Gheist
”Hunger and cold. A pit in the stomach that remains unfilled after each meal. A thirst left unquenched after countless waterskins drained. Chilblains that numb from the elbows to the fingertips, freezing to the touch despite the closest source of flame.
I was not born. I was made. It was The Beast of the Cold and Hunger that changed me. When his claws twisted my soul within my body - when it carved the name of my very existence into bone and then bore that Shroud upon me, I became one of them.
I am no longer Aelthen. I am gheist. And I am so, so… hungry.”
N.B. ~ Erasmus Thale’s body was never recovered.
Description
Driven by an uncontrollable hunger and desire to fill a cold emptiness, the gheist are a breed born from a preternatural affliction. The curse of the gheist manifests similarly within all of the afflicted, but some are more able to resist its transformations. Identifying a gheist can be difficult: most gheist would rather the world not know of their condition, and therefore hide their blackened, dead flesh behind gauze, masks, or hoods. Some lucky few simply do not manifest such malformations, but instead take on twisted perceptions or modes of thought..
Gheist always begin their life as another breed, and, through the curse, become gheist. This transformation can completely strip their previous identities: twisting their bodies and minds into the hollow husks of cold and hunger that are often the subject of fearful tales uttered by the common folk. Rarely, gheist simply appear as a Thrylossi or Aelthen might, with only vague peculiarities to betray their true nature to the particularly perceptive around them.
Gheist often resemble what a lost mountaintop traveler might appear: frostbitten fingers and extremities, gaunt cheeks, protruding ribs from hunger, eyes milky white and deadened. Be that as it may, they are still very much alive, even if they might well look undead at cursory inspection. The gheist curse manifests within every known breed, and is widely believed to be irreversible.
Revenant
When discussing the gheist, the themes of hunger and cold are common, but the less discussed theme is control. Most gheist have limited control over their existence, all but ruled by their guttural hunger and the desire to feel “warmth” again, despite even a raging bonfire failing to give even a moment's respite. To most gheist, this is what rules their day to day lives. The curse has re-written their lives to revolve around those concepts, but the same is not true for the Revenant.
The revenants are, for lack of a better description, gheist who have absolute control over their curse. They are able to twist its profane curse in a way that other gheist cannot hope for, and what allows a revenant to be able to do so is unknown.
Most revenants are found near the ruins of the Lost Expedition of Leonholdt. It is believed by many scholars that they are somehow spiritually connected to the site of their curse, and are drawn to return there, even when passing through the spirit realms. Their control comes at a cost, however, as control over their hunger forces them deeper and deeper into a pit of famine. They tend to be lumbering and sluggish despite their immense powers granted to them by their control over their curse.
Poltergheist
Poltergheist are the polar opposite to the Revenant: while a Revenant has control over their ability to twist the powers that contain the darkness within themselves, poltergheist do not make any such attempt to do so, often reveling in the transformation, and pushing the limits of the curse to take on ever more grotesque mockeries of mortality. Their curse manifests as a powerful transformation, beginning the moment the sun hides away beyond the horizon, stripping the last vestiges of the living flesh away, leaving only spirit.
During the night, poltergheist are known to be exceptionally difficult to kill, due to their intangible forms. While in this ghostly state, blades, arrows and spells pass harmlessly through their incorporeal bodies, often to the delight of the poltergheist, who often utters a skittering curse or baleful laugh before descending upon the enemy so foolish to attempt the poltergheist harm.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas