There are many methods of twisting the natural order of life and death, each producing their own form of undeath, but few are so intricate or precarious as the binding of a wraith. Viable candidates must be strong in body and mind, lest either should fail before the ritual is complete. It also helps, but is by no means necessary, that these candidates submit themselves willingly, yet once they have, no amount of pleading can set them free.
For days, their bodies are mutilated, bringing them ever closer to the release they so desperately crave, but death is withheld from them. It is only once their soul straddles the boundary between worlds that the binding can begin. In this medial state, their soul is ensnared in accursed chains that prevent its crossing to the world of the dead. Trapped between realms, the tormented soul thrashes against its bindings, which only tighten as it struggles. Those that can endure this interdimensional shearing are irrevocably suspended between worlds, forevermore existing in both, but belonging to neither.
Deathless and disjointed, they drift as shadows, silent but for the clinking of their cursed chains. When manifesting a physical presence, wraiths appear as little more than empty cloaks, but in their ethereal form, these hollow shrouds are filled with the spectral glow of torturous power. And through this power may they bind foe to foe, forcing one to share the pain of another. Deadhaus wields these shadowy beings as spies and assassins, and so their presence means either that Deadhaus is watching, or that someone specific is going to die in exquisite agony.
None are certain how long vampires have stalked the shadows of Malorum. Since history has been recorded, there have been writings of the children of the night, immortals that preyed upon the blood of the living.
There is no magick in the making of a revenant, no ritual, no alchemy… there is only rage. Only the most grievous injustice, deepest betrayal, or greatest loss can foment the sheer hatred from which a revenant is born.
There are many methods of twisting the natural order of life and death, each producing their own form of undeath, but few are so intricate or precarious as the binding of a wraith.
Unlike most other undead, Banshees were not once part of the realm of the living. They did not once draw breath, nor were their spirits ever bound by flesh and bone. They are wholly native to the realm of the dead.
The most cunning of mortal spellcasters inevitably seek to extend their lifespan beyond its natural limits, but few have the strength of will to endure the excruciating path to immortality.
Together with the Grand Inquisitor's research, they developed the capacity to create an undead entirely under their control, a construct of interwoven limbs and parts animated by alchemy, a Wight.
All living things know hunger. All that is flesh must consume. But for those who partake of the flesh of their own kind, a door is opened and a ritual begun.