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

"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."

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

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

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

'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

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

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

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

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.

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.

But, O Fellow Denizens of the Citadel, I ask this - what other kinds of unique elements can you come up with?

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

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.

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

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

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

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