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

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

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.

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...

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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...

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

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

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

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

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