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

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.

'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.'

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

"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."

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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