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

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

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.

"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."

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

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

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

A mystic, tired of being left behind by his more swifted-footed companions, devised this as a simple solution.

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

'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

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

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

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...

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

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

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.

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

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

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