Author Spotlight
Graft series by John Lamphere
Graft By John Lamphere
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A world of fantasy or is it all just to a grain of sand? Follow Jorsh Endwind down into the sound of this mad buzzing down into ground where that mad buzzing light is all consuming and ever did the... More > pixie and all their kind lie within. Down in the ground where the flowing ore is but a river of those deep gnomes to harvest and the sound would stop. Furthest down where the light has no meaning and all things dark must stay for to leave the shadow this land of magic and cursed song all would burn and let her heart swim those molten veins.< Less
Graft By John Lamphere
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A world of fantasy or is it all just to a grain of sand? Follow Jorsh Endwind down into the sound of this mad buzzing down into ground where that mad buzzing light is all consuming and ever did the... More > pixie and all their kind lie within. Down in the ground where the flowing ore is but a river of those deep gnomes to harvest and the sound would stop. Furthest down where the light has no meaning and all things dark must stay for to leave the shadow this land of magic and cursed song all would burn and let her heart swim those molten veins.< Less
Graft: Will o' The Wisp By John Lamphere
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A broken wing in song through this leaving forest blooms like exodus as upon and within the eye of a cloud. This dusting of glory as she folds those wings to all will fade of health and ever lost. ... More > All the diamonds in the deep was for something far more akin to this darkness as below the rotting wood lay two forgotten children. Their teeth and claws having dug out a hole so vast and unforgiving where both did shimmer and fold to the mirrored image of this existence. Moth winged and scattered to the former destruction of the bog whereas under flesh gave to this skin a city of incredible make. Surrene tried but she could not bring him from the pull as the bow string took row after row of the taller shields, sand then crawling up the massive frame as to an eagle in flight would mark away this bird only to pluck her son from the coming dark. A dream slow to open as only one more overlapped this fall back into the abyss.< Less
Graft: do we dream in death By John Lamphere
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Ever hiss did the blade twist up from the boggy marsh and the feeling did pass. Swords and great spears kissed the blue streets, thrown or dropped as the broken stuck from out the ice held path and... More > roadways along their fallen tribesmen. A light not meant for old men gave the shadow its course to glint and then fade away. This ripple of blue fluttering thought was far better or worse than any ghost between his father's cryptic speeches and like that nothing that always listened to such order was the thought back to his sunflowers and Edmund would be his hope this day. Only her dreams held electric to the fading wind, such to foretell the fog of this simple farmer and his path as it set before them only to the roaming road of the old marsh, far from those dreadful graves of this dying land. Sorrow into the one day in a dying eye of the sparrow and Edmund would promise to never take from this again as such innocence held to experiment, he knew well what he did to this tree.< Less
Graft: the devil's diamond By John Lamphere
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The poisoned will and a fog set upon the reaches were a time to war and what may come of the fairer races. Dwarven strongholds and through the southern lands of the pixie where all their magic is... More > set an underground kingdom could this be to a single grain of sand. The great tree will grow again to a time when men were little and far between and the women left to carry the burden of this war. I do not remember when the tree was whole or when it stood so tall but here to see it cleaved at the trunk and its people like the fruit left to rot in the colder sands. I don't remember many things as I used to or the way was the color in that little girl's hair yet there she stood waiting for me to know how this all would play out. My people, this fruit, or anything left for this rotten world is man, the short ones who live in the east and make money on the backs of the proud native. Death has all that is time left to be and this covering is slow to find what we really must become.< Less