| |
| | The Sorcerer At Table by Michael Fantina (Site not responding. Last check: ) |
 | | The polished plateau-procured white oak, bound with iron hasps held the table top fast, a field whereon the sorcerer took sustenance for mind, body and spirit. |
 | | Its contents spilt in tortuous rivulets like the lives of hapless holocausts, and round that slender silver stem of the fine cup clutched the sorcerer’s fingers. |
 | | His reclining arm reached down the table toward a distant bowl, became the pillow for his head, where, bemoaning all, he breathed his last. |
| www.eldritchdark.com /trib/prosep/sorcerer_at_table.html (165 words) |
|