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...

"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."

'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.'

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 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.

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

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.

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

'It was just after nightfall when it came; a horrible, rotten mass of bone and flesh, with a voice that was like a thousand screams braided together. I only survived because I ran - I ran and I've never stopped running, because I know it's after me. Me, and everyone else who was there when the city of Vesta was slaughtered.' -Hans, Former Captain turned nomad

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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