Odd as Folk

If Edward Gorey ever traded his sardonic misanthropy for a sense of cautious warmth — and then self-published character sheets instead of alphabetic obituaries — you might end up with something like FOLK.

Kate Barbaria’s zine is a quiet marvel: twenty brief portraits of characters that feel less like RPG stat blocks and more like emotionally resonant ghosts. Each is sketched with care, not just in ink (which flows with pleasing weight and whimsy), but in tone — evoking odd childhoods, hidden longing, and the everyday magic of uncertainty. These are not heroes in the traditional sense, but archetypes caught mid-thought: a boy who is both 75 and 10; a girl who walks close to the walls of her own home; a sailor, a seeker, a queen, a giver — all made strange by the specificity of their habits and hesitations.

What makes FOLK sing is its restraint. Barbaria doesn’t over-explain. Instead, she gives us a mood, a few italicized traits, and just enough narrative to suggest a life. Like Gorey’s work, it trusts us to connect the dots — but unlike Gorey, it does so with gentleness rather than doom. There is melancholy here, yes, but also awe. These are characters to care about, not mock. They feel like old memories you never had.

Visually, FOLK is a delight. The linework is clean and expressive, with echoes of children’s books, haunted correspondence, and mid-century design. Each character feels at home on the page but ready to slip off into your next campaign, your next story, your next dream.

In the growing genre of system-neutral RPG zines and narrative tools, FOLK stands out not for its mechanics but for its mood. It’s a compendium of almost-friends and whispered backstories — a beautifully quiet invitation to imagine alongside its creator.

Whether you use it for character inspiration, narrative prompts, or just a lovely read on a rainy afternoon, FOLK is a small, strange treasure: part Gorey, part journaling game, and entirely its own.