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

'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.'

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.

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

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

This odd, fern-like plant taps into the power of fire to protect itself and prosper amid the cold northern tundra...

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

"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."

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

Even at the best of times, goblins and alchemy don't mix well...

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.