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.

Even at the best of times, goblins and alchemy don't mix well...

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.

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.

'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.'

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.