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

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

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

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

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.

'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.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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...