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.

Thaumatechnology - in a world where straight magic has an unnerving tendency to get the user killed, either by magical catastrophe or by being lynched by an upset mob, this is a much safer form of magical use... Even if it does occasionally explode.

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

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

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

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

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

"It was as if, for a heartbeat, the world awoke, and lashed out in rage at those who disturbed it."

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.