Hem-netjer: The Final Order


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Hem-netjer: The Final Order

Hem-netjer was the title of Priests in Ancient Egyptian Mortality Cults.


Throughout the lands of Sanctuary, the Priests of Rathma are a segregated and peculiar lot. Though many great heroes have sacrificed their lives in the conquest of the Order of Light, those that do under a shadow of the unknown have met naught but scorn. This story is not one of the great heros; Vwx the caster of bone and Farting_Bob the reviver of dead are known throughout the lands as some of our greatest fallen heros, and their tombs bear the promise of that Great Order which they worked to uphold. For the Priests of Rathma fear not death, nor are they arrogant enough to avert it. As priests, they are aware of their and death and as such, their role is to maintain the order of all things.
Aye, this story is of the adventures of one of those priests who held the sacred order of the final death. As the Priests learned, each revived soul creates a vaccuum within the confines of both Heaven and Hell. As the number of revives grew, the necessary life energy necessary for the animation of undead flesh began to be leached out of those that were still alive. Due to this, disease and blight ravaged the landscape before the Priests created this new, final order. It was in this light that our hero was to be schooled. His teaching have taught him not in the revival of his enemies for personal gain, nor in the summon of undead spirits to pierce his foes. His teachings have become so peculiar that he is ignorant of even the most basic of life stealing poisons. He is not allowed to take the life of one that might live, but rather his calling is to take the life of those that have been chosen to die. He shall bring the darkness of death before the eyes of the Chosen before he loosens their head from the shackles of life.
His birth was marked with the simultaneous death of both parents and as such led him down this path that only the truly devine are allowed. As he grew, he was secluded within the church as his abilty to douse the flames of undead souls played havoc with the studies of his peers. Once he reached the title title of Hem-netjer, he took a Wa’eb under his wing write the teachings of the great Hem-netjer Tepey who devised the canon under which all of his followers lived.

The young Wa’eb retrieved a tomb that looked to be more massive than he. He tried to summon a sliver of bone with which to write, but the spell flickered in the presence of Grim. Grim turned an eye to the alcolyte, and with a smirk noticed his error. Muttering something under his breath, Grim scraped his scythe across the rough stone lining the walls of his cave. As the terrible screach was emitted thousands of bats fluttered through the air in protest. He grabbed one out of the air and with the twist of his wrist tore the hollow bones from the wings of the bat and handed them to the Wa’eb. “In my presence, young one, death only works in one direction.â€
Looked a little humbled the Wa’eb began. “So tell me, Hem-netjer Grim, of the teachings that we are to follow.â€
Grim ran his bloody hands through his hair before he began. “Well my son, the rules are quite simple and they are thus…â€

1. This will be a SPFHC ladder character, twinking will be allowed but everything must be self found.
2. He may not use any summons, any offensive bone or poison spells, and the only golem that he may use is a blood golem. Reasoning behind this is that every other golem derives life from somewhere other than the necro.
3. His weapon must at all time be a scythe of sorts, and his helmet must be some sort of bone helm. This is of course just for style, but this character will be 100% style.
4. (being completely optimistic) If he ever finds a Nature’s Peace, he has to wear it.

This is basically going to be my rules to this story character and his adventures will be chronicled here until his death. However if anyone wants to make a Hem-Netjer following these rules feel free to tell your story as well!


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So he'll be fighting melee and will use only curses? Plus a blood golem.

Sounds tricky, but stylish. What is "Nature's Peace"??


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it's a new unique ring with a mod that prevents all corpse usage such as reviving, casting skeletons out of them, redemption, find item, find potion, corpse explosion etc.


Diabloii.Net Member
That sounds like an interesting build. I wish you the best of luck. :xirish:

Nature's Peace would be a lot of fun to play around with.


Diabloii.Net Member
I actually started playing this guy tonight and I'll be making a few, possibly frequent, story posts while I draft.


As Grim recanted the rules to his student, time passed idly by. What was to have taken an hour took the entire evening. As Grim described the technicalities of the last rule, his student obediently wrote it down. Gently blowing on the page, he made sure the ink was dry before he closed the tome. Without a word, he bundled up his new pens and his book into his satchel and made his way quietly out of the cave.

