'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.'

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

This odd, fern-like plant taps into the power of fire to protect itself and prosper amid the cold northern tundra...

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

Born half in legend, half in cold science, Lightning's Voice is a carrier of divine wrath in an age without faith.

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 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.

The corrupted god of war, felled by the lost god of vengeance to his present pitiable state.

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

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

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