The adventurers hear a noise and turn, only to see a bottle clatter down the street. Shrugging it off, they continue on their way, blissfully unaware of the hulking mass of junk taking shape behind them...
Droids, Drones, and the Neo-Cortex.
the three pillars of robots
In the Cosmic Era, the proliferation of arcanotech, cyborgs, robots, parapsychic threats, black market weapons, new illegal drugs constantly hitting the market, all backed up by large organized criminal syndicates, the average police officer doesn't stand a chance.
Also known as automatics, dummies, skinnies, and mannikins.
Genimals are the stock and trade of BioCreches and one of the foundation technologies of the biosphere repair effort
Also known as 'jeks, wo-pos and a variety of other derogatory terms
Guilt is a powerful force
An incarnation of Laserbeak, and condor/cyborgs for the Cosmic Era
Favored minion of the necromancer Warmaker, the Ossilyth is a tank of an undead.
Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards... -- Gildor, via J R R Tolkien
A model of efficiency and effectiveness, also a model of horror in the Cosmic era
The result of Vauraki's wrath directed by Axtrami's will. The Sila'Khrysath is the elemental embodiment of the fury of the desert. Woe to those who encounter the Great Sand Wyrm within the Karikun Desert!
The Vitralara are an artificially created race. Despite accomplishing everything they were intended to do, the Mages of Banqua al'Zed consider the experiment a failure.
The panic inducing robotic shock troopers of the Cosmic Era.
An army can be compared to a craftsmen. Both produce for gain. A craftsmen produces a product, a good, for monetary gain. An army, however, produces corpses for resource acquisition. Be it on the battlefield or in the medical tent with the severely wounded being put out of their misery, the fillers of graves are being produced.
Any mind of the modern age has thought about putting those bodies to work. Necromancy has long been socially inacceptable. Besides, no one enjoys seeing a former comrade, a former brother-in-arms, walking around fighting and killing with a spear hole in his gut and a couple arrows hanging from the arms. And the only other way was to throw the dead body into a catapult and throw it at the enemy, in the hopes of giving them plague.
It was Obstarian military who first unleashed the Raveten on their foes during the World War. No one was prepared for it. And so people died.
Clockwork angels. Servants of the Mechanogod Whrrrm.
The unnatural offspring of a zombie father and a human mother.
"I take it ye've ne'er fought a Semblance. Nasty undead fiends they be. 'course, they don't look undead. They don't have gleamin' bones, or rottin' flesh. No, sir! The Semblance looks just like you or me. Except for when its tryin' ta get you. I take it ye've ne'er fought a Semblance. If you had, you'd be dead."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub
The party has found the source of the strange creatures roaming the countryside. The rift in this reality glows with a silver hue, rippling with the wind but never moving. They step through and are immediately assaulted with the scent of rotting meat, some have to muster all their strength not to vomit. Strange cries similar to the beasts the party had faced before can be heard in the distance. Looking around, they see they are in a forest of grey and red rather than the normal brown and green. The trees are sticky to the touch and writhe, perhaps to get away or perhaps as a warning.
The deeper the party goes, the more the forest seems to slither and move underfoot. The cries get closer and more numerous. Creatures lurk in the shadows, all the same color of their surroundings. Whatever the party came in here for, they had better do it fast.
The forest of flesh is waking up, and it is so very hungry.