'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.'

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

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

"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."

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

A potion that contains the essence of Courage... In a way.

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

Forged from the light of the first dawn, of the world, it remains radiant even now, long ages after...

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.

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

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

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

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

Descended from humanity, the orcs of Kuramen are a far cry from the bloodthirsty savages of many other worlds.

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

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

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 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.