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Meromorph Games is a game company, creators of the card games The Shipwreck Arcana and Norsaga.
Art and gameplay design diary as well as current news and updates.
These blog posts will feature art from various projects Matthew has done over the years.
The story: Several recent bits of art from a fan expansion project I worked on with my old roommate (and occasionally Kevin) over the last 5 years. It's probably the main reason I got into board game art.
Drawn: 2018
These blog posts will feature art from various projects Matthew has done over the years.
The story: I don't play many dedicated 2-player games, but I have a soft spot for Flash Duel by Dave Sirlin. These are from a custom print-and-play version I made to add more variety to the art. And while I don't draw a lot of pop-culture fan art, I couldn't resist throwing some recognizable characters in:
Drawn: 2012
These blog posts will feature art from various projects Matthew has done over the years.
The story: Some random drawings as I was experimenting with low-detail styles, in the hopes of one day making a comic (which never happened).
Drawn: 2015
These blog posts will feature art from various projects Matthew has done over the years.
The story: Another early drawing project, illustrating a poem that Kevin wrote called Bowden Moor. I'm still fond of the poem.
Drawn: 2011
Full poem:
A poor man came to Bowden Moor
To the edge of the ghastly heath,
And looked at the mist on the road before
Him that shrouded the land beneath.
A fakir who crouched by the way-side there
Leapt up at the poor man's tread,
"Master," said he, "if you will dare,
I will show you the path ahead."
"No," said the peasant, "I shall turn back,"
--but the fakir wrung his hand--
"Master," said he, "upon the track
Is a treasure both vast and grand."
"You know the way through the misty moor?"
"Master, I know it well."
"Why have you not fetched the treasure before?"
"Master, I may not tell."
But the poor man looked past the fakir's hood
To the edge of the lonely bog
And what he saw made him shake where he stood:
"Dear God! there's bones in the fog!"
Then at once within the haunted mist
The poor man's eyes conceived
Of a host of phantoms that writhed and hissed;
For in such things the poor man believed,
And though he was soothed by the fakir's voice
And was bid not to mind the dead,
The poor man had already made his choice
And would not go on ahead.
Soon a rich man came to Bowden Moor
To the edge of the ghastly pond,
And looked at the fog on the road before
Him that threatened the path beyond.
The fakir who crouched by the way-side there
Sprang up as the lord drew near,
"Master," said he, "if you will dare,
I will guide you across the mere."
"Why," said the lord, "should I follow you?"
--the fakir bowed quite low--
"Master," said he, "because if you do,
Wealth beyond even yours shall you know."
The lord looked out and beheld the remains
At the edge of the misty fen,
"Those who have tried to earn these gains
Have never succeeded, then?"
"Master, it's true", the fakir began--
"Then show me this untainted prize!"
So the fakir obeyed, and lead the rich man
Into the cold land without skies.
Only the ground underfoot shone bright,
And the fakir's lantern before
As the rich man crossed the endless night
That stretched over Bowden Moor.
Then his tread fell upon a brooch of gold,
And the rich man looked around
And saw that treasures, bright and cold
Were scattered upon the ground.
"Hold!" he cried to the fakir's shade,
Where it bobbed ahead in the murk,
"The treasure is here!" --but the fakir stayed--
"Master, we must not lurk."
"I wager there's more!" the rich man cried out
As he reached to seize all he beheld
But he soon went too far, and the brilliance died out
From the lantern the fakir had held.
Then shone the gold, no longer bright,
For all that the rich man found
Was polished glass that caught the light
Where it lay on the treacherous ground.
And the rich man swore, and cursed his prize
For he had been deceived
And willed that the glass have a richer guise:
That was what the rich man perceived.
Now a blind man came to Bowden Moor
At the edge of the ghastly peat,
Using a staff to feel before
Him and dragging his weary feet.
The fakir who crouched by the way-side there
Came forward, and "Master" said he,
"A fen lies before you, but should you dare,
I can take you across with me."
The blind man said, "That would be well."
So the fakir took his arm
While the blind man used his staff to tell
If aught should raise alarm.
At once he heard the clack of bone
Against his staff and said,
"So men have come this way alone--
Their folly left them dead."
The fakir said no word, but drew
The blind man ever on,
Until glass breaking echoed through
The silence, and was gone.
"That was not yours, the flask I stepped
Upon just now?" he asked.
"Master, not mine," the fakir wept,
"But one whom I was tasked
To guide across these lands of night
Toward fortune and esteem,
Yet foolish, left my guiding light
To seek a bitter dream."
Then came the pair out of the mist
And "Halt," said the fakir.
"Master, the supper you have missed
Would glad be served you here.
This is my home." The blind man sighed,
And said, "That would be well.
I wander all the seasons wide
And of no home can tell.
A meal, a rest, would to me bring
More life than gold could give.
But" --and he stopped-- "tell me one thing.
Why would you help me live?"
"Master", the fakir said, "I care
To ease your way because
You did not see what was not there
And so saw all that was."