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

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

"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."

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.

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

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

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...

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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