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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adapted to the northern tundra, these hardy little insects dwell among the Fireleaf ferns...

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

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

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

A legendary relic, suited to base a campaign around, with the power of Creation crystallized in a single milky seed...

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.

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 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.

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

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

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.

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.