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

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

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

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

"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."

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

The dead, when buried without last rites, often find it impossible to rest easy...