He didn’t like being around Grim. It made him feel very uneasy. Like Grim knew something about him that even he didn’t know. Not only that, but he hated being unable to cast his spells when in Grim’s presence. Not that he could do much, he could call forth a single skeleton, or make a magic shield, but at least it was something. As he was walking towards the mess hall, he felt Grim’s eyes on the back of his neck. Fighting off the urge to run, he quickly made his way inside the dank building.

Once he crossed the threshold, things immediately began to feel better. The knot that was sitting inside his stomach slowly began to untie itself and he felt his appetite returning. He sat with some of the other acolytes and made his thanks to Rathma. As he was an acolyte, his table was without any form silverware. All the Acolytes were to summon forth the tools they needed so that they could perfect their skills at converting life energy to bone. He began the incantations that were needed and with a little concentration, he was able to draw out a knife that would be useable. As he was eating, someone knocked over his satchel and the pens that Grim had ‘made’ for him fell to the floor.

He looked at the actual bones now scattered around his feet with disgust. Being able to craft bones from mana was one thing, but these had come from a living being.

The ink stains on his fingers started to burn, and he threw down his food as a wave of revulsion washed over him. The appetite that had so recently returned left him once again. He threw his remains to the dogs that were scavenging the floors behind the tables and went to grab his knife so that he could practice unsummoning it when he realized that it wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He ran back to the dogs hoping that he hadn’t thrown it away with his food. There was nothing the Priests hated more than having to bury their faithful pups due to the recklessness of errant acolytes. He quickly checked through the scraps and took a mental count of the dogs and all seemed to be in order.

He was about to report it to F’ler, the old druid who kept the dogs and cleaned up after the meals, when he noticed all those that were sitting at his table were now walking towards the dogs with worried looks on their faces. Though odd, the burning in his fingers didn’t allow him to ponder. He made his way out of the hall with his fist clenched tightly by his side. He stopped once he got outside and let his eyes get oriented to the darkness. He was walking towards F’ler’s hut - it was more like a pen actually, he never understood why some druids preferred to live like the animals they controlled – when the sentry on the wall swore vehemently. He looked up out of curiosity but didn’t really notice anything odd. He kept on walking over to F’ler’s, trying to ignore the pain that was spreading from his fingers into the base of his palm. As kept walking, each guard let out some sort of curse in turn. Had he turned around, he would have wondered why each guard was trying in vain to recast their bone armor.

As he came within site of F’ler’s cot the nausea became so severe that he quickly ran to his room for fear of eminent embarrassment should he become ill in the middle of the street. His room was really nothing more than some hides draped over a bone prison. It was standard fare for all acolytes and would remain their home until the reached the status of priesthood.
The living bones that made up the walls were cold as death and he was welcomed by their chill as he broke in a cold sweat as soon as he was inside. He pressed his forehead against one in an effort to cool himself when all of a sudden the pain in his hand pulsed once and everything went black.


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Well, since I had some free time today and you asked so politely. :)

“I was wrong about you†Grim’s voice resounded through his head. He tried opening his eyes, but all they did was to echo the darkness inhabiting his mind. “I never would have believed a child like you had it in you.†He was only have aware of Grim’s words. He did, however, realize that the darkness that was consuming him came, in part, from the hides that normally functioned as his ceiling. After a bit of struggling, he was able to free his head. The brisk evening wind chilled the sweat on his face and quickly brought him back to full awareness.

“What are you doing here?†Slightly annoyed as being awakened by such a creepy man, he indolently threw off the rest of his hides and became aware of the circle of priests surrounding him at a careful distance.

“Well, I’m the only one that has nothing to fear from you.â€

“Fear?†He quickly scanned the crowd and noticed that his audience was unable, or unwilling to hold his gaze. Some of the elders seemed not afraid, rather they just looked cautious. The met his questioning gaze with a smile, somehow answering a question he never asked. “What did you mean, ‘had it in me’? What do I have in me?â€

“The blood of Rathma.†Spoken in such a way as if to inform him he had dropped a book.

