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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

Sturdy goggles with thick green lenses, and wires that lead to a battery of thaumic energy.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

"My god, what is that?"
"Orcweed, sir. Never need a wall with this growing."

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...

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

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.

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