fantasy humor

by Bill Tiepelman

Riding the Rainbow Hummingbird

Deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the sunlight filtered through the dense canopy like golden syrup and the air was thick with the hum of unseen magic, a certain gnome named Grimble Fizzwhistle was up to no good. Again. “Hold still, you sparkling chicken!” Grimble hollered, clutching at the reins of his highly questionable steed, a giant, iridescent hummingbird named Zuzu. Zuzu, for her part, was not thrilled to have a gnome-sized jockey attempting to direct her aerial maneuvers. She buzzed furiously, her wings a glittering blur, threatening to eject Grimble from her feathery back. “I swear, Zuzu,” Grimble muttered under his breath, “if you dump me in another patch of those stinging nettles, I’ll—well, I’ll…probably just cry again.” Despite his grumbling, Grimble held on tight, his tiny hands gripping the braided spider-silk reins with surprising tenacity. The Plan (Or Lack Thereof) Grimble was on a mission. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. The truth was, he had very little idea where he was going or why. All he knew was that he had made a slightly drunken wager with his old frenemy, Tibbles Nockbottom, at the Giggling Toadstool Tavern the night before. Tibbles had bet him a month’s worth of honey-mead that Grimble couldn’t find the mythical Golden Nectar—a legendary elixir said to grant the drinker eternal youth and an impeccable singing voice. Grimble had, naturally, accepted the challenge without hesitation. Mostly because he was already three pints in and thought eternal youth sounded like a great way to avoid paying his back taxes. Now, as he soared above the forest, clutching Zuzu’s reins and trying not to look down at the dizzying drop below, he was starting to question his life choices. “All right, Zuzu,” he said, patting her neck with a trembling hand. “Let’s just find this Golden Nectar quickly, and then we can both go home and pretend none of this ever happened. Deal?” Zuzu chirped in response, which Grimble chose to interpret as a begrudging agreement. In reality, Zuzu was plotting the fastest route to the nearest patch of wild orchids, where she could throw Grimble off and snack on some nectar in peace. Enter the Feathered Bandits Just as Grimble was beginning to feel slightly more secure in the saddle, a screeching caw shattered the tranquility of the forest. He looked up to see a gang of magpies swooping toward them, their beady eyes glinting with malice. The leader, a particularly large and scruffy specimen with a missing tail feather, squawked loudly. “Oi! Fancy bird you got there, gnome! Hand her over, and we might let you keep your hat!” “Over my dead body!” Grimble yelled, shaking a tiny fist. “This hat cost me a week’s worth of turnip farming!” The magpies didn’t look impressed. They dove toward him en masse, their wings flapping like a thousand pieces of angry parchment. Zuzu, sensing trouble, let out an indignant chirp and banked hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the dive-bombing birds. Grimble clung on for dear life, his hat flying off in the process. “Not the hat!” he screamed, watching it flutter down into the forest below. “That was my lucky hat!” “Looks like you’re out of luck, short stuff!” the magpie leader cackled, snatching the hat mid-air. “Now scram, or we’ll pluck you bald!” Zuzu, clearly offended by the magpies’ lack of decorum, decided to take matters into her own wings. With a sudden burst of speed, she shot straight up into the sky, leaving the magpies floundering in her wake. Grimble let out a whoop of exhilaration—and then promptly swallowed a bug. “Blasted forest,” he coughed. “Why is everything here out to get me?” The Golden Nectar (Sort Of) After what felt like hours of frantic flying and several near-death experiences, Zuzu finally brought them to a halt in a secluded glade. At the center of the glade stood a single, ancient tree with shimmering golden leaves. At its base was a pool of honey-like liquid that sparkled in the sunlight. “The Golden Nectar!” Grimble exclaimed, sliding off Zuzu’s back and sprinting toward the pool. He dropped to his knees and scooped up a handful of the liquid, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Tibbles is going to eat his stupid hat when he sees this!” He raised the nectar to his lips—but before he could take a sip, a deep, rumbling voice echoed through the glade. “Who dares disturb my sacred pool?” Grimble froze. Slowly, he turned to see a massive, grumpy-looking toad sitting on a nearby rock. The toad’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and his warty skin shimmered with flecks of gold. “Uh…hello there,” Grimble said, hiding the handful of nectar behind his back. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Leave,” the toad intoned, “or face my wrath.” “Right, right, of course,” Grimble said, inching backward. “No need for wrath. I’ll just, uh, be on my way…” Before the toad could respond, Zuzu swooped down, grabbed Grimble by the back of his tunic, and hauled him into the air. “Hey!” Grimble protested. “I wasn’t done groveling yet!” The Aftermath By the time they returned to the Giggling Toadstool Tavern, Grimble was exhausted, hatless, and completely nectar-less. Tibbles took one look at him and burst out laughing. “Well, well, well,” he said, clinking his mug of mead against Grimble’s empty one. “Looks like someone owes me a month’s worth of drinks!” Grimble groaned. “Next time,” he muttered, “I’m betting on something sensible. Like a snail race.” But as he glanced at Zuzu, who was perched on the bar and happily sipping a thimbleful of nectar, he couldn’t help but smile. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to ride a rainbow hummingbird.    Bring the Magic Home If Grimble’s mischievous adventure and Zuzu’s dazzling wings brought a little wonder to your day, why not make it a permanent part of your space? Explore our collection of high-quality prints featuring this magical moment: Canvas Prints: Perfect for bringing warmth and whimsy to your walls. Metal Prints: For a sleek, modern display of vibrant color and detail. Acrylic Prints: A glossy finish to make Zuzu’s iridescence truly pop. Tapestries: Add a cozy, magical touch to any room. Start your collection today and let Grimble and Zuzu’s tale inspire your own adventures!

