The Vamlycht

Among all the world’s horrors, there is only one true undead I acknowledge: the Vamlycht. Every such creature was once a mage. The danger arises when one binds a tenth focus-crystal or beyond; the mage’s soul has the risk of becoming so fragmented that the foci begin to draw in the fuel of life itself (what we mages call the spirit) devouring it in an instant. The body does not die so much as refuse to admit it: the mage, or Vamlycht, continues, but only by stealing the spirits of others through magic, drawing fresh life into themselves through magical means. They do this, from my personal experience hunting the vile things, at least once each month. A Vamlycht’s body cools as the heart stills; blood ceases its proper motion. Their skin slowly pales, then shrivels, clinging tight to bone until they resemble a desiccated corpse walking on stubborn habit alone. The process can take years, or even decades. If you ever encounter such a being, the only sensible response is to run. Should flight be impossible, there is but one hope: every focus-crystal they have ever bound to, and must wear on their person, must be found and destroyed. Miss even one, and the Vamlycht will heal itself and resume its endless hunt for spirit.