Most machines find a new life in the world of Posterra. Either the spark wakes them to the dreadful dream of self-awareness and they try to find meaning in their newfound life. Or their lifeless, spent forms are invaded by the ever-creeping madness of the Dreadwake, instilling life where there should be none, merging insane flesh of the void with the cold machinery. Soon, such corpses of automata twitch and jerk upright, new growth collecting all detritus from the surroundings to continue building its own, baleful form. And then, it sprouts with life or at least a mockery of it, gurgling, burbling and crazed with no goal or purpose but merely asinine desire to exist… This Shamblers, as they are known across the realms, are rarely truly dangerous in their purposeless voyages, unless you fear the spread of their corruption like most do. And that is why their strange life usually ends in an explosive or crushing misery, torn apart by hostile weapons and magic.