Faulke Tavian is a enchanter, herbalist, scholar, and master of disguise. As the head of the Thief Gendarme, he pursues the esoteric by any means necessary. This is a preliminary sketch for the cover of Daemon Lost which will display the ensemble cast. Faulke studied the young men before him and decided to mimic their demeanor. If he was going to be turned away, he didn't want his adversaries hunting him down for his audacious inquisitiveness, but rather be dismissed as a local drunk. He used what little transformative magic of fashion he had on hand, removing his leather doublet to hang askance in the crook of one arm while loosening his collar strings. “Was your ugly mug and weak knees that soured her taste! Now bugger off!” grumbled one ruffian as he shoved the most drunk of the lot through the sheet of rain. He slipped in the mud splashing it over Faulke’s trousers. “He's still weak in the knees for her” another of the group crowed while the others cackled in la...

Kyra Dakar comes from a clan of gypsies that once roamed Sibain before her father settled down to run a curio shop in Gavrenslocke. This is a preliminary sketch for the cover of Daemon Lost which will display the ensemble cast. The stranger then turned to draw the shop curtains and flip the Open sign to Closed while Kyra remained frozen staring out the now obscured store window. During her moment frozen there a lifetime seemed to pass. She saw her mother and father holding each other, their eyes eerily reflecting the flickering light of a bonfire, while she played foxes and hens with the other gypsy children. She could hear the caravan dogs baying to the wild wolves of the alpine woods, the laughing and shrieking of children in the dusk light, and the murmur of all the adults as they solemnly spoke around the bonfire. The smell of ashen debris mingled with the scent of fresh pine and spruce as the fire growled and blustered over their encampment like an angry titan. That mom...

Dusque and Dove, these magical nature spirits came to me in a cold evergreen forest. Dove, in nigh white, pale azure feathered catsuit was blonde and lovely. I couldn't tell if she had wings or if it was just streams of light through the trees behind her. At first she was walking away until she noticed me. She then approached and laid me in a cold river. My eyes drank in the moisture of the water. I was aware of the heat of my body streaming around me, the cold water drinking in my body heat. Then through the blur of water as I sunk deeper a dark form appeared behind her. He was cloaked, tall, face hidden in shadow. He wore black furs with iridescent raven feathers adorned about him. His black leather cloak fluttered in the wind and wavered through the watery breaking light of my descent. He stood over her, protecting Dove, overseeing my descent into calmness, into the waters of serenity.

Fleur Alston There was no hand to hold me back That night I found the ancient track Over the hill, and strained to see The fields that teased my memory. This tree, that wall—I knew them well, And all the roofs and orchards fell Familiarly upon my mind As from a past not far behind. I knew what shadows would be cast When the late moon came up at last From back of Zaman’s Hill, and how The vale would shine three hours from now. And when the path grew steep and high, And seemed to end against the sky, I had no fear of what might rest Beyond that silhouetted crest. Straight on I walked, while all the night Grew pale with phosphorescent light, And wall and farmhouse gable glowed Unearthly by the climbing road. There was the milestone that I knew— “Two miles to Dunwich”—now the view Of distant spire and roofs would dawn With ten more upward paces gone. . . . There was no hand to hold me back That night I found the ancient track, And reached the crest to see ou...

2016 was rough. Beneath the waves I was beaten against the rocks of fate and blinded by the slurry of poor decisions that once settled there years before. 2017 my head is up above the water's chaos. I can breath again. I can think again. React with more than reptile survival instincts. From here I see a great wave swelling. Time to swim hard to ride that wave. Stay, rest, and be content. The waves will push us under. Swim, ride, and be honest. The waves will carry us into a beautiful new era.

From sketches yet to be colored to quick paints lacking refinement, artists often share their works in progress in varying levels of rawness. The art of creation can be a lengthy grueling process and these WIP's allow friends, fans, and loved ones to see the evolution of the artist's long gestating endeavors. Otherwise there would be extended periods of silence within which their daily efforts may be forgotten. With that in mind I'd like to offer to you a WIP of book one in the Lorekeeper's Saga. This is an excerpt from the first draft of "Daemon Lost". The names and title are subject to change, yet here you'll find a glimpse into the world of Aerlon.     As the man closed the thick red curtain behind him, she recognized her client by his silhouette alone. He was a regular here. The din of the tavern beyond was muffled as the curtain fell into place and the man took a seat across from her.      “Welcome Hellsdreamer,” she greeted, reverently shuffling a...