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.

Carved to bring glory to the Patient One, the silent and frigid Abomination that holds dominion over the frozen wastes, the Glacier's Fist is heralded as a deadly weapon, but the true purpose of it is a much more subtle thing.

The leftover remnants of Mind can sometimes cling to existence when the Body fails and the Spirit departs...

A set of pale white panpipes, etched with images of the winter storms...

Gnomes, fascinated with magic, tried to find a way to safely access it, and instead wound up addicted in the deadliest way.

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.

Squares of colorful cloth, often enchanted with minor magics to better serve the owner - but, first and foremost, it is merely a kerchief.

Once merely a minor Realm of an ambitious Prince of the Nether, the Gloom has been conquered and now lies ruled by Winter's cruel grip.

In the deep of night, even the most jaded of criminals will look over their shoulders for the telltale scarlet glow of the steamwalkers.

A crossbow bolt crafted from the deepest shadows, which infects those struck with a terrible spiritual corruption.

A mystic, tired of being left behind by his more swifted-footed companions, devised this as a simple solution.

The dead, when buried without last rites, often find it impossible to rest easy...

This odd, fern-like plant taps into the power of fire to protect itself and prosper amid the cold northern tundra...

Sometimes, you just need to stash something away - some spare cash, a holdout weapon, your gender...

"Though they walk as men and grow as weeds, they are neither; the angry dead, feeding the green with the rage until they walk again, yellowing bones bound by the twining green."

A curious dagger, with a blade stained by ancient gore; it has seen many dark deeds, yet goes unsuspected as more than some old piece of junk.

At first appearing to be glass, this ring of enchanted ice is a boon to those in wintery climes...

Pitiable creatures, wandering forever in search of that denied them, unable to rest even as they crumble away to little more than crawling wrecks of bones.

'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

"My god, what is that?"
"Orcweed, sir. Never need a wall with this growing."