'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.'

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

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

'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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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