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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

A potion that contains the essence of Courage... In a way.

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