Two scholars once set out to understand all of magic. Their names are lost to most, and almost nothing else about them survived. The archives burned, and the world was told a different story.
But stories have a way of surviving fire.
Like most things worth telling, this one started quietly. It was the lockdown years. Work had slowed down, the days blurred together, and I had that restless itch every creative knows: I needed to make something.
So I started an Instagram page and called it The Order of Curiosities. The idea was simple. I'd draw small magical illustrations in a monoline style, little graphics with a sense of obscurity and mystery to them. For a while, that was enough...
But eventually, working in one style and one medium started to feel less like a comfort and more like a cage. It wasn't that I'd pushed monoline to its limit. I'd just gotten curious about what else was out there: other styles, other graphics, other ways to tell a tiny story.
Then something started to bother me. I didn't want to design a thousand little projects with nothing tying them together, a drawer full of beautiful odds and ends that never talked to each other. Something had to connect them.
Part of the answer had been sitting with me for years. I've always been inspired by MinaLima, the studio behind the graphic design of the Wizarding World films, Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts. Their props don't just decorate a story. They make it feel real enough to touch. I always come back to the Marauder's Map. Hold it in your hands and, for a moment, you're in that world.
I wanted to make things like that. But I didn't want to redesign a universe that already existed. Why touch something that's already great? And how do you create freely inside someone else's world without stepping on their rights? The answer turned out to be simple: build my own.
What if everything I made belonged to one universe? Every label, every artifact, every poem and illustration would be a piece of the same world.
I kept it loose on purpose. I didn't want to work out every corner of the story. I wanted a playground, a place to wander, build, and create without ever feeling boxed in. Magic, mystery, secret societies, and the obscure have always pulled at me, so leaning into them just felt natural.
People sometimes ask me why the 1930s. Honestly... I'm not sure it's exactly the 1930s. You'll never see a year named in the story. It's the era that best fits what I've been making so far, but if you look closely at the typography, you'll catch me straying sometimes, borrowing from earlier decades or nudging things toward the modern. I'm okay with that. I'll happily break real-world continuity whenever it helps tell a better story. It's less a strict date than a feeling: smoky, gilded, a little worn at the edges.
So what is this world? Here's what I can tell you, at least for now.
It's our world, with magic hidden just beneath the ordinary. To most people, it's superstition.
Long ago, before the rise of the Creed of Bezier, magical scholarship thrived, and the pursuit of knowledge wasn't yet a crime. At the heart of that golden age were two renowned wizarding scholars who called themselves the Curios Order. Their mission was simple: to document, preserve, and expand the understanding of magic.
They were obsessive collectors of artifacts, writings, and histories. They traveled across the known and unknown magical world, built vast archives, crafted intricate magical instruments, and set up secret meeting places where scholars, inventors, and explorers could safely trade discoveries.
But knowledge is power, and some believed that power shouldn't be open to everyone.
The Creed of Bezier presents itself as the protector and arbiter of magic, keeping it from spiraling into chaos. What began as a way to protect magic from exposure twisted into fanaticism. The Creed doesn't rule openly. It manipulates, infiltrates, and erases. The Curios Order's archives were seized or burned, its members persecuted, and its discoveries hidden away or rewritten to fit the Creed's doctrine.
The Creed has three arms. The Gilded Veil curates what history remembers and what it forgets. The Silent Chain works in whispers and disappearances. The Hollow Creed is made up of the zealots who burn what shouldn't be read and never once doubt they're doing sacred work.
And it hasn't stopped. Through censorship and control, the Creed is slowly erasing magic from the world. Much is hidden, some is already forgotten, and magical arts are fading. Magical society is nearing a point of no return.
Still, the Creed's power has a limit. It controls the records and the public truth, but it can't control what people hide.
That's where The Order of Curiosities comes in. It's a new collective, formed in homage to the Curios Order, that gathers and preserves what's left before it's forgotten for good: knowledge that's important, never seen before, or not yet understood. It's not the first resistance the Creed has faced, but it's the first that feels like it might have a real chance. Because of that, it often works in secrecy. It's growing, and it's recruiting, magical and non-magical folk alike.
Who were the two scholars, really? When did the Order first come together? What else is still out there, waiting to be found? Those answers are still hidden in the dark.
This is where you come in. The Order of Curiosities isn't only a story. It's a world I build one artifact at a time, through design, illustration, poetry, photography, video, and sometimes actual physical objects. Here are a few places to start exploring:
The Carnival of Rust: A carnival that exists only when it chooses to. Behind its flickering lanterns, ringmaster Jeremiah Fraus collects confessions for reasons of his own, and every visitor must follow the rules: masks on at all times, never reveal your real name, and if something follows you home, that sounds like a you problem.
[See Carnival of Rust Here]
Villarama - Wand Maker: For one episode, I didn't stop at drawing. I designed the packaging and made an actual wand for Antonio Villarama, a wandmaker whose story lived in my head.
[See Villarama Wands Here]
Gildagard Herbarium: Hilda Gildagard is an elderly herbalist, witty, warm, and a little mischievous, who brews her drinks from rare herbs and botanicals. Each one is magical, and each sip stirs something: nostalgia, wonder, or a feeling you didn't expect. You'll find her shop on its own, and as a permanent resident booth at the Carnival of Rust.
[See Carnival of Rust Here]
If any of this sparks something in you, there are two ways in.
The Order is always recruiting. You can claim your own Order Identification and make it official. Consider it your joining ceremony.
My YouTube channel is where the archive keeps growing. You'll see the world take shape piece by piece, along with my own journey of learning to tell better stories through design. Some experiments land and some don't, but each one is a step further into the dark.
The Order is still being written, and the playground is still open. I hope you'll wander in, look around, and come back to see what's been uncovered.
For the Spark, For the Story, For the joy of Making.
