The Cosmic Era setting operates on a number of different levels of engagement.
"So's ya want ta know about the maze and the labyrinth? There's a difference, ya know. The maze is more like a, a, puzzle, a puzzle where ya wander and gets lost. An' a labyrinth is more... straight, ai guess, straight with curves, if'n ya gets what I'm sayin'."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub.
One thing holds consistent across the numerous worlds of science fiction and fantasy: everyone speaks the same language. Whether it's Lojban, English, Common, or the High Tongue of the Autumn Empire; there's one language that everyone knows, unless plot demands otherwise.
Confiscated log entries concerning research, particle scanners, micromachines, and computer software on the subject of Teleportation.
Sticks.. vines.. simple engineering… hut! Coconut… scry magic.. Radio!!
What kind of interesting Afterlife(s) do the people have in your game world(s), whether they believe in it or for real? Is there hell(s), or paradise(s), or something in-between? What happens when people die?
Many times the Old World has been mentioned in my works. Submitted for your approval…The Old World.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, reading old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.