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

'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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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...

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.

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

'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.'

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

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.

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.

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