#charminglyantiquated

The Goblin's Tarot has been lying in wait for over a year now. But the wait grows short. In July, this gorgeously illustrated deck is coming to life on Backerkit.

Artist @charminglyantiquated gave such a wealth of incredible art to populate our first, regular 78-card Tarot Deck! It will gleam in green foil, and is being priced lower than any other tarot in our collection!

We want this to be people's first tarot deck, people's next tarot deck, a tarot deck to buy to use with games that run on tarot, and more. Look out, this marks Publishing Goblin's first steps into finding a million more uses for tarot decks!

On losing yourself, finding yourself in the wild

The Stolen Child by W.B. Yeats

wanderlust and what you could become by @charminglyantiquated (shared with permission)

Feeling artsy and only had a few hours free time, so I finally dug up the pictures I’ve had on my camera since... december and edited them to post!

I’m so, so happy to finally share it with you guys.

Papercraft based on this reimagined fairytales artwork, with kind permission from the artist, @charminglyantiquated.  Go check out the rest of her art!

 The Edge of Things churned with a blasting inferno, the fierce heat tearing through the roasting winds that engulfed the University.

 In a gust of slamming energy, the great and terrible Wyrm had breached the Edge. With pale amber eyes, small and sunken deep within her heavy reptilian head, she darted her gaze about the strange Elsewhere University- her new kingdom.

 The Wyrm was no stranger to new and unfamiliar cultures, and as a lifetime exceeding twelve millennia tended to exhaust any semblance of originality, the world of humans in 1953 was barely worth a second glance.

 Indeed, she could remember the magnificent bygone days of kings and emperors; mere human believing themselves to be descendants of her kind. Sacrifices were made to her and she was worshipped as a harbinger of storm and desolation. They would pray to her as an avatar of destruction, emulating her fury in their marches of conquest. Her wrath marched alongside those who despoiled, looted, ravaged, and burned. It had been glorious.

 She had brought despair to the Mycenaeans, razing that ancient bastion of innovation and prosperity, till the once great civilisation had crumbled into ash. The men of Francia had wept and cowered in their castles as she had devastated village after village. Generations of Northmen had dedicated their lives to pursuing the glory that would come with her death, and when they failed, they settled for carving her likeness onto the bows of their ships.

 In old Éire, she had settled down for a while. The lush green forest that she had made into her home had quickly putrefied; the dazzling mosaic of life and beauty decaying into a foetid marshland, clogged with rotting vegetation and sourness. Years of war and vengeance had contaminated the land. Irish kings and warlords drew first blood in what would become blood-feuds spanning a hundred lifetimes, as her aura of fear and avarice infected their minds. They called her péist. They called her serpent. They called her Wyrm.

 It had been a while since the Wyrm had gazed upon the world of humans. If she thought back, she could recall the use of iron becoming very popular all of a sudden in the sparse human societies. Yes, some time after then, she had retreated deep Elsewhere.

  Looking about, it seemed like humans had made a few minor changes since that time.

 Shifting her thick armoured coils into a more comfortable position, the Wyrm’s head lowered and she narrowed her eyes at the Fae army that stood between her and the vast hoard that she coveted-absentmindedly crushing nearby walls and tables beneath her winding, twisting serpentine body.

 They had been a bothersome little people back in Éire as well.

 The hearth had always been a link between human-kind and the Elsewhere, and a connection that primarily belonged to her. Scavengers like the Fair Folk had been keen on using that link, whispering to any human willing to bargain with the flames. She had often had to flex her power to get them to stop, hissing through the hearth and watching, satisfied, as the Wee Folk crackled from the fire in fear.

 Unbeknownst to the Wyrm, things for the Gentry had changed drastically since old Éire. No longer was every hearth, lake, or forest a soft spot that they could breach through and their territory nowadays was extremely limited. Fairy Hoards in particular were few in number and the Fae would viciously defend it from anything that threatened what little they had left. Even from a wyrm.

 But even if she had known, the Wyrm wouldn’t have cared. She was an apex predator- the equivalent of a great white shark in the deep Elsewhere.

Her kind had no equal. The poor Fae wouldn’t stand a chance against her wrath, and they would fall and they would scream before her, as she took all that she pleased. She would sleep and drink deep from the well of power that lay beneath the human building and nothing could stop her.

 Lengthy black spines, like thorns as long as spears, bristled along the mottled dark scales that ran across the Wyrm’s back, while her long belly was striped with pale creamy scales. Her vast body, wreathed with smaller horns and ridges, was hard with thick, powerful muscle that flexed as she steadily progressed toward the Fairy stronghold; half-slithering, half-prowling. Each step she took broke the concrete path and the pounding of her limbs reverberated into the roar of the storm, the sharp clack of lengthy talons echoed like lightning strikes- each claw the length of a car, and each tipped with a cruel, piercing point.

