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.

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.

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

Adapted to the northern tundra, these hardy little insects dwell among the Fireleaf ferns...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

But, O Fellow Denizens of the Citadel, I ask this - what other kinds of unique elements can you come up with?

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.

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