by Bill Tiepelman

A Dragon's First Breath

There are few things more awe-inspiring than the birth of a legend. But legends, much like dragons, rarely come into the world quietly. The egg sat atop a pedestal of stone, its surface a masterpiece of ornate carvings that seemed less the work of time and more of an artisan with a penchant for beauty and whimsy. Vines of delicate flowers and swirls wrapped around the shell, as though nature itself had decided to protect the treasure within. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of magic that pulsed in the air—an ancient rhythm, slow and steady, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Then it happened. A crack. It started as a whisper of sound, the faintest of clicks, as a single hairline fracture split the surface of the egg. From the fracture, a soft, golden light began to seep out, illuminating the chamber in a warm, ethereal glow. The crack widened, and then, with a sudden burst of force, a claw—tiny, yet unmistakably sharp—pierced through the shell. “Well, it’s about time,” muttered a voice from the shadows. The speaker, an ancient wizard with a beard that had seen too many years and a robe that had seen too few washes, stepped closer to the egg. “Three centuries of waiting, and you decide to make your entrance while I’m mid-breakfast. Typical dragon timing.” The dragon paid no attention to the wizard’s grumbles. Its focus was singular and instinctual—freedom. Another claw broke through the shell, followed by a delicate snout covered in shimmering pink and white scales. With a final push, the dragonling emerged, wings unfurling in a spray of golden dust. It blinked once, twice, its eyes wide and filled with the kind of wonder only the truly newborn can possess. “Ah, there you are,” the wizard said, his tone softening despite himself. “A little smaller than I expected, but I suppose even dragons have to start somewhere.” He squinted at the dragon, who was now inspecting its surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and mild disdain, as though unimpressed by the wizard’s décor. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re lucky you hatched here and not in some bandit’s den. This place has history!” The dragon sneezed, and a small puff of smoke escaped its nostrils. The wizard took a hasty step back. “Right, no need to start with the fire. We’ll get to that later,” he muttered, waving the smoke away. “Let’s see, you’ll need a name. Something grand, something that strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies—or at least makes the villagers less likely to throw rocks at you. How about… Flameheart?” The dragon tilted its head, unimpressed. “Alright, fine. Too cliché. What about… Blossom?” The dragon snorted, and a tiny ember landed dangerously close to the wizard’s robe. “Alright, alright! No need to be dramatic. How about Auriel? A bit of elegance, a touch of mystery. Yes, you look like an Auriel.” Auriel, as though considering the name, stretched its wings wide. They glimmered in the golden light, a tapestry of soft hues that seemed to shift and shimmer with every movement. For a moment, even the wizard was struck silent. The dragon, barely the size of a housecat, somehow commanded the room with the presence of something far greater. It was as though the universe itself had paused to acknowledge this small but significant life. “You’ll do great things,” the wizard said softly, his voice filled with a rare sincerity. “But not today. Today, you eat, you sleep, and you figure out how to fly without breaking everything in sight.” As if in agreement, Auriel let out a tiny roar—a sound that was equal parts adorable and pitifully small. The wizard chuckled, a deep, hearty laugh that echoed through the chamber. For the first time in centuries, he felt hope. Not the fleeting kind that comes and goes with a passing thought, but the deep, unshakable kind that settles in the bones and refuses to leave. “Come on then,” the wizard said, turning toward the doorway. “Let’s get you some food. And for the love of magic, try not to set anything on fire.” The dragon trotted after him, its steps light but full of purpose. Behind them, the shattered egg lay forgotten, its ornate shell a silent testament to the beginning of something extraordinary. As they left the chamber, a golden light lingered in the air, as though the magic itself knew that this was no ordinary day. Legends, after all, are not born; they are made. But every legend begins somewhere. And for Auriel, it began here, with a crack, a breath, and the promise of a world yet to be conquered.    Bring "A Dragon's First Breath" Into Your Home Capture the magic and wonder of Auriel's journey with stunning products that showcase this enchanting artwork. Whether you're looking to decorate your home or carry a piece of fantasy with you, we've got you covered: Tapestry - Transform your walls with the majestic glow of this magical dragon. Canvas Print - Bring the legend to life with a premium-quality canvas that exudes elegance. Throw Pillow - Add a touch of mythical charm to your living space with this cozy, decorative piece. Tote Bag - Carry the magic with you wherever you go with this stylish and durable tote bag. Each item is crafted with care and designed to bring the story of "A Dragon's First Breath" to life in your everyday world. Explore these products and more at Unfocussed Shop.

by Bill Tiepelman

Chilling Adventures with the Ice Dragon

Winter had arrived in the Enchanted North, blanketing the forest in sparkling frost and transforming even the grumpiest of gnomes into rosy-cheeked enthusiasts. Well, almost every gnome. Gusbert Frostwhisker, known locally as the “Blizzard Buffoon,” wasn’t interested in sledding, snowball fights, or sipping mulled cider by the fire. No, Gusbert had a reputation to uphold—a reputation for outrageous pranks and harebrained schemes. “This year,” Gusbert announced to no one in particular as he stood in his snow-dusted yard, “I’m going to pull off the ultimate winter trick. Something so magnificent, so ridiculous, they’ll never call me ‘Buffoon’ again!” At that moment, an enormous, crystalline shadow passed overhead. Gusbert looked up to see the Ice Dragon—a magnificent creature of glittering scales and frost-tipped wings—soaring through the pale winter sky. A wicked grin spread across his bearded face. “Perfect,” he whispered. “That dragon’s just the partner I need.” The Plan Gusbert didn’t have much in the way of charm, but he did have a knack for convincing creatures to join his schemes (usually with promises of snacks). Armed with a bag of frozen berries and his best persuasive smile, Gusbert trekked to Frostpeak Ridge, where the Ice Dragon made its lair. He found the great beast lounging on a glacier, munching on icicles. “Greetings, oh frosty one!” Gusbert began, bowing dramatically. The dragon blinked, shards of ice glinting in its brilliant blue eyes. “I come bearing a proposal! A partnership, if you will. Together, we shall unleash the greatest winter prank this forest has ever seen!” The dragon tilted its head, unimpressed. Gusbert held up the bag of berries and shook it enticingly. “There’s more where this came from,” he said. “Think about it—snowball chaos, frosted-over squirrel dens, maybe even a mid-air snowflake sculpting contest! The possibilities are endless!” The dragon snorted, sending a small flurry of snow into Gusbert’s face, but eventually extended a glittering claw. Gusbert shook it eagerly. “Excellent choice, my icy comrade. Now, let’s get to work!” The Execution Gusbert’s first target was the ever-annoying Jinglebell Foxes, who prided themselves on their perfectly synchronized caroling. Perched on the dragon’s back, Gusbert flew over their snowy den and unleashed his secret weapon: enchanted snowballs that, upon impact, made the recipient uncontrollably hiccup jingle sounds. By the time the foxes managed to regroup, their caroling sounded like a choir of malfunctioning music boxes. “Hic-jingle! Hic-jingle! Hic-jingle all the way!” one of them howled, to Gusbert’s delight. The next stop was the Winter Stag Parade, a dignified event where the local deer adorned themselves with holly and tinsel. Gusbert swooped in on the Ice Dragon and sprinkled the parade route with enchanted frost that caused the antlers to glow neon pink. The dignified stags were less than amused, but the spectators roared with laughter. “Oh, this is too good!” Gusbert cackled, steering the dragon toward their grand finale: the Gnome Elder Council’s annual snow sculpture competition. The council was infamous for taking their sculptures far too seriously, with their leader, Grimpus, once declaring a carrot nose on a snowman “an artistic abomination.” The Grand Finale Hovering over the competition, Gusbert surveyed the scene. Grimpus and his fellow elders were painstakingly crafting an elaborate ice castle. “Time to spice things up,” Gusbert said, tossing a handful of enchanted snowflakes over the sculpture. Moments later, the castle erupted into a cacophony of glitter and ice, transforming into a gigantic, frosty replica of Grimpus’ grumpy face. The crowd burst into applause, but Grimpus was less impressed. “Who dares tamper with my masterpiece?!” he bellowed, shaking his fist at the sky. Gusbert waved cheerfully as the Ice Dragon executed a graceful barrel roll, scattering more glitter over the competition. Unfortunately for Gusbert, Grimpus had a keen eye. “It’s that blasted Frostwhisker!” he roared. “Get him!” The Escape “Time to go!” Gusbert shouted, urging the dragon into a steep dive. The pair zipped through the snowy forest, pursued by an angry mob of foxes, deer, and gnomes wielding snowshoes. The Ice Dragon, however, was having the time of its life. With each powerful beat of its wings, it sent waves of glittering frost cascading over the pursuers, slowing them down just enough for Gusbert to escape. When they finally landed back at Frostpeak Ridge, Gusbert slid off the dragon’s back and collapsed into the snow, laughing uncontrollably. “Did you see their faces?” he wheezed. “Priceless!” The dragon let out a rumbling purr of agreement before curling up on its glacier. Gusbert tossed it the rest of the frozen berries as a thank-you. “You’re a true artist, my frosty friend,” he said. “Same time next year?” The dragon snorted softly, which Gusbert chose to interpret as a resounding yes. As he trudged back to his cottage, Gusbert couldn’t wait to start planning his next big prank. After all, winter was long—and the Enchanted North needed someone to keep things interesting.     Bring the Winter Magic Home Love Gusbert and the Ice Dragon's frosty mischief? Capture the magic and whimsy of their chilling adventures with our exclusive collection of stunning products: Tapestries: Add a touch of frosty charm to your walls with this enchanting design. Canvas Prints: Perfect for showcasing the magical winter ride in vibrant detail. Puzzles: Piece together the icy brilliance with a playful and dazzling puzzle. Greeting Cards: Share the frosty magic with loved ones through these delightful cards. Start your collection today and let Gusbert and his glittering dragon bring the spirit of winter wonder into your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Game of Croaks and Oinks - Sword & Sass

