A beautiful warrior woman, with a sword and soul of ice.

Located on a world near the heart of Kel’Regar space, Nath’ar’Selass’Resan is a world renowned amongst that kind for it’s beautiful art, high technology, and the absolute lack of things that can kill a woman in dignified fashion.

"Let death be not only merciful, but elegant."

When man thinks of the wild, he thinks of the lush greenery of the forest, of the majestic plains and the deep mountains. He thinks of the elegant wild deer, of the mighty bear and the stealthy wolf. But there is another side to nature. This is the Legacy of one who learned.

Frozen to death by a penny pinching, cruel landlord, the Frozen Woman has found her vengeance against her killer, and now seeks to destroy those who might do unto others what was done unto her.

'A man needs two things to become a saint. He must perform three miracles, and then he must die. Perform your miracles, sir, and come to me when you are ready to become a saint.'
—Azariah Saintmaker, Dread Lord of Hatred

The faded, yet oddly pristine robes of an ancient healer, this cloth radiates a palpable sense of comfort, of wholeness.

A mid-sized sailing ship with an embedded Shard of the Storm.

An otherwise simple spear, the dread blade of Hatred brings rot and decay to all it strikes, be it armour, body, or soul.

A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.

Perhaps the most destructive of Kel’Regar weapons, Summer’s Extinguisher plunges the world it is deployed on into a deep and permanent winter.

Consisting of the most fundamental concepts of the universe, the Six are the deities upon which all other things rest. Their very existence and interaction defines the world.

The Crown Princess of Sadaren needs a husband! There's just a few teeny little problems.

A powerful clan of blacksmiths, Clan Ironspirit is well known as the single best source for forged goods of any metal throughout the world. Many a legendary artifact has been born underneath their hammers, however, their price is almost never something so simple as mere gold.

All know that Elves cannot die, and that Men do. All know that Men go unto the Underworld upon their death, and that the Elves retire unto the Spiritual Elysium. Yet in the Great Scheme, where goes the one with one foot in the Underworld, and one foot in the Realm of Spirit?

When one cannot die, obsession with death is such a natural thing.

Forged of destruction, in the name of hatred, Winter's Tempest is a cold echo of its parent blades, yet still it bears the destruction of the frozen elements.

A shield of odd design, created not only to parry, but to destroy the foe's ability to attack.

Undead abominations born of the Light, the glow of the Accursed's warped flesh strikes terror into those who behold it.

One of the common variations on magic is the concept of 'sword mages' or 'knight mages'. We all know and love them as the folks in full plate that split globes in twain with flaming swords, before twirling around to change their flame sword to an ice sword so they can stab the flaming angel of vengeance in the chest to maximum effect.

Forged and folded by the ancient and holy methods, Warprender and Weftcleaver have incorporated the very transformations that allow man to traverse the stars into their exotic blades.