There's a Chainsaw Wizard and a Re-Animator. Locheil wrote a Loser Assassin, Sundered wrote a Hot Rod from Hell, and PurpleCthulhu wrote an ingenious framework for stringing the whole thing together. By now, the sensitive reader will surely have picked up on the hot new craze that's undeniably sweeping the GLOGosphere.
We're calling it Buckets of Blood and it fucking rules.
A member of the same adventuring party as the Chainsaw Wizard. The Re-Animator knows that a human is a machine of meat and chemicals, and that the best way to fix a broken machine is by switching it off and then on again.
In other words, this is a necromancer-as-healer for a Weird psychedelic grindhouse setting.
This is all there is. You tried to argue against that. You picked up a job as a starsailor, or you fell in love, or stood for a cause, but at the end of the day, it doesn't add up to much. You're a lowly little human incapable of dedicating yourself fully to whatever narrative you've picked out to keep yourself fulfilled, because your identity is muddled and confused. Your love is poisoned with doubt and ennui, your revolution strangled by logistics, and starsailing- well, that's a job for people who are already one bad day away from realizing that absolutely none of this bullshit matters.
When you realize this, the Queen of Apathy laughs and whispers "right on!" in your ear. The Khatun-in-Dreams offers you a place far away from it all, among Her court of dreamers. They pull you towards cowardice. They want you to think that nothing mattering is an immunable fact of your life. You're lucky that the King in Yellow finds you, too, to keep you from turning your back on reality entirely. After all, it can still be repaired. Just needs a bit more glamour.
(The King in Yellow is one of Starsailor's Seven Sovereigns.)
The legends tell of the great sages with wisdom unparalleled, who could chart the course of a kingdom's lifetime from a single utterance of its lowliest peasant. Of the mighty magicians who drew from the base nature of the universe itself to force reality to reshape itself to their wills. The invokers, the healers, the learned and the wise. All gone from this world, now, with only emptiness where wonder once was in their wake.
You don't trouble yourself over that shit. You've got a chainsaw.
