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

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

"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."

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

Once an outcast spirit of the cold, now the malevolent lord of a realm of winter unending...