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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

Pitiable creatures, wandering forever in search of that denied them, unable to rest even as they crumble away to little more than crawling wrecks of bones.

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

Some people have neither good nor bad luck; they instead have a certain whimsy of fate attached to them, placing them at the center of bizarre events whether they wish it or not. Joseph Random is one such individual...

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