curiographer

Printed at cost in solidarity with PSU and all student protests. Any incidental proceeds will be donated to charity. Long live the fighters.

In the electrifying stillness of twilight, the Venomcore Oni Assassin emerges, cloaked in a vibrant poison that pulses with the rhythm of the underworld. With horns that slice through the silence and a gaze that paralyzes prey in a spectral trance, she is the embodiment of deadly grace and agility. She is the deadliest of the Mana Oni Masters, and woe betide the enemies of one who summons her.

In the realm where shadows reign supreme, the Shadowform Oni Sovereign is a formidable presence, his eyes glowing with the wisdom of the night. Cloaked in darkness and adorned with golden spikes, he commands secrets and silent authority. He is the leader of the Mana Oni Masters, and woe betide the enemy of one who summons him.

Under the cloak of night, the Ghostlight Oni Magus conjures ancient spells, his neon aura casting an ethereal glow over the realm of shadows and sorcery. His horns channel the mystical energies of the cosmos, illuminating the intricate incantations etched upon his spectral armor. Woe betide the enemies of one who summons him.

As the sun sets, the Goldframe Oni Infiltrator emerges, his eyes glowing with secrets of the ancients and the promise of untold stories. Wrapped in gilded armor that whispers of bygone battles and silent victories, he moves through the shadows, a silent guardian of forbidden lore.

In the fiery depths of the ancient world, the Blazeclad Oni Warrior stands guard, his demonic visage frozen in a snarl that promises power and peril. Clad in armor forged from the heart of a volcano, he is the embodiment of the fierce warrior spirit, beckoning the brave to embrace the blaze within. He is one of the Oni Masters, and woe betide the enemies of those who call upon him.

The legendary "it's trauma!" design proudly proclaims that it is, in fact, trauma. What's trauma? Maybe the real trauma is the friends we made along the way

This is the legendary "it's trauma!" sticker. You can use it to describe the contents of containers or just express your general vibe.

Utterly alien, the mindflayer race once dominated the stars in living starships called the Nautiloid, wielding psionic magic to twist dominated creatures into shapes more suited to their empire. Now, they plot their return to power deep underground...

"I am your creature, gloom mistress. I serve you with fidelity as big as a mountain, penumbral lady." Harrow's eyes flickered open. "Stop." "I am your sworn sword, night boss." "Fine," said Harrow heavily. Gideon's mouth was about to round out the words "bone empress" before she realised what had been said.”

The dragon had gone missing in the early spring. When the village outriders found her, Syranax's chest puffed up with pride - and the lumpy whelp that emerged from behind a nearby rock made it clear why. Syranax had become a mother.

It's time for workers to have their fair share of the profits. HOT. LABOR. SUMMER!

I was furious when I read about studio bosses intentionally withholding payments, and rejecting union proposals to change that. This is my protest sign, you're welcome to it.

In the year 20XX, the up-and-coming fashion designer named Seta Madoka was making designs in English, despite not speaking the language themselves. They simply liked the bold and aggressive calligraphy. Little did they know that their design, Fnck Banger, would take off across fashionistas in both cyberspace and the real, due to it's audacious resemblance to a rude phrase in English.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of Drearburh, Bone Adept and foremost necromancer of the Ninth House. Ninth Saint to serve the King Undying.

Magic: the Gathering fans rejoice: finally, a license-free alternative to the hit card game! (For legal reasons this is a parody)

She had left Harrowhark a note on her vastly underused pillow— WHATS WITH THE SKULLS? and received only a terse— Ambiance.

"Nav, show them what the Ninth House does." Gideon lifted her sword. The construct worked itself free of its last confines of masonry and rotten wood and heaved before them, flexing itself like a butterfly. "We do bones, motherfucker," she said.