The lich is a form of sentient undead who cannot be killed until the object containing their soul is destroyed. The Electric Lich borrows the concept and moves it into the CE
A practical, if extreme, cybernetic modification, for people who live in aerostats, space colonies, and on ships
Some people opt to combine the upper torso of a robot with the legs of a larger industrial vehicle, creating for themselves, a cybernetic centaur body.
Eye-Borgs are an expensive and rare form of cyborg/robot
The Flayed Ones were once men, terrible and evil men, and they were punished for their heinous deeds.
Spellseekers are strange creatures from the Astral plane that are drawn to the material plane by shoddy spellcasting or uncontrolled magic. They are vermin
The immortal wealthy
In the Non-Canon House of the Forsaken branch of the CE, the Meklords are the dark face of the Seibertronians
Also known as Gelatinous Folk
Also known as a death snail or a skull slug
Intelligent cockroaches of frightening size
A parasitic mold with an unusual lifecycle and powerful mind-control properties.
A vile an insidious pest
A horde of devious, ferocious, tenacious, and atrocious creatures, beasts, and monstrosities to populate the northern realms of your fantasy. Get them while they're cold!
Strolenati Containment & Protection Foundation:
ACCESS TO THIS DOCUMENT IS RESTRICTED TO LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE PERSONNEL ONLY!
A wagon lays overturned on the forest road, bodies savaged by tooth and claw lay strewn about it, their weapons clean of blood, seemingly unused.
A lone man runs from an unseen threat, deeper into the forest, away from the grisly scene in the road. He stumbles, his foot having caught on a root. He lands hard, his lungs feel like lead. Panting, he comes to his knees. Two eyes of emerald light meet his, a low growl emanates from the beast, and his death is swift.
An ashen grey willow with pale leaved tendils obscuring it's gnarled trunk. Sitting in the mire of great swamps, rare even in it's natural environment. The Banshee Willow's bark is known to have magical properties. Travelers beware, these trees seem to attract ghosts and other unsavory undead.
A hardy deep blue vine with needle-like thorns and bright orange flowers. If pricked by Widowthorn one should quickly seek the antidote or a natural remedy, the poison secreted by the thorns induces drowsiness and saps one's strength.
Clockworks & Psionics combined to create bipedal automatons that run on souls stolen from those close to death. The sick, the wounded, the weak. All gathered to power tireless soldiers with glowing gem-like hearts in their chests.
This mythical beast comes from parts unknown at times unknown but gods forbid it happen in my lifetime or in my city.
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, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.