Game of Croaks and Oinks In the verdant swamplands of Ribbitshire, Sir Kermit the Green—a noble knight of the Lily Order—had lived a life of quiet bravery. Across the border, in the porcine lands of Snoutholm, Lady Piggy of House Porcine reigned supreme, her iron will matched only by her love for luxury. Though their worlds were as different as mud and water, fate had other plans for the amphibian and the boar. The Tavern Incident It all began on a humid evening at The Crooked Tadpole, a tavern infamous for its watered-down mead and poorly thought-out open mic nights. Kermit, seeking a brief respite from courtly duties, was enjoying a mug of fermented fly beer when Piggy stormed in. Draped in a fur cloak and brimming with sass, she demanded the bartender “fetch something that doesn’t taste like a swamp boot.” The two locked eyes across the smoky room. Piggy scoffed, unimpressed by the quiet knight in the corner, while Kermit muttered under his breath, “Great. Another loudmouth noble.” Neither had planned to speak to the other. But when a drunken minstrel tripped, spilling an entire pitcher of mead on Piggy’s boots, her shriek of outrage shook the rafters. In the chaos, Kermit accidentally knocked over his chair, which toppled into the tavern’s taxidermy bear—a prize possession of the local lord. The bear collapsed, crushing the innkeeper’s prized lute and setting off a chain reaction that ended with the entire tavern on fire. In the aftermath, as villagers gathered to gawk at the flames, the local baron arrived, demanding to know who was responsible. Piggy, covered in soot, pointed dramatically at Kermit. “HIM!” she declared. “The green oaf!” Kermit retaliated with a calm yet cutting rebuttal. “I wasn’t the one screeching like a banshee and throwing furniture.” “HOW DARE YOU!” Piggy bellowed. Before anyone could stop her, she drew her jeweled dagger and lunged at him. Kermit, dodging expertly, slipped on a puddle of ale and knocked both of them into a rain barrel. By the time the baron managed to break up the brawl, the two were soaking wet, furious, and sentenced to repair the tavern together under threat of exile. The Coronation Chaos As luck—or misfortune—would have it, word of their "heroic" actions (completely exaggerated by a traveling bard) reached the king. Believing they had “selflessly” saved the tavern from total destruction, the king invited both Kermit and Piggy to the royal court for a feast in their honor. Neither wanted to go. Kermit hated pomp and circumstance, while Piggy found the whole ordeal beneath her. But refusing the king’s summons was a surefire way to lose one’s head—or at least one’s lands—so they begrudgingly attended. The feast began innocently enough, with roasted pheasant, honeyed figs, and a suspiciously slimy soup that only Kermit seemed to enjoy. However, as the evening progressed, things took a turn. A courtier made the mistake of calling Piggy “plump” in her presence, resulting in a well-aimed drumstick being launched across the room. Meanwhile, Kermit found himself in a heated debate with the king’s advisor about the ethical treatment of swamp creatures, which ended with the advisor storming off in a huff. The climax of the evening came when the king, slightly tipsy, declared, “These two should rule together! A frog and a pig—what a jolly jest!” The court erupted into laughter, but the king wasn’t joking. To Kermit and Piggy’s horror, the king had a marriage contract drawn up on the spot. Despite their protests, the document was signed and sealed before the feast was over. The Reluctant Rulers Now crowned King Croak and Queen Sass, the unlikely duo found themselves ruling the kingdom of Ribsnort, a newly united land combining Ribbitshire and Snoutholm. Their reign got off to a rocky start, with constant arguments over everything from castle decor (“No, Kermit, we are NOT hanging lily pads in the royal dining hall!”) to military strategy (“Piggy, I don’t think ‘charge in screaming’ is a viable plan.”). Their bickering, however, proved to be surprisingly effective. When an assassin attempted to poison the royal stew, Piggy’s insistence on sampling everything first saved Kermit’s life. When a rival lord attempted to stage a coup, Kermit’s calm negotiation skills (and Piggy’s ability to throw a chair like a catapult) managed to thwart the rebellion. The Unexpected Bond Over time, their mutual disdain turned into begrudging respect. Piggy admired Kermit’s wisdom and his ability to remain calm under pressure. Kermit, meanwhile, couldn’t help but admire Piggy’s fierce determination and her ability to command a room. The pair began to work together, combining their strengths to rule Ribsnort with a unique blend of diplomacy and sass. Their subjects adored them, often referring to them as “the bickering parents of the realm.” Even the king, who had initially orchestrated their union as a joke, admitted they were surprisingly effective leaders. The Legacy of Croak and Sass Years later, bards would sing of King Croak and Queen Sass, the frog and the boar who turned a drunken tavern brawl into a legendary reign. They were remembered not just for their unconventional partnership, but for proving that even the most unlikely pairings could create something extraordinary. And though they’d never admit it, late at night, in the privacy of the royal chambers, Kermit and Piggy would often laugh about how it all began—with a spilled mug of mead and a burning tavern.     Bring "Sword & Sass" Into Your World Celebrate the epic saga of King Croak and Queen Sass with exclusive merchandise! Whether you're a fan of fantasy humor, whimsical art, or unforgettable characters, these products are perfect additions to your collection—or the ideal gift for a fellow adventurer. Explore the options below: Tapestry: Transform any space with the bold and whimsical artwork of Sword & Sass, perfect for a dramatic flair in your home. Canvas Print: Elevate your walls with this stunning piece of fantasy art, a perfect centerpiece for any room. Puzzle: Dive into the details of this epic artwork piece by piece with a high-quality puzzle that’s as fun as the story itself. Spiral Notebook: Take your notes or jot down your own epic tales in a notebook that’s as unique as your imagination. Visit the full collection at our shop and bring the legend of Sword & Sass into your world today!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Gnome and the Glittering Dragonfly

