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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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 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 small silver lantern, at whose heart there burns a shard of ice.

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

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