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 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, you just need to stash something away - some spare cash, a holdout weapon, your gender...

"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."

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.

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

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

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.

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

'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

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.

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