The Bulwark is one of the premier predators of Apoc-earth. Found on just about every continent of the planet, Bulwarks are the ultimate killer, capable of dragging down any kind of prey. The origins of the Bulwark are unclear, but many believe that Bulwark is a descendant of the olm, blind cave-dwelling newts of pre-Apoc Earth that were exposed to massive amounts of an unknown energy.

Males can weigh upwards of 2,000 lbs. and can tower around six feet at the shoulder. Females are only slightly smaller. Bulwarks are covered in a thick, metallic like hide around the head and neck, descending down their back. Their legs and underbellies are covered in a thick, leathery skin. Their hides are valued items to Churls, who will use the thicker neck hide for armor, and the rest of the skin for clothing.

Two arms, two legs, a head and a pair of piercing orange eyes: humanoid, but far from human anymore. At least, no one in their right mind who sees one of these creatures would mistake it for the human it once was. There is no question where the wretch got its name. It is the epitome of vile and despicable.

The creature’s body is emaciated; however, muscles stretch taught over its entire frame. The proportions of a wretch are off in other ways as well. Fingers and toes now end in razor sharp talons capable of ripping into all but the hardest metals. Their arms are longer than those of a human, allowing them to travel using an ape-like lope to quickly run down prey.

From the Journal of the L'na Dawn, Cetacious...

I am Cetacious, my people are the L'na, many of us are among you now since our worlds converged and I make my home here, in the warm waters near Battered Wreck it is a dangerous place. I am no teller of tales, but a protector, a guardian of the deeps and those that call the surface home. It is the way I have chosen. In order to fulfill that duty I must spin a tale, one that many will not find credible. But one that must be told, for the evil that dwells in the deeps is rising and the surface must be made aware.

I was out seeking a fishing skiff that had not returned with the evening tides. Now, a lone vessel in the vastness of the ocean is not any easy thing to find, but I knew her captain. A good man that fished a particular area of water I knew well. I found the remains of the vessel that morning, the red sun setting the waters a blaze with the blood that had been spilt. For blood had been in the water, among the wreckage of the skiff. The men that had been her crew were not to be seen, but the numerous sharks, long, sleek and deadly told their fate readily enough. With a mental command to their primitive brains I sent them on the scent trail of blood that did not exist.

None can perceive the apparent logic (or lack thereof) of the Great Machine. A massive, universe-sized, sentient, clock-worked machine would be a hard thing to relate to, much less understand. Nevertheless, it seems that either the Great Machine either has a twisted sense of humor, a sadistic streak, or is outright insane - this seemingly aberrant behavior is clearly seen in the existence of the Dyne Mtyes.

The Dyne Myte is a small creature of amazing clock-worked and spring-driven precision; commonly only 1.5 cm or less in size. As is common with the other creations of the Great Machine, such as the Klik, no two Mytes are alike, each looking as if it was hand-crafted by the finest artisans. Each Dyne Myte clearly displays these amazing and clever inner-workings, with it's various gears and springs visible within their bodies.