Known as the Plateau of Dread, the desert where the civilization of the Thauns once shimmered is now a wasteland battled over by immortal tyrants.
Steel is the herald of dawn. Steel is the slayer of tyrants. Steel is the bringer of liberty. Steel shall prevail.
Thirteen souls the devil took
And thirteen sons back he sent
Lust, Greed, Gluttony
Perversion, Wrath, Envy
Pride, Vice, Blasphemy
Sloth, Misery, Catastrophe
In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.
English poet (1830 - 1894)
Rumored to be lurking in the dark jungles surrounding the exotic city of Zibaba, these elusive beasts have yet to be seen by anyone within living memory.
Electro-Clockwork assassins of the Far East.
"Never forget the season if you want to defeat the plainsfolk."
"It’s important to remember, when dealing with the clockfolk, that they only LOOK like toys."
"Aye, 'dis here is yer problem, squire. Yer gone and got yerself a Cog Devil infestation in the ol' gear box, haven't ya? Look at the little bugger squirm, eh? Nah, dont be embarrassed, squire. It's better than lice on yer privates, innit? Coz, they're harder to get rid of, they are. And a lot more expensive too.."
Istherm Mild (esq.), licensed steam engine mechanic, overheard advicing one of his customers…
In the deep of night, even the most jaded of criminals will look over their shoulders for the telltale scarlet glow of the steamwalkers.
The grinding of gears in the dead of night is a precursor of an unforgiving danger. Survivors remember little, save the smell of metal and death.
A tool-using monkey of great dexterity.
The dead, imbued with the divine essence of magic, walk again, ever hungry for the missing spark of a living soul.
Loathsome creatures born of magic gone hideously awry, the trolls of Kuramen are little more than ever-hungry masses of cancerous tissue.
Though each drone possesses little intelligence of its own, together, they are the Kth’k'k’kt, who span the stars.
‘‘I tell you, if you seek to cross the dunes of the great desert alone, you will never return. Vile fiends dwell there, evil monsters that delight in feasting upon the flesh of men. I fear that if you persist in your foolish quest, you like the others before you, will end your days as a feast for these foul denizens of the desert’‘.
Stone peckers, foul-tempered beasts, better suited for cooking and mattresses than being allowed to breed
Anjet of Cenn Caerwaith
"Things were better in the old days," said the mage, "when you could watch the beautiful spellbook soaring on the air currants high above the geysers, and it would come to you to be fed. But they drove it into hiding, they did."
Fluffy headed plant things with an equally fluffy headed personality
On some of the islands off the coast, the rites of the local fertility god revolve around ceremonial death and rebirth. The religion's priests have overcome this cycle, however: Each of them is actually undead, ceremonially slain and "reborn"! Their religion is otherwise unremarkable, being an odd offshoot of the mainland's religions. The priests vow to resist their undead cravings, seeing these as the "cycle of life" attempting to reclaim their spirits.