Deep in the heart of the enchanted Blackthorn Forest, where mushrooms glow and trees gossip louder than the village blacksmith, lived a gnome named Thimblewick Featherfoot—“Thim” to his friends, if he had any. Thim wasn’t your average gnome. He hated gardening, scoffed at baking pies, and, worst of all, despised mushrooms. Instead, he had a singular obsession: riding dragonflies. Now, riding dragonflies wasn’t exactly encouraged among gnomes. For one, dragonflies were notoriously difficult to saddle. They were also prone to fits of ego if you complimented their wings too much. But Thim had spent years perfecting his craft, whispering sweet nothings to the glimmering insects and bribing them with honeydew and compliments like, "Oh, you magnificent flitter-beast, your wings could shame the stars!" On one fateful morning, as the sunlight filtered through the forest canopy in golden beams, Thim stood at the edge of the babbling Brooklynn Stream. Clad in his finest red hat (with a jaunty tilt, thank you very much) and freshly polished boots, he whistled a jaunty tune. Moments later, his pride and joy descended from the treetops with a dramatic flourish. Her name was Glitterbug—a dragonfly the size of a corgi, with eyes that shimmered like disco balls and wings that refracted light into rainbows. "Ah, my glorious Glitterbug," Thim cooed, adjusting his glasses. "Ready for another daring escapade?" Glitterbug didn’t respond verbally—she wasn’t that kind of dragonfly—but the enthusiastic flap of her wings told him she was game. The Takeoff Strapping on a harness made of enchanted spider silk (don’t ask where he got it), Thim hopped onto Glitterbug’s back with the grace of a potato rolling off a table. “Onward, my majestic steed!” he cried, pointing dramatically toward the horizon. Glitterbug launched into the air, and Thim immediately regretted skipping breakfast. The rush of wind slapped his face, and his stomach did somersaults as they careened over the forest canopy. Below, squirrels paused mid-nut-chew to gawk, and a family of raccoons applauded politely. Thim waved back, feeling like the hero he always knew he was. The ride started smoothly—too smoothly, in fact. As they soared over the Whispering Pines, Thim spotted a flock of pixies having a tea party in the clouds. He tipped his hat to them, but they only glared back. "Oi, Glitterbug!" Thim shouted over the wind. "How about we show those snooty pixies some real aerobatics, eh?" Before Glitterbug could protest (or maybe she was just thrilled by the idea), Thim pulled the reins, and the dragonfly spiraled into a corkscrew maneuver that would have made a hawk jealous. The pixies gasped and spilled their tea. "Gnome!" one shouted. "You’ll pay for that!" "Put it on my tab!" Thim hollered back, laughing so hard he nearly fell off. The Trouble Begins As they soared over the shimmering Moonlit Marshes, things took a turn. A sudden gust of magical wind—likely stirred up by an annoyed wizard with bad aim—sent Glitterbug veering sideways. Thim clung to the reins for dear life, his hat flying off into the marsh below. "My hat!" he yelled, scandalized. "That was limited edition!" Worse still, the gust had brought unwanted company. A flock of Gremlock Crows, infamous for their love of shiny objects, spotted Glitterbug’s iridescent wings and decided they’d like to add her to their collection. "Shoo!" Thim shouted, waving his arms. "She’s not for sale!" But the crows cackled and dove after them like feathery missiles. "Glitterbug, evasive maneuvers!" Thim barked, and the dragonfly obeyed. They looped and zigzagged through the sky, narrowly avoiding the snapping beaks of the greedy birds. At one point, Thim grabbed a stale biscuit from his pocket and hurled it at the crows. "Fetch, you winged hooligans!" It worked, momentarily distracting the flock as they squabbled over the snack. But their relief was short-lived. Just as they escaped the crows, they entered the territory of the dreaded Fangtooth Fishers—giant, airborne fish with glowing eyes and a penchant for anything gnome-sized. The Great Escape "Oh, come on!" Thim groaned as one of the fish lunged at them, its mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. "Why does everything in this forest want to eat me? I’m mostly beard!" Glitterbug darted left, then right, dodging the snapping jaws of the fish with astonishing agility. Thim, meanwhile, rummaged through his bag of tricks. He pulled out a vial of Pixie Dust™ ("Guaranteed to Sparkle") and hurled it at their pursuers. The cloud of glittery powder exploded in a dazzling display, confusing the fish and sending them floundering back into the marsh below. As the dust settled, Glitterbug flew higher, carrying them above the chaos. Thim let out a triumphant laugh, patting his trusty dragonfly on the head. "That’s my girl! We make quite the team, don’t we?" Glitterbug buzzed in agreement—or maybe she was just hungry. A (Mostly) Happy Ending They eventually landed safely back at the Brooklynn Stream, where Thim collapsed onto the mossy ground, utterly exhausted but grinning from ear to ear. "What an adventure, Glitterbug!" he said, reaching for his bag. "Next time, we bring snacks and a helmet. And maybe a flamethrower." Glitterbug gave him a look that clearly said, "Next time? You’re kidding, right?" before fluttering off to rest on a nearby flower. As Thim lay there, staring up at the sky, a passing squirrel dropped his hat onto his chest. "Ah, you magnificent tree rat," Thim murmured. "You’re invited to the victory party." And thus, Thimblewick Featherfoot’s legend grew, cementing his reputation as the gnome who dared to dream big—and occasionally got chased by flying fish. Somewhere, deep in the forest, the pixies were still plotting their revenge. But that, dear reader, is a story for another day.    Bring the Magic Home Love the whimsical world of Thimblewick Featherfoot and Glitterbug? You can now capture the enchantment of their daring adventures with beautifully crafted products inspired by "The Gnome and the Glittering Dragonfly". Perfect as gifts or for adding a touch of fantasy to your daily life, these items are a must-have for any fan of magical tales! Tapestries – Transform any space into an enchanting forest scene with this stunning artwork. Puzzles – Piece together the magic, one puzzle at a time, and relive the adventure! Tote Bags – Carry a bit of whimsy with you wherever you go with these vibrant, practical bags. Metal Prints – Showcase the brilliance of this fantasy tale with high-quality metal prints that capture every dazzling detail. Explore the full collection and bring home a piece of the magic today! Click here to view all available products.

