'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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

"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."

Born half in legend, half in cold science, Lightning's Voice is a carrier of divine wrath in an age without faith.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.