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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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...

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.

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

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

"It was as if, for a heartbeat, the world awoke, and lashed out in rage at those who disturbed it."

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.

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

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.

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

The leftover remnants of Mind can sometimes cling to existence when the Body fails and the Spirit departs...

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