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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

Born half in legend, half in cold science, Lightning's Voice is a carrier of divine wrath in an age without faith.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.