Quite simply, the most sophisticated and pound for pound most dangerous vehicle in the skies of the Cosmic Era
Genimals are the stock and trade of BioCreches and one of the foundation technologies of the biosphere repair effort
"The Blizzard be strong outside, lads; settle yehself in and breathe the steam; we'll pass the time with a story."
"Alright where is the beast so that I can size it up?"
"That's the thing...you see that mountain range over there?"
"Yeah, the twin spires, what of it?"
"Well that's the beast"
Do me a favor, stay dead this time.
The product of the Entwiner’s art, this net is carefully crafted with nearly invisible knots in its fine mesh. These knots speak in the language of Entwining Magic, the words of keeping and holding.
You walk into the room and it is like stepping into the grand library. Wall to wall and floor to ceiling is taken up by leather bound loaded bookshelves. All of the tomes are in varying states of decay and none of which are new.
One of the side effects of the rampant cloning and genetic augmentation in the Cosmic Era is the slow emergence of genetic castes.
The walking siege engines of the Cosmic Era
The Rocky Mountain Republic owes in large it's existence to a single limited run of primitive mechs, the Assault/Bombard Mech model 1.
An Amazon nation in the Cosmic Era
A common tool of necromancers, nether mages, and others who are privvy to the arts of the dead and undead
The Fae, they are called, though the reason they are not called by their true name, the Fairies, has been lost to the ages- at least, by the humans. The other races know, the other races know well of the Fae.
Humans have a very short memory. The elves, the dwarves, the goblins, the orcs, they don't. They remember of the interactions between Atheians and the Fae all those years ago in that other age. They know what happened. But the humans... they have forgotten.
This is why they will be the first to die.
An agent of the Vatican, Father Titus is one of it's highest ranking and most effective special agents.
Sisters raised in the aviation business, for use in a modern setting
Lizard-bulls and Bull-lizards; a quick comparison for all those who still don’t get it.
During the Death Wars one unit was created filled with fanatics bearing unique tattoos that gave them an invaluable ability impressive in any military action: the ability to cheat death.
Call me "Creature", lostling, half-dragon of the planes; ie Corporal John Hearthfeld, Esq. - Assassin/ Enforcer "Rat-snake" .
Starts with scene excerpts, followed by working notes, ends with actual used Character Sheet data.
They came upon us suddenly, no sound preceding them until the splashing of their feet drew our eyes towards them. The wolf-things neither howled or snarled as they tore into our ranks.
The Reposians, unlike the rest of Atheus, respect rather than fear the sea. In fact, this respect has grown to border on love and dependence. It is a fact, naturally, that most of Reposian exports are seafoods, and most of its income is from sea-based reasons, from oceanic trading vessels to fish.
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.