Decapitating Coffin

During the Dragon Wars, the Cult of the Leviathan deployed thousands of destructive magics across western and northern Elbid. Many of these spells remained in place after the Cult was defeated in 1815, lying dormant until triggered by the unwary - summoning monsters and mayhem from the past into the present. These enchantments were often crafted not just to inflict physical harm, but to cause lasting psychological torment. This was especially true of the class of spells designed to animate the dead and turn them against the living.

There were many kinds of reanimation spells, each capable of producing a wide variety of undead. The cultists placed them wherever they believed a fallen soldier might one day be buried, and took delight in making them as varied and unpredictable as possible. In the years immediately following the war, numerous stories emerged of bodies rising unexpectedly - some as vampires, others as ghouls, revenants, or grotesque new horrors seemingly conjured from the depths of a deranged imagination. Yet all the undead shared certain traits: they moved when they shouldn't, and none of them survived decapitation.

A Technological Solution

At first, some proposed that all bodies be either burned or decapitated prior to burial. Cremation, however, was not a common practice in western Elbid, and while not strictly sacrilegious - as some advertisements claimed - it made many uncomfortable. Decapitation was little better. Few cared for the idea of mutilating their dearly departed as a precaution. Most preferred to ignore the possibility entirely, even as they feared it in secret.

One man saw opportunity in that fear.

Oskar Mardoux, inventor and showman, introduced the Decapitating Coffin to undertakers in the city of Dises in 1818. It was not well received. The local funeral guild declared it a "dismal and ghoulish contraption that no sane person would purchase."

Undeterred, Mardoux took his invention on the road, bypassing the trade entirely and selling directly to the bereaved. He printed lurid pamphlets detailing the dangers of the risen dead, and spread dark rumors about the alternatives. He claimed cremation destroyed the soul and was sacrilegious, and warned that unnecessary beheading might give rise to headless ghosts - who would then return to steal the skulls of their kin.

For the past twelve years, Oskar Mardoux has traveled the battle-scarred regions of Elbid, selling his inventions to those who live where the Cult once laid its traps. While the Decapitating Coffin remains his first and most popular creation, it is far from his last. Mardoux now offers a wide array of devices and formulae designed to combat the lingering horrors of the Eldritch War—some of which function as intended, and others that are more optimistic than practical.

In poorer communities, where expensive alchemy and licensed thaumaturges are out of reach, Mardoux is a familiar figure. He is not always trusted - but he is known. And, if nothing else, he has never yet had to make good on his guarantee: to compensate anyone whose loved one rose from one of his patented coffins.

The Coffin

Mardoux's coffin is a purely mechanical device - a deliberate choice to appeal to adherents of the Old Church, who are forbidden from using Magic of any kind. Slightly larger than a standard coffin, it houses a concealed mechanism beneath a polished panel. Mardoux often opens this panel to showcase the craftsmanship within, though he only reveals the razor-sharp wire - the component that performs the decapitation - to those who ask. This touch of secrecy gives the coffin an air of forbidden allure that entices many.

The mechanism is armed when the coffin detects sufficient weight upon its lid - specifically, at least one hundred pounds of dirt. "No shallow graves," Mardoux warns. "Bury them deep."

Once armed, the device waits. The interior is finely balanced so that any significant movement from the body within will trigger the mechanism, instantly severing the head. The wire is laid across the neck before burial - usually hidden beneath the clothing, though in some cases a scarf or cravat is required to ensure discretion.

Mardoux has demonstrated the device's efficacy on dummies during private exhibitions for which he charges a modest fee, intended to deter riffraff and the idly curious.

To Rest in Peace

Mardoux's invention has proven surprisingly popular - surprising, that is, until one considers the state of Elbid in the years since the war ended. While many urban areas have been rebuilt - thanks in large part to loans from the Bank of Albion - the rural communities have been largely excluded from reconstruction efforts.

This neglect is especially evident in the regions that were once part of Carovingia, where the surviving population is viewed with suspicion. Many see them as tainted: either complicit with the Cult of the Leviathan, or too weak-willed to have opposed it. In these areas, little to no effort has been made to detect or dismantle the lingering spells and traps left behind - defenses meant for enemy soldiers, but which now lie in wait for innocent passersby.

In such an environment, anyone who can offer protection - however crude or gruesome - is seen not as a ghoul or a charlatan, but as a hero. And if that protection takes the form of a decapitating coffin... so be it.