by Bill Tiepelman

Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon

Deep in the heart of the Widdershins Woods, where even the bravest adventurers dared not tread (mostly because the gnomes had lousy hygiene), lived a bearded gnome named Grimble Stumbletoe. Grimble was infamous for two things: his crass sense of humor and his inexplicably loyal companion, a pint-sized dragon named Sizzle. Together, they were the stuff of tavern tales, mostly told by those who’d had one too many and enjoyed a good laugh at Grimble's questionable antics. The Introduction of Sizzle Now, Sizzle wasn’t your average dragon. He was barely the size of a large cat and looked more like someone had stuck wings on a grumpy lizard. When Grimble first found him, curled up under a toadstool in the early hours of the morning, the gnome’s first words were, “Well, aren’t you an ugly little bugger?” To which Sizzle responded by promptly setting his beard on fire. “Ah, he’s got spirit,” Grimble cackled as he smothered the flames with a slap of his grubby hand. “I like ya already, you little menace.” And thus began the start of a beautiful, if somewhat volatile, friendship. Grimble’s Daily Routines (Or Lack Thereof) Each morning, Grimble would saunter out of his hollowed-out tree, scratch his beard, and take a deep, satisfied breath of the forest air. “Ah, smell that, Sizzle! Smells like freedom. And possibly a dead raccoon.” He’d then look down at Sizzle, who would nod with a solemn understanding, as if to say, “I too, smell the raccoon, Grimble.” For breakfast, Grimble favored a diet of mushrooms, stale bread, and whatever he could scrounge from the woodland creatures, who were less than willing to share. “Oi, squirrel, that’s mine!” he’d yell, occasionally hurling a pebble at a furry thief. Sizzle, meanwhile, would practice his fire-spitting skills, toasting bugs and once nearly incinerating Grimble’s hat. “Careful there, you fire-breathing gecko!” Grimble would say, shaking his finger. “You char my favorite hat again, and it’s roasted squirrel for dinner.” Encounters in the Forest One fine afternoon, as they strolled through a particularly dense patch of undergrowth, they encountered a lost adventurer—a young man in shiny armor, looking as fresh as a daisy and about as clueless as one, too. “Excuse me, sir,” the young man stammered, “have you seen the path to the Great Elven Temple?” Grimble eyed him with a wry grin, then leaned in close, a bit too close for comfort. “Elven Temple? Oh sure, it’s right over that hill. Just mind the goblin nests, the troll dung, and the occasional trap set by yours truly.” He winked. “Might take a while, though. So, unless you fancy an evening spent picking rocks out of yer backside, I’d suggest you turn around.” “I-I’ll keep that in mind,” the adventurer replied, pale and visibly unnerved as he backed away. Once he was out of earshot, Grimble chuckled, “Bloody do-gooders. Always thinkin’ they’re about to save the world or some such nonsense.” Sizzle let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Evening Shenanigans As dusk fell, Grimble and Sizzle would set up camp. Grimble, who prided himself on being “one with nature” (mostly because he was too lazy to build a proper shelter), would lie back on a patch of moss and settle in for the night, regaling Sizzle with tales of his “glorious past.” “I once held off an entire pack of wolves with nothing but a pointy stick!” he boasted, making grand gestures. “Mind you, they were about as big as yer average rabbit, but wolves is wolves, right?” Sizzle, unimpressed, would snort a little puff of flame. He had a habit of turning his head as if rolling his eyes, which only encouraged Grimble to embellish further. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. And anyway, you’re no saint, ya little fire-bellied troublemaker. Remember last week when you burnt down old Miss Frumpel’s toadstool cottage?” Sizzle looked away, feigning innocence, while Grimble chuckled. “Aye, she deserved it though, always waggin’ her finger at me, tellin’ me to ‘watch my language.’ If I wanted a lecture, I’d talk to the damn owls!” Grimble’s “Heroic” Deeds One night, a commotion arose from the nearby grove. There was shouting, the clash of metal, and the unmistakable thud of something heavy crashing into a tree. “Adventure calls, Sizzle!” Grimble whispered with an overly dramatic flair, pulling his rusted dagger from his belt. “Let’s see if there’s a few coins to be made out of this mess.” They slunk through the underbrush until they found the source: a band of goblins arguing over a pile of glittering loot. “Oi!” Grimble yelled, striding out from the bushes. “Didn’t yer mothers teach ya not to make such a racket?” The goblins froze, staring at the odd pair. Grimble’s unimpressive stature and Sizzle’s miniature size made for a ridiculous sight, but Grimble was undeterred. “Now, I’ll be takin’ that shiny stuff there, and if ya make it easy, I won’t set my dragon on ya. He’s a vicious beast, see?” At that, Sizzle let out a tiny roar, barely a squeak, which only made Grimble snicker. The goblins, however, weren’t amused. With a series of hisses and snarls, they lunged. The Grand Battle (Sort Of) It was pure chaos. Goblins shrieked, Sizzle spat tiny spurts of flame, and Grimble dodged like a drunken acrobat, yelling insults at anyone who came near. “You call that a swing, you sorry excuse for a potato!” he bellowed, ducking under a goblin’s club. “My gran fights better than you, and she’s been dead three decades!” In the end, Sizzle managed to ignite a few well-placed bushes, which startled the goblins into fleeing. Grimble, panting and looking far more triumphant than he had any right to, picked up a shiny coin and spat on it to polish it. “Aye, well fought, Sizzle,” he said with a nod. “They’ll be singin’ tales of this day for sure. ‘Grimble the Bold and his Mighty Dragon,’ they’ll call it!” Sizzle tilted his head, clearly skeptical, but Grimble ignored him, pocketing a handful of the goblins’ abandoned loot with a gleeful grin. The Journey Continues The next morning, Grimble and Sizzle set off once more, as they always did, with no particular destination in mind. “So, Sizzle,” Grimble mused, “what d’you reckon we’ll find today? Perhaps a damsel in distress? Or maybe some rich fool wanderin’ through the woods, just beggin’ to lose his purse?” Sizzle gave him a sideways glance, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils as if to say, “Or maybe you’ll just get us into more trouble.” Grimble chuckled, ruffling the little dragon’s scales. “Ah, trouble’s what keeps life interestin’, eh?” With a skip and a swagger, he strolled off into the forest, the laughter of a grumpy old gnome and the tiny roars of his loyal dragon echoing through the woods. And so they wandered on, the crassest, funniest, most mismatched duo in all of Widdershins Woods, much to the terror—and amusement—of everyone they met.    Bring Grimble and Sizzle Home If Grimble's antics and Sizzle's fiery spirit brought a smile to your face, why not bring a piece of their adventure home? This delightfully mischievous duo is available on a range of high-quality products that will add a dash of whimsical charm to any space. Check out these Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon products, perfect for fantasy lovers and humor enthusiasts alike: Jigsaw Puzzle - Get lost in Grimble’s world piece by piece. Tapestry - Transform your wall into the heart of Widdershins Woods with this vibrant tapestry. Canvas Print - Perfect for any room that could use a bit of fantasy flair. Throw Pillow - Cozy up with Grimble and Sizzle’s hilarious companionship. Whether you’re a fan of gnomish humor or just love the idea of a dragon the size of a cat, these products let you bring a little bit of Widdershins Woods into your everyday life. Because, after all, who couldn't use a bit more magic and mischief?

by Bill Tiepelman

Nebula Eyes and the Enchanted Litter Box

Once upon a time, deep in a forest where magic mushrooms glowed and squirrels sipped on spiked acorn brew, there lived a mystical kitten named Nebula. Now, Nebula wasn’t your average kitten. Nope—this one had fur that swirled with cosmic patterns, eyes that looked like they could see through your soul, and the sass of a hundred alley cats combined. You might think that having galaxies in your fur would make you a wise, noble guardian of the forest. But Nebula? Nebula had… other priorities. One night, Nebula strutted through the enchanted forest, her gaze shimmering with that usual “I know something you don’t” energy. But tonight, she was on a mission. Somewhere, hidden under a mystical mushroom or beside a babbling brook, was the legendary Enchanted Litter Box—rumored to be the most luxurious bathroom in the universe. According to forest legend, the Enchanted Litter Box would grant one wish to any creature who used it. But it wasn’t just any wish. It was the kind of wish that could make your wildest dreams come true… as long as you flushed properly. “Perfect,” thought Nebula, whiskers twitching. “I’ve got a few things I’d like to change around here.” Nebula’s journey wasn’t without its obstacles, though. She had to dodge a drunk raccoon named Ralph, who was babbling on about his broken marriage, and a band of chipmunks running a very illegal nut gambling ring. After a few detours (and a stolen mushroom or two), Nebula finally spotted it: the Enchanted Litter Box. It was as golden as a goose egg and smelled faintly of lavender and… was that... cinnamon? She sniffed the air. “This better be worth it,” she muttered, stepping into the box. The enchanted box glowed as she did her business, little sparkles dancing in the air. She thought long and hard about her wish as she kicked some enchanted litter over her “contribution.” Finally, with a haughty tail flick, she declared, “I wish for unlimited snacks and absolutely zero consequences for anything I do. Ever.” The Litter Box shimmered, glowed, and then—POOF! Out came a cloud of sparkles, swirling around her in a storm of magic. When the glitter settled, Nebula was sitting in a pile of treats—enchanted catnip, smoked salmon bits, and even the fabled Forest Tuna Tartare (usually reserved only for the royal badger). She rolled around in her new stash, practically purring with triumph. Of course, word of the litter box wish quickly spread. Soon, every forest creature wanted in on the action. Ralph the raccoon attempted a wish for “eternal charisma,” only to end up with a permanent case of the hiccups. The chipmunks wished for endless acorns and got buried under an avalanche of the darn things. But Nebula? She was completely unfazed, watching from her pile of treats as chaos reigned around her. As she lounged in her enchanted treat stash, smirking at the pandemonium, Nebula realized one important truth: Sometimes, it pays to be a little selfish and a whole lot sassy. After all, if you can look like a star-dusted, galaxy-eyed diva and still come out smelling like lavender litter, then why the heck not? And so, Nebula lived out her days in smug luxury, rolling in enchanted treats, ignoring the antics of her enchanted forest neighbors, and, of course, refusing to let anyone touch her precious, glowing litter box. The End     Bring Nebula Home! If you enjoyed the story of Nebula, why not bring a little of that enchanted, cosmic charm into your own space? Explore our exclusive collection featuring Nebula Eyes and Moonlit Fur on a variety of unique products: Throw Pillow – Add a touch of magical comfort to your living space. Tapestry – Transform any wall into a window to an enchanted forest. Tote Bag – Carry a bit of Nebula’s magic wherever you go. Fleece Blanket – Snuggle up in cosmic style. Stitch the Magic of Nebula Eyes and Moonlit Fur Capture the whimsical charm and cosmic beauty of Nebula’s story with this cross-stitch pattern. Perfect for both beginners and experienced stitchers, this pattern transforms the enchanting tale into a stunning work of art. Let your creativity bring Nebula’s glowing eyes and moonlit fur to life, one stitch at a time. Whether you’re looking to add a whimsical touch to your home or a unique gift for someone special, these items bring Nebula's enchanted energy into the everyday.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Laughing Gnome and His Winged Friend

Deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the mushrooms grow larger than houses and the flowers sing you lullabies (usually to distract you before they spit pollen in your face), lived a gnome named Grubnuk. Grubnuk wasn't your average gnome. While most of his fellow gnomes were busy crafting tiny shoes for even tinier feet or meditating under dew-soaked leaves, Grubnuk preferred chaos. He was the kind of gnome that would superglue your shoes to the floor just for the laugh, then hand you a cup of tea afterward as if nothing had happened. The grin on his face told you everything you needed to know—Grubnuk was trouble. On this particularly sunny day, Grubnuk had one hand held up in a peace sign, the other balancing his trusty sidekick, a miniature dragon named Snort. Why “Snort”? Because this tiny creature had the irritating habit of sneezing fire every time it laughed, which happened to be often, thanks to Grubnuk’s pranks. Together, they made the perfect pair of mischief-makers—one with an endless supply of obnoxious humor, the other a living flamethrower with a sense of timing that could put any comedian to shame. "Alright, Snort, what’s the plan for today?" Grubnuk said, his legs dangling off a mushroom that was about as large as a coffee table, if said coffee table also happened to be made of fungus and poor life choices. Snort let out a squeaky roar, flapping his wings with all the grace of a wet towel being thrown at a wall. His tongue flopped out as he inhaled for another fire-laced sneeze, which, by the way, was precisely how the last gnome village ended up as nothing more than a pile of smoking rubble. Grubnuk, ever the enabler, laughed. He knew exactly what that meant. "Perfect. We'll start by messing with the elves. They're still mad about that whole ‘spiked hair-growth potion’ incident. Apparently, it wasn't as ‘temporary’ as I promised." The two set off through the forest, leaving behind their peaceful mushroom perch. They wove through a meadow of oversized daisies, which Grubnuk casually watered with a bottle of ‘magically enhanced fertilizer.’ The kind of enhancement that ensured the flowers would grow arms and start waving at confused passersby by noon. The Elf Ambush As they approached the elves’ domain—well-manicured treehouses and sparkling pathways—the gnome-dragon duo began to plot their next move. Grubnuk’s eyes gleamed with that special glint of a man... er, gnome… about to ruin someone's day. "Alright, Snort. Phase one: find the leader’s fancy cloak and… modify it." Snort puffed out his chest proudly, a bit of smoke escaping his nostrils as he fluttered off toward the elves' wardrobe line. A few moments later, he returned with a regal-looking cloak in his claws, as well as what looked suspiciously like the elf leader’s underwear (but that was just a bonus). Grubnuk cracked his knuckles and began to sew in a few 'enhancements.' Oh, it still looked as elegant as ever, but now it came with a surprise feature—tiny enchanted spiders that would scurry out from the hem and climb up the wearer’s legs, perfectly invisible to anyone else but the unfortunate soul wearing the cloak. The best part? The wearer would think they were going mad, and that's where the real fun began. Chaos Unleashed As the elf leader strode proudly into view, resplendent in his royal cloak, the mischief began. One by one, invisible spiders crept up his legs, making him swat at the air and twitch uncontrollably. It started with a light scratch, then a frantic shake of his foot, and finally, the cloak was flung off as he yelped, "By the Great Oak, I’m infested!" Elves scattered, some in sheer terror, others pointing and laughing. Grubnuk, sitting behind a bush with Snort, was in absolute stitches, practically falling over with laughter. "Priceless," he wheezed. "Oh, this is going in the prank hall of fame!" Snort, for his part, let out a satisfied snort—a mini fireball escaping his nose and singeing a nearby bush. The elves were too busy dealing with the cloak fiasco to notice. Lucky for them. Grubnuk, however, grinned even wider. “You know what, Snort? We should probably leave before they find out it was us. Again." But the fun wasn’t over. As they snuck away, Grubnuk noticed the elves’ prized ceremonial flowers, the kind that bloomed only once a decade. A wicked thought crossed his mind. "One more thing before we go," he whispered, pulling out a pouch of itching powder. With a devilish glint in his eye, he sprinkled the powder over the delicate petals. By the time the elves got back to their beloved flowers, they'd be scratching so hard they wouldn’t be able to sit still for a week. “Ah, the sweet scent of chaos,” Grubnuk said as they escaped back into the forest, the echo of elf curses chasing them into the trees. The Aftermath Back at their mushroom perch, Grubnuk and Snort settled in for the evening. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the forest, while somewhere far off, the elves were still undoubtedly dealing with the aftermath of the day’s pranks. “Another successful day of mischief, my friend,” Grubnuk said, kicking off his boots and leaning back on the soft mushroom cap. Snort curled up beside him, puffing out little smoke rings as if in agreement. “What should we do tomorrow?” Grubnuk mused aloud, already scheming. Snort responded with a tiny sneeze, igniting the edge of Grubnuk’s beard. Grubnuk slapped out the flames, laughing. “Good one, Snort. Always keeping me on my toes.” He patted the dragon’s head affectionately. “But just wait till tomorrow. We’re going after the dwarves next." And with that, the two fell asleep, their dreams filled with new pranks, singed beards, and just the right amount of chaos to keep things interesting in the Enchanted Forest.    Bring the Mischief Home! Love the playful, chaotic energy of Grubnuk and Snort? Why not bring a little of that magic into your own space? Check out this vibrant tapestry featuring the laughing gnome and his winged companion. Or, if you're a fan of something more interactive, challenge yourself with this whimsical puzzle. Add a touch of magic to your walls with a beautiful framed print, or cozy up with a throw pillow that’s perfect for your own whimsical naps. Don’t miss your chance to make a little mischief part of your home decor!

