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...

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

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

The dead, when buried without last rites, often find it impossible to rest easy...

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

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

At first appearing to be glass, this ring of enchanted ice is a boon to those in wintery climes...

"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."

Most weapons of legend are made in the days of legend; Nightfall is an exception, birthed in violence and vengeance.

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.

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

'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.'

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.