"Captain's log, date unknown. We have been exploring a region of dead space, wandering between the dull cinders of dying suns, looking for an explanation to what happened in this sector of space. Our charts show that this sector should be bursting with life - young stars and verdant worlds - but all we have seen is a stellar wasteland." -Log entry recovered from a derelict exploratory vessel on the fringe of the Miros Waste
"It was just after nightfall when it came; a horrible, rotten mass of bone and flesh, with a voice that was like a thousand screams braided together. I only survived because I ran - I ran and I've never stopped running, because I know it's after me. Me, and everyone else who was there when the city of Vesta was slaughtered." -Hans, Former Captain turned nomad
Descended from humanity, the orcs of Kuramen are a far cry from the bloodthirsty savages of many other worlds.
"See that one, with the burn scars and dark veins? Don't stick too close; he shoots fireblood before engagements. Keeps friends and foes alike at bay, it does."
Driven by the need to keep his descendants fed, Daniel Andersson is one of the more peculiar undead - and gods - one might ever come across.
Being a picky eater as a vampire can be quite troublesome.
Some people have neither good nor bad luck; they instead have a certain whimsy of fate attached to them, placing them at the center of bizarre events whether they wish it or not. Joseph Random is one such individual…
An ocean of fine silt, shot through with pillars and islands of ancient stone, this realm would be a thing of harsh beauty were it not for the utterly lifeless nature of it.
A well-meaning mage has banished darkness from the area, not realizing the downsides of this event.
The Lazy Goat is a wayfarer’s stop, a tavern of sorts out in the dark between cities.
A fragment of the mighty Blades of the Storm, reworked into an icon of faith and worship to the very god who once graced it with her touch.
"Oh, yes, I know of him. That half-mad disciple of the Storm, you’d never think he was dangerous to look at him - until he pulls out those twin blades of his and screams in his high voice ‘Blood for the Storm God!’ - you wouldn’t think a pixie could make your blood go cold like that."
-Anatos One-Eye, speaking of Raziel of the Crimson Storm
"It was as if, for a heartbeat, the world awoke, and lashed out in rage at those who disturbed it."
Silent, accurate, and powerful, the cogwheel rifles serve as a potent alternative to standard firearms.
Ancient-looking, yellowed bone, slashed with streak of dry black ichor, forms the core material of this loathsome armor.
Odd little devices, almost ubiquitous in any city which relies on thaumatechnology.
Sturdy goggles with thick green lenses, and wires that lead to a battery of thaumic energy.
In the deep of night, even the most jaded of criminals will look over their shoulders for the telltale scarlet glow of the steamwalkers.
Glistening in the light of Acheron, the crystalline structure of the Atrium is a fragment of Earth, carried across the void; a snapshot of green and blue amid the pale tans and reds of Tarterus, a promise and a dream.
The product of centuries of slow, careful, painstaking work, a testament to the Old Ways and the power of Thaumaturgy, the Cathedral of Light is known of across the whole of Kuramen.
A tribal society which lives on the harsh Northern Plains consider it dishonourable to slay an enemy without looking it full in the face. Any missile weapon is treated with derision and contempt, while rangers and other archers are denied entrance to the tribal villages.