Not quite realizing the depth of that last remark he retorted quite smart-assedly “Well of course I do. We all take the sacraments; it is in his eternal blood that we are bathed.†Grim looked at him slightly annoyed and as he held his gaze, images of the sacrament flashed before his head. It was as he remembered, the same chants, the same cold blue-white flame surrounding the alters, but there was something out of place that he couldn’t quite catch.
He knew that it was his time. The priests were deep into their mantras, the walls seemed to pulse in time to their chants. He heard the ancient words reverberate through his head and a language foreign to him escaped his lips.

We weren’t allowed to talk

The chanting grew more intense as more and more of the priests joined in. His own words seemed to break off into a chant of his won. No, he was no longer chanting, he was singing. Such beautiful words he had never heard, yet they were coming from his own lips. The fires surrounding the alters began to sway to the melody and he fancied the colors were shifting, like they too would add to his song.

He gathered up his robes and grabbed his ceremonial ghost flame and noticed that it too seemed to dance in his hands.

My hands?

He ran his hands together like they at once foreign and intimate. These strong hands had gathered together the warring mage clans and through their strength and fortitude they forged the peace so that they might work together in those times of need. These hands had been the ones that realized that there was something beyond the elements that even the minions of Hell feared. He learned through his own fortune that not all of the undead was evil, rather there existed souls who traveled the side of good. It was his discovery, or rather hesistation on encountering one such that lead him down this path.

Though his hands were strong, they were also responsible for the blood of the innocent. As his troops marched upon the minions of hell in their quest to imprison them, they began to notice entire villages of sick and dying people. There were children who could have passed for men under the toil of three score and ten years. Though afraid of this new demon that was able to suck the life out of people, they vowed to hunt it down and banish to beyond the fiery reaches of Hell. However, as they secured the souls of Mephistopholus and Diablo, they had yet to find this evil entity.

Thoughts of it began to slip from their minds as they left the civlized lands and their final prey, Baal, seeked to hide in the deserts. They encountered hordes of lifeless animals and though odd, they attributed it to the blistering heat and constant storms. After the capture of Baal and the ensuing loss of his great friend Tal-Rasha, they assumed the demon was destroyed with it’s bretheren.

Yet it was upon the hourney back when some of the mages themselves would grow old before his eyes that he realized that he was the demon draining the life of both good and evil. His discovered element was the element of life and unlike the natural elements, this did not come of nearly infinite abundance. When the other mages found out about this they banished his clan, his cult, his brothers to the wastes where no human should ever live.

He gladly accepted this fate as punishment for the sins he had committed and established that his followers would focus on the balance of all things so as to prevent such another occurance. They slowly marched towards the swamps in mourning of the souls they had forsaken. They began to build their temple, and their village so that they might live the rest of their lives in atonement and that their followers might practice without fear of hurting the others.

The sudden cessation of chanting brought him out of his reverie and now to complete the cycle of order he was prepared to do what he had deemed necessary. For all their studies, reports of the “wasting†still filterd back to the priests and many began to leave for fear of killing more innocents.

He approached the altar and with a quick slice he split open the palm of his hand. He raised his arm aloft and let the blue blood run down his arm. He looked down at his most faithful follower and begged him to raise his eyes. “This, friend, shall be my sign. Understand Grim, that this spell is incomplete as all things are when faced with the inevitablitly of time.†He slit open the palm of his friend and clasped hands before resuming his song.

As he sang the sounds of life filled the dark chapel. Crickets could be heard chirping and the flutter of wings was heard in the rafters. As the priests looked on in rapture, they were over come with the scent of freshly tilled earth. Before long, rain began to fall inside the sanctuary and seeing the stage properly set, he quickly pushed his knife through his heart and bathed in the blood quickly vacating his body. “All of you here are my most trusted most virtuous of followers. I ask you not to weep, do not avert your eyes from me.†He glanced around the room, looking at his followers in turn. They looked up at him as the color drained from his face, and his hair became white as snow. “As Tal-Rasha sacrificed his body to save mankind, so I give my life to protect it.â€

With that he crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood absorbed by the very stone of the temple. His followers quitely gathered his body and through a short but deeply felt procession, they lay his body on a natural bier in the back of the cave they had used for shelter upon first arriving. Grim, being the most elder of priests stayed behind to both guard the body from animals and to write the story of his master. His hand, still damp with the blood of his friend, pulsed to the song of life.