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.

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

The dead, imbued with the divine essence of magic, walk again, ever hungry for the missing spark of a living soul.

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.

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

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

"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."

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.

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

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

Once an outcast spirit of the cold, now the malevolent lord of a realm of winter unending...

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.