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...

Sturdy goggles with thick green lenses, and wires that lead to a battery of thaumic energy.

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

'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.'

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

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 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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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