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

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

Once an outcast spirit of the cold, now the malevolent lord of a realm of winter unending...

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

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.

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

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

"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."

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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