by Bill Tiepelman

A Gnome’s Day Off

There comes a time in every gnome’s life when he just needs to sit back, crack open a cold one, and say, “Screw it.” That’s where this little guy is today—tired of the endless nonsense of magical quests, potion brewing, and dealing with the fairy community’s constant drama (seriously, those winged little monsters never stop bickering). He’s been working overtime lately, mostly trying to fix the forest's plumbing after a particularly feisty group of trolls got into the enchanted springs and turned the water into root beer. Did you know trolls can down gallons of fizzy sugar water in minutes? Now you do. And it’s a real problem when your magical water source bubbles like it’s permanently on a sugar high. But today, no more of that. Today, our gnome friend is calling it quits. He’s swapped his staff for a Corona and his magical map for a dingy, old cooler he found in the back of a wizard's yard sale (don’t ask, it’s a long story that involves a drunken sorcerer and a very unfortunate rabbit). Look at him. Perched there in his ripped jeans, his hat so massive you could fit a family of squirrels under it. He’s the very picture of “don’t give a flying broomstick.” That beard? Pure wisdom. Or maybe just an excellent beer filter. And that cooler? That’s not just any cooler. It’s seen things. Dark, sticky, inexplicable things. But most importantly, it’s keeping his beer ice-cold, and that’s all that matters today. He stares out at the cracked wall in front of him, the perfect metaphor for his soul right now: a little broken, a little rugged, but still holding it together with a bit of duct tape and the occasional prayer to the gods of “just get me through the day.” A Magical Hangover? You might be wondering, “What’s a gnome doing with a Corona anyway? Shouldn’t he be drinking some mystical brew from the heart of the forest?” Nah. Our gnome’s not about that life anymore. He tried that once, and let’s just say the hangover from fairy mead is the kind of thing that makes you rethink all your life choices. Nothing like waking up in a unicorn’s stable, wearing nothing but a leaf crown and no memory of how you got there. That’s when he switched to the basics. Corona. None of that fancy enchanted crap that messes with your head. Just a regular beer for a regular day off. Simple. No frills. No magical hallucinations. And definitely no waking up under a bridge being yelled at by a troll who thinks you stole his favorite rock. Relaxation Level: Maximum So here he is, on the floor, leaning against the wall, a relaxed and slightly buzzed gnome, trying his best to forget about the absurdity of his life for a few hours. It’s not that he hates his job. I mean, who wouldn’t love turning invisible, speaking to animals, or using a wand to make pancakes float directly into your mouth? But even a wizard needs to chill out sometimes. And what better way to unwind than with a cold beer and the knowledge that somewhere, some fairy is probably losing their wings in a prank gone wrong, and it’s not your problem today. The wizard council can handle it. Or not. Whatever. Today, that’s their mess. As he takes another sip, he smiles—or at least we think he does. It’s hard to tell with all that beard. But one thing’s for sure: this gnome has mastered the art of magical laziness. Some say it’s a skill. Others call it a lifestyle choice. Our gnome just calls it “Tuesday.” The Aftermath Will he get back to his duties tomorrow? Probably. Will he face another nonsensical quest that involves saving the enchanted woods from some ridiculous creature no one’s ever heard of? Absolutely. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is this moment, this beer, and the fact that he’s not dealing with a single enchanted animal, talking mushroom, or overly emotional sprite. As the last bit of Corona slides down his throat, he lets out a contented sigh. The world can wait. After all, even magical beings deserve a break from the chaos. And if anyone asks where he is, just tell them the truth: The gnome’s taking a damn day off.     If you’re loving the vibe of this gnome’s well-deserved day off, you can bring him into your own home—or better yet, your own break room. This image is available on prints, art downloads, and for licensing. Just head over to our gallery to get your hands on a little slice of magical relaxation. After all, who wouldn’t want to kick back with a gnome that knows how to enjoy a cold one?  

by Bill Tiepelman

Inferno of the Wild: Guardian of the Enchanted Grove

In the depths of the enchanted forest, time flowed differently. Trees whispered secrets from centuries past, and the very air buzzed with ancient magic. And at the heart of it all, there was Flare. Well, Flare was technically her name now. Before her fiery transformation, she was known as Elowen, but after an incident involving a rogue dragonfly swarm, a misplaced fire spell, and a regrettable experiment with moonshine, she had earned her new moniker. Flaming hair and a few singed eyebrows later, the name stuck. Now, Elowen—sorry, Flare—was the Guardian of the Grove, a title she had also acquired more by accident than merit. She had only been trying to fix a broken mushroom circle when the grove itself decided to appoint her. “Congratulations,” the ancient oak had said, its bark splitting into what she could only guess was a smile. “You’ve survived the test of fire. You’re now the Guardian.” Great, she thought at the time, as a newly reborn phoenix dropped onto her shoulder, its fiery tail singeing her favorite dress. At least she had a new pet. Sort of. The Rebirth of a Phoenix... and a Faerie Flare’s life had always been a series of events that she didn’t exactly plan for. She had never asked to be a faerie with a natural talent for fire spells in a forest full of flammable foliage. She also hadn’t asked to become bonded to a phoenix. But fate had a funny way of showing up at your doorstep—especially when you accidentally summon it during a misworded incantation. The phoenix, whom she’d named Ash because she had a sense of humor about these things, wasn’t just any bird. Ash was the embodiment of life, death, and the fiery chaos that bridged the two. Every time Ash burst into flames for one of her rebirths, Flare swore she’d gotten used to it. But every time, without fail, she jumped when the bird suddenly ignited like a bonfire at summer solstice. And every time, Ash reappeared in her palm, a chick with oversized eyes and a slight attitude problem. The process of rebirth was beautiful, sure, but it was also… inconvenient. “You’ve got to stop doing that in the middle of tea parties, Ash,” Flare groaned one afternoon, waving away the soot from her now-blackened teacup. “The scones can’t take it anymore. They’re flammable, you know.” Ash blinked, unimpressed, and resumed preening her feathers, now vibrant and flame-free. Apparently, a phoenix had no regard for afternoon etiquette. Humor in the Flames Being the Guardian wasn’t all fire and glory. Sure, Flare could wield powerful magic and control the very essence of the grove, but most of her duties were a bit... less glamorous. For example, there was the time she had to deal with a family of particularly stubborn raccoons who decided the enchanted waterfall was their personal swimming pool. Then there was the occasional nuisance of misplaced portals, which opened in the middle of her garden, allowing lost adventurers to wander in, asking for directions to some nonexistent treasure. One time, a rogue wizard had even shown up, convinced that the forest hid a fountain of eternal youth. Flare, with her fiery hair standing on end and a singed robe draped over her shoulder, had kindly redirected him to a mud pit, which, for the record, was very effective in exfoliating the skin, if not in turning back time. But the real challenge of being the Guardian wasn’t the bizarre magical mishaps or the occasional fire hazard. It was living up to the expectations that came with the title. Every rebirth of Ash reminded her of her own journey—how she had been reborn, in a sense, when she took on this responsibility. Each day, she woke to a new challenge, a new fire to put out—sometimes literally, sometimes metaphorically. And while it was exhausting, there was a strange beauty in it. Like Ash, she too had learned that life was a constant cycle of destruction and creation. The Beauty of Rebirth Flare often reflected on the symbolism of her bond with Ash. The phoenix’s endless cycle of death and rebirth mirrored her own struggles in life. She’d been through it all—loss, heartache, bad haircuts—but each trial only made her stronger, more resilient, and, frankly, more sarcastic. She had learned to laugh at the absurdity of it all because, in the end, what else could you do when your pet phoenix decided to combust in the middle of a knitting circle? Every rebirth, every new flame, was a reminder that life could always be remade. When one chapter ended, another began. When the flames died down, there was always something new waiting in the ashes—whether it was a freshly hatched phoenix or a new understanding of her own strength. And though Flare sometimes wished for a quieter life, she knew deep down that she was exactly where she was meant to be. So, with a resigned smile, she embraced the chaos, the rebirths, and the never-ending flames. Because being the Guardian of the Enchanted Grove wasn’t just about protecting the forest. It was about accepting that life, like fire, was wild, unpredictable, and—if you learned to laugh at it—beautiful in its own way. “Ash,” Flare said one evening, as the phoenix settled into her glowing nest for the night, “try not to burn down the treehouse again. I just redecorated.” Ash squawked in response, her fiery tail already curling up. Flare sighed, shaking her head. Rebirth was a beautiful thing, but so was a bit of peace and quiet.    Add a Touch of Magic to Your World Inspired by Flare's fiery spirit and the magical world she protects, why not bring a little piece of that enchantment into your own life? Whether you're seeking to capture the beauty of birth and rebirth, or simply want to add a spark of fantasy to your surroundings, we’ve got the perfect items for you: Inferno of the Wild Tapestry – Transform any room into a magical grove with this vibrant tapestry, capturing the essence of fire, nature, and mystical beauty. Inferno of the Wild Puzzle – Challenge yourself with this intricate puzzle, a perfect way to immerse yourself in the fiery beauty of the enchanted forest as you piece together this magical scene. Inferno of the Wild Greeting Card – Share the magic with loved ones by sending them this beautifully designed card featuring Flare and her phoenix, perfect for any occasion that celebrates transformation and new beginnings. Inferno of the Wild Wood Print – Elevate your decor with this striking wood print, a timeless piece that captures the raw beauty of the Guardian and her phoenix in a durable, natural format. Whether it's a tapestry, a puzzle, or a card, each product offers a glimpse into a world of magic, fire, and rebirth. Let Flare and Ash inspire you to embrace life's cycles, one flame at a time. Discover more at Unfocussed Shop, where fantasy meets art and everyday objects are transformed into pieces of magic.

