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

A curious dagger, with a blade stained by ancient gore; it has seen many dark deeds, yet goes unsuspected as more than some old piece of junk.

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

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.

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

Slain by thirst and heat, these sad souls seek moisture - any moisture - to quench their eternal, burning thirst.

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

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

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

"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."

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.

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

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

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

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.

Squares of colorful cloth, often enchanted with minor magics to better serve the owner - but, first and foremost, it is merely a kerchief.

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

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.