldn't enjoy
luxury while alive, why not take advantage of the opportunity
afterward?)
A compelling figure from many historical novels is the
gentleman adventurer, the person who's as much at home in polite
society as he is outside it (often [way] outside it). A vampire
would make a perfect gentleman adventurer. A somewhat aloof
manner and a very daunting reputation would keep others distant
enough that they'd never learn the vampire's true nature, while
the character's habit of dropping out of sight to go on
adventures would be a perfect cover for the vampire's "hunting
trips." (Presumably, such a vampire would fast while within
civilization, and then gorge himself once away from polite
company.) Some of the vampire's acquaintances within the social
milieu might possibly suspect or know the creature's true nature,
but not take any action because the vampire is such a "jolly good
chap."
The gentleman adventurer vampire is quite a different
creature from the typical monster described in the [Monstrous
Compendium]. That rampaging killer "lives in areas of death and
desolation where they will not be reminded of the lives they have
left behind." The social vampire has come to the conclusion that
he doesn't have to forego all the pleasures of his life after
all. Social vampires soon learn ways to disguise their true
nature. They'll avoid mirrors and brightly lit areas (where their
lack of shadows might be noticed), and they'll devise plausible
justifications for their "allergy" to garlic and their "moral
offense" when they see openly displayed holy symbols. As with
liches, magically capable vampires have eternity in which to
develop new spells. Thus a social vampire might be warded with
dweomers that block powers that detect undead, and perhaps even
calm the fears of dogs and other creatures.
Social vampires are well documented in literature. One of
Anne Rice's vampire characters was a participant in Parisian
aristocracy's social whirl, while another pursued a career as a
rock star. Even the archetypal vampire, Count Dracula, proved
himself a charming and debonair host when it suited his purposes.
While multidimensional characters like these might exist in any
given campaign world, the majority of vampires will be the
superficial killers described in the [Monstrous Compendium]. DMs
should use just enough "complex" vampires to make the PCs wonder
what they're going to meet up with next.
<Gifts of un-life>: Why do vampires "work the Dark
Trick" and create other vampires? The accepted theory, as stated
in the [Monstrous Compendium], is that vampires use chattel
creatures as slaves and, if necessary, cannon fodder. There are
other, more interesting possibilities, however.
How about a vampire who used to be a very social personality
while alive and is now suffering from his enforced withdrawal
from society? (In short, he's devastatingly lonely.) The idea of
creating another vampire--a creature like him, someone he can
share his thoughts and fears with--might become too attractive to
resist. Unfortunately, since "secondary" vampires aren't truly
free-willed, the lonely vampire wouldn't find the companionship
he was seeking. In fact, he might start to see the secondary
vampire as a horrible parody of the friend he sought: nothing
more than a mirror or echo chamber, feeding back to him his own
beliefs and thoughts.
Another possible reason for creating a vampire is to "save" a
loved one from death. Imagine the feelings of a sensitive vampire
knowing that a relative or close friend is dying. The vampire is
immortal and knows that he has the power to make the dying person
immortal as well. The temptation to work the Dark Trick might
become almost irresistible. Of course, once the deed was done,
the master vampire would find the same horrible situation: the
loved one, remembered as an independent personality, would have
lost all free will and become a mindless slave of the master
vampire. (Both these motivations for creating new vampires are
worked through in Ann Rice's vampire cycle.)
The descriptions above assume that secondary vampires aren't
free-willed entities. This is implied in the [Monstrous
Compendium] entry, in the corrected version published in
DRAGON(R) issue #150, but isn't stated explicitly. The entry
merely says that "the new undead is under the complete control of
its killer." The question remains: What form does this control
take? Is the new vampire merely a mindless puppet? Is it
controlled by some variation of the master's [charm ]spell? Or
does the new vampire follow the master's commands simply because
it believes, rightly or wrongly, that the master is more powerful
than itself? The latter two theories are the more interesting
from a role-playing perspective, since they imply that the
secondary vampire might somehow be able to escape the control of
its creator. The possibilities are interesting. For example, a
"social" vampire has created a secondary vampire. This secondary
vampire is slowly resisting the control of the master and
reverting to its true personality: a ravening, heartless
monster--the complete opposite, philosophically speaking, of the
primary creature. (Again, Ann Rice explores this concept in her
novels.) Alternatively, cunning PCs might be able to turn a
secondary vampire against its evil master.
<Good vampires>: Can a vampire be good? Not
according to the [Monstrous Compendium], which states that a
vampire is "a thing of darkness that exists only to bring about
evil and chaos." But if we assume that these are "typical"
vampires, and that atypical individuals exist, then the answer
might well be "yes." Theoretically, a vampire isn't restricted to
feeding on the life force of sentient creatures; it could feed on
unintelligent creatures as well. Thus a vampire could "live"
without ever having to kill a human or demihuman.
Imagine the case of a good-aligned human who fell prey to a
vampire. While the first vampire existed, the new undead was
under its sway, forced to commit horrifying and sickening acts.
When the master vampire was destroyed, however, the secondary
vampire became free-willed. How would it react? The [Monstrous
Compendium] states that "In most cases, vampires do not lose the
abilities and knowledge which they had in life when they become
undead." Thus the secondary vampire might still remember his
one-time moral and ethical stance. Now that he's able to act
freely, he might decide to use his powers to set right, at least
partially, the damage that he and his master did. This creature
could become a secret benefactor to a community: performing good
deeds late at night (e.g., using his great strength to repair
walls) and defending the village from marauding monsters. The
townsfolk may never suspect the true nature of their benefactor.
Those few who might have some suspicions would be careful to keep
them silent, in case someone tries to destroy their benefactor.
Since vampires--particularly magic-capable individuals--can often
successfully "pass" for human, the vampire might even be known to
some of the townsfolk, perhaps as "that strange hermit who lives
in the cave."
Eternity is a long time, however, and vampires' attitudes
would probably shift. Eventually, they'd lose their kinship with
the living and consider the fates of mortals as petty things,
unworthy of their attention. Thus, vampires too would eventually
swing more toward a passively evil alignment.
<Conclusion>
It's not necessary that every powerful undead in your
campaign world have complex motivations. Sometimes motivation
should take a back seat to convenience. Take Bram Stoker's
[Dracula], for example. What was Count Dracula's motivation?
Nothing consistent, that's for sure. The sole purpose of his
actions seemed to be to drive a good story. (Take, for example,
when he crawled like a lizard down the outside of his castle,
apparently just for the fun of it, since he could turn into a
wolf, a bat, or a cloud of fog at will.) If the story you're
telling as DM requires a straightforward, kill-crazy ghost or
vampire, use one. What I've provided here are just suggestions,
ways to throw a little further complexity at your players.
Many DMs won't feel the urge to use any of these suggestions.
After all, undead are conveniently simple villains. Players and
their PCs don't have to feel any moral qualms about destroying
creatures that are played as thoroughly, unquestionably, and
unrepentently evil. Lots of DMs and players like to have at least
some monsters where the instant response to sighting them is--and
should be--"Kill it!" It's good to have something with which you
can get into a knock-down, drag-out fight, and yet not feel
guilty afterward. For these reasons, many players and DMs will
always enjoy beating on undead guys.
For those DMs and players who enjoy a little more
complexity--both moral and tactical--in their role-playing,
atypical undead can be interesting and exciting. They add a few
more decisions to the player characters' already confusing lives.
When PCs meet a ghost, should they attack it or commiserate with
it? When they encounter a lich, should they destroy it or
exchange magical trivia?
It's your choice. Happy role-playing!>
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