 As the Wyrm steadily moved toward the legion of Fae, more of their number fled in screeching terror. Yawning thunderheads enveloped the sky and the rippling hum of the airborne inferno blew though the campus, and as the Wyrm slowly bore down upon the remaining Gentry, one of their number stepped forward toward the gargantuan beast.

 The faery was tall and strong, with crooked horns protruding from its scalp and glittering spider silk wrapped about its shoulders. Three dark eyes flickered with fear, and the faery spoke in an ancient, alien tongue, crying out to the Wyrm.

 “Wyrm, oh Wyrm,” shouted the horned fae, “of where, great Wyrm, hadst thou come?”

 The Wyrm paused, a mere 50 metres away from the Grand English Building. Her small, intelligent eyes narrowed in irritation and the golden tassel at the very end of her immense tail flicked and twitched, like a huge cat eager to pounce.

  Seeing the beast halt, the horned fae continued, raising its voice to be heard over the howl of the storm. “Say from whence thou came! Why hast thou come to our kingdom?”

 A deep sonorous rumble suddenly erupted from the Wrym’s maw. The Gentry flinched, as one, at the sound and the horned fae’s resolve shattered.

 It wanted desperately to run and hide itself from this terrible creature, to scuttle back into the relative safety of the Elsewhere, to flee from the scorching, fearful presence of the Wyrm. But it couldn’t move. It was paralyzed with all-consuming terror. All its power and magnificence meant nothing in the face of such predatory might, and the horned fae could do nothing but tremble.

 The Wyrm’s coils shifted once more. Her muscular forelimbs pounded against the ground and her spines rattled threateningly as she slithered closer to the petrified fae. Her massive head curled downward and a long purple tongue flickered out from between her reptilian lips, relishing the sickly-sweet taste of fear that hung heavy the air. Her hackles rose and her body went taught in preparation to strike.

 “Foolish folk, oh fool! Whom art thou, little fool, to question me?” The Wyrm hissed, her voice a rasping mimic of speech that snarled past her jagged teeth and pulled back lips. “Say who thou art!”

 And the horned fae told the Wyrm its true name.

 Growling low with pleasure, the Wyrm inched even closer the helpless fairy.

 Though the horned fae was only a stone’s throw away from the bulk of the Gentry army, none of them made a move to help. Instead, even more of their number fled, leaving only two dozen left to watch in horror as the Wyrm moved in to close the short distance between herself and the abandoned faery.

  “Such feeble little folk,” purred the Wyrm, “So small. Vain and vexing to mine desires. Thine hoard will be mine own. Mine to do with as I please!” She leaned down, even closer to the horned fae. So close she could almost touch the violet tears that streamed from the fae’s three eyes. “Just like you, little fool.”

  Her lips pulled back, revealing countless serrated teeth that dripped with bright-green saliva.

  “Turn to thine friends.”

  The horned fae turned around. An indescribable mask of anguish and terror looked out to the remains of the Fae army, and the horned fae wept, shuddering piteously.

  It could hear the Wyrm’s rumbling purr of sadistic delight. The enormous beast’s hot, stinging breath enveloped the horned fae’s senses.

  “Tell those fools that thou do not wish to die,” hissed the Wyrm, “Beg.”

  “I don’t want to die. Plea- “

  A resounding crunch of flesh and bone resonated through the howling storm, as the Wyrm slammed a huge clawed hand on top of the helpless faery. Convulsing, oozing limbs poked out from between her claws, spattering the concrete with starlight coloured blood.

  A moment passed as the Fae army simply gawked in shock; the Wyrm drinking in their fear, her eyes darting over those that stood before her.

  Abruptly, a gurgling shriek wailed out from beneath the massive limb and the others recoiled in horror. With a satisfied growl, the Wyrm clenched her talons to finish the job, her gaze still fixed upon the two dozen remaining Gentry.

  “Dar’st thou die?” the Wyrm roared in challenge, her tail trashing violently, shattering apart wood and stone in her fury.

Like a whole bunch of other people, I saw @charminglyantiquated 's Elsewhere University Comic and got SUPER INSPIRED. And since she’s so generously encouraging other people to play in her sandbox, I present ‘Feathers’.  EDIT : PART 2 HERE

You go to Elsewhere University. You’ve been going to Elsewhere University for (years and years and years and years) for three years now. You know how things are. You’re not an RA, but… Mm, you could have been.

Might still be. Aren’t yet.

This is your junior year (you think). You know how things are. You carry salt in one pocket, iron in another, trinkets to bargain away in your book bag, offerings in your purse, pearls around your neck.