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

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.

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

But, O Fellow Denizens of the Citadel, I ask this - what other kinds of unique elements can you come up with?

The dead, imbued with the divine essence of magic, walk again, ever hungry for the missing spark of a living soul.

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

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.

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

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

'See that one, with the burn scars and dark veins? Don't stick too close; he shoots fireblood before engagements. Keeps friends and foes alike at bay, it does.'

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.

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

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.

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

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...

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

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.

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