A small silver lantern, at whose heart there burns a shard of ice.

The simplest way to tell if someone is a Thaumatech Engineer is often to ask to see his kit bag...

Prized for the metallic sheen of the foliage, this peculiar plant dwells on the banks of mountain rivers, relying on heavy metals and photoelectric power to spread itself

A legendary relic, suited to base a campaign around, with the power of Creation crystallized in a single milky seed...

The dead, imbued with the divine essence of magic, walk again, ever hungry for the missing spark of a living soul.

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

Adapted to the northern tundra, these hardy little insects dwell among the Fireleaf ferns...

The races of Kuramen are a strange lot, descending down a long lineage from the First Race; prone to dramatic evolutions and born to a world divided, each does the best it can to survive.

Sturdy goggles with thick green lenses, and wires that lead to a battery of thaumic energy.

"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."

Once an outcast spirit of the cold, now the malevolent lord of a realm of winter unending...

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.

A well-meaning mage has banished darkness from the area, not realizing the downsides of this event.

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

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

'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

A nearly forgotten god of hatred, vengeance, death, and decay, whose priesthood seeks his violent rebirth.

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.

But, O Fellow Denizens of the Citadel, I ask this - what other kinds of unique elements can you come up with?

Odd little devices, almost ubiquitous in any city which relies on thaumatechnology.