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

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.

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.

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

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

Some people have neither good nor bad luck; they instead have a certain whimsy of fate attached to them, placing them at the center of bizarre events whether they wish it or not. Joseph Random is one such individual...

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

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.

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

Most weapons of legend are made in the days of legend; Nightfall is an exception, birthed in violence and vengeance.

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

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

Slain by thirst and heat, these sad souls seek moisture - any moisture - to quench their eternal, burning thirst.

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

The corrupted god of war, felled by the lost god of vengeance to his present pitiable state.

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

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