by Bill Tiepelman

Laughing with Dragons: A Gnome's Joyful Moment

In a forest where the trees never stop gossiping and the mushrooms grow as tall as your ego, there lived a gnome named Grimble Bottomsworth. Grimble wasn’t just your average gnome—oh no, he was the gnome who could out-laugh a banshee, out-drink a troll, and out-flirt a tree nymph (not that the nymphs appreciated it). Sitting atop his favorite oversized toadstool, he was having one of his famous chuckling fits. But this time, he had a new partner in crime: a baby dragon named Snarky. Now, Snarky wasn’t your typical dragon. For starters, he was about the size of a house cat and didn’t breathe fire, but he did occasionally burp out something that smelled worse than an ogre’s armpit. Snarky flapped his tiny wings, perched in Grimble's grubby hand, puffing out his chest like he was the king of this absurdly colorful jungle. Grimble cackled. “Look at this little bugger! Thinks he’s fierce! Ha! You couldn’t roast a marshmallow if it begged ya, could ya, Snarky?” Snarky, feeling the insult (or maybe just responding to Grimble’s constant stench of ale and mushroom stew), let out a tiny, yet surprisingly sharp, flame that singed a bit of Grimble’s beard. The gnome paused, blinked, and then erupted into laughter so hearty that a nearby squirrel dropped its acorn in shock. “Oi! That’s the best ya got? My granny’s breath is hotter than that, and she’s been dead for forty years!” Grimble slapped his knee, almost tipping off the toadstool as his leathery boots dangled in the air. “Bloody brilliant!” The Unfortunate Toadstool Incident As Grimble kept laughing, his mushroom throne gave a low groan. You see, toadstools aren’t exactly made to support the weight of a gnome who spent most of his life binge-eating pies and downing mead. With a rather unceremonious squelch, the toadstool gave way, collapsing beneath Grimble’s rotund rear with a fart-like noise that echoed through the forest. “Well, bugger me sideways!” Grimble exclaimed as he found himself flat on his back, surrounded by the remnants of what was once his beloved mushroom seat. “That toadstool didn’t stand a chance, did it? Too much ale and… well, let’s just say I’ve had a few more pies than I should’ve.” Snarky let out a snicker, which was an odd sound coming from a dragon, but it seemed fitting. The tiny dragon flapped his wings, hovering just above Grimble’s beard, which had now caught a few mushroom chunks. “Oi! You laughing at me, ya scaly little fart?” Grimble grunted, wiping his hands on his tunic, smearing dirt and mushroom bits across it. “Bloody hell, this place is a mess. I look like a drunk dwarf after a wedding feast. Not that I’m much better at weddings either… well, not after what happened last time.” He trailed off, muttering something about a goat and too much wine. A Foul Bet “Tell ya what, Snarky,” Grimble said, still sprawled on the ground, one leg draped over a broken mushroom stalk, “if you can manage to burn that there big ol’ mushroom,” he pointed to a colossal red-capped toadstool about ten feet away, “I’ll get ya all the roasted rabbits you can stomach. But if you fail, you’ve gotta clean my boots for a month! And trust me, they smell worse than a troll after a spa day.” Snarky narrowed his eyes and let out a determined growl that sounded more like a hiccup. He swooped down to the ground, planted his tiny claws, and puffed up his chest. With a snort, he unleashed a pathetic puff of smoke that dissipated in the wind faster than Grimble’s last bit of dignity. “Oh, come on! My piss after a night at the tavern’s got more heat than that!” Grimble guffawed, rolling over and clutching his belly. “Looks like you’ll be lickin’ my boots clean, mate!” Snarky, thoroughly annoyed, darted forward and clamped his tiny jaws onto Grimble’s nose. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but just enough to make the gnome yelp. “Oi! You cheeky bastard!” Grimble yelped, pulling the dragon off his face and glaring at him, though the effect was lost because he was still laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll give ya a rabbit anyway, ya little shit.” He scratched the back of his head and let out a deep sigh, the kind only someone who’s eaten one too many pies could muster. The Aftermath As the day wore on, Grimble and Snarky settled into their usual routine of half-hearted bickering, mushroom-smashing, and general forest chaos. Despite their insults and shenanigans, they made quite the pair—both oddballs in their own right, united by their love of mischief and the fact that neither of them could take life (or each other) too seriously. And so, in the heart of the enchanted forest, with his belly full of pie and his beard smelling faintly of burnt mushrooms, Grimble Bottomsworth spent his days laughing with dragons, farting on mushrooms, and reminding anyone who crossed his path that even in a world full of magic, sometimes the best thing you can do is sit back, have a laugh, and let the dragon bite your nose when you've earned it. “Here’s to another day of nonsense,” Grimble said, raising his flask to Snarky, “and may your farts never be hotter than your breath, ya useless little lizard.” Snarky burped in response. “Atta boy.”     Bring the Whimsy Home! If you enjoyed Grimble’s wild antics and Snarky’s mischief, you can bring a piece of this magical world into your own! 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