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

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

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

A small silver lantern, at whose heart there burns a shard of ice.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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

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...