Odd little devices, almost ubiquitous in any city which relies on thaumatechnology.

A well-meaning mage has banished darkness from the area, not realizing the downsides of this event.

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

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

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

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

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.

A potion that contains the essence of Courage... In a way.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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