Graeme Brandham

@graemesatlas.substack.com

390 Followers 837 Following

Writer | Artist | World-Builder 🌀Charting the intersection of story, philosophy & wonder in my Substack Atlas. 🌀Currently navigating rabbits, dinosaurs & the nature of reality. 🐰🦕☯️

An Arabic, ottoman looking interpretation of Gavilar Kholin in royal attire. Deep blues, yellows and gold's. Persian architecture.
Philoc however was conspicuously absent, or so it seemed. That was until a rustle from a nearby stall, laden with tidily packed up baskets, gave way to a Rabbit mumbling to himself about how unfair it was that the market sellers would store all of their dried figs elsewhere for the night. Disgruntled for a moment, he seemed instantly cheered, however, by the sight of a garland of flowers hanging nearby. He stopped for a moment and sat down on his hind feet, admiring them like a person might admire a statue of Aphrodite - with his head cocked slightly to the side like a puppy.
I didn’t know then whether to be thankful that when I got home she wasn’t there. By this point my heart was in tatters and I didn’t read the room properly. I was crushing myself under the weight of this betrayal and so I only saw what I wanted to see, that perhaps she had gone to her sisters as she often did to listen to some music. I grabbed my phone and my belongings and left. An utter disgrace, and yet I knew it had to be done. What kind of a man abandons his wife and unborn child? I did.
A gentle, black-and-white line-art illustration of Terrance the triceratops, shown in three forms to represent his journey through time. On the left, he joyfully hatches from an egg, his long tail ending in feathers, sometimes with a butterfly resting there amicably. In the center, he stands as his full self, waving warmly at the viewer. On the right, his animated skeleton waves with equal cheer, its own tail a delicate string of detached vertebrae. He's a character who has transcended his mortal body, and here he is waving hello to the past, the present, and the future, all at once and with the same friendly smile.
Immediately below Lys was quick to notice signs of habitation. Living quarters, communal spaces, even parkland, that existed within the confines of this line that stretched all the way to the horizon. But beyond that line was where the real magic started. They seemed to float above a vast, azure ocean, its surface dappled with simulated sunlight. Islands crowned with lush, vibrant green rising from its depths. Then, as the capsule moved along the belt proper, the landscape below shifted, transitioning to land and followed by sweeping plains reminiscent of earth's ancient savannas, complete with herds of meticulously cared for creatures grazing peacefully. Dr Hedghe, positioning himself for optimal viewing and effect, seized the moment.
On the large screen, the firework display of lights slowed, the myriad flickers representing the ships systems pulsed once in unison, a subtle visual acknowledgement of the new sisters activation, before settling into a contented rhythmic glow. Lys watched the faces around him. He saw the relief of years of work culminating in this moment on some, scientific triumph on others, particularly Dr Hedghe who beamed like a proud father. Lysanders own expression remained impassive, but the phrase “no interaction with us”, and “perfect harmony” reverberated in his mind, brushing against the scarred edge of old memories - of another intelligence, another promise of flawless operation, and the visceral chaos that followed.
A full-body digital illustration of a heroic, anthropomorphic lion pirate standing against a neutral grey background. He is tall and muscular, with a full, dark mane framing a stoic face. He's dressed for adventure in a tattered pirate hat with a feather, a ragged red cape that billows to his left, a simple white tank top, and dark, loose-fitting breeches. A leather strap crosses his chest and a blue sash is tied at his waist. He holds a wickedly curved dagger in his right hand, ready but not aggressive. For the sighted and the story-seekers: This is Captain Kaelen, moments after a squall. The salt spray still clings to his mane, and the tear in his cape is a fresh reminder of the mast he had to climb. He isn't looking for a fight, but his steady grip on his knife, 'Persuasion', suggests he's quite prepared to finish one. He's likely calculating the distance to the nearest port and wondering if they have any ale that doesn't taste like bilge water.
A digital drawing of a bizarre and menacing anthropomorphic lion pirate. He is short and stocky, crouched in an aggressive stance. Instead of fur and flesh, his face, mane, and exposed chest appear to be made of a lumpy, pinkish, coral-like substance, and his eyes glow with an unsettling orange light. He wears a weathered pirate hat and a formal blue captain's coat over his monstrous form. He brandishes a long, sharp boat hook in one hand and a short sword in the other, poised to strike. For those peering into the abyss: Be wary, for this is a sketch of a 'Coral-Cursed' captain. Sailors whisper that such creatures are formed when a pirate's greed is so great, the sea itself claims and reshapes them. His coat is fine, a relic of the man he once was, but the creature within is pure ocean wrath. The glowing eyes don't seek treasure anymore; they hunt for souls to drag down into the crushing dark. His name has been forgotten, lost to the depths he now serves.
The following is a self-contained origin myth from my novel-in-progress, 'Strings of Us.' It's a foundational piece of lore that explores the moment rabbit-kind first achieved self-awareness. Eventually, polished chapters and histories like this one will form the core of the paid subscription, but for now, I am thrilled to share it with all of you.
Comic book cover for Don Rosa's uncle scrooge and Donald duck comic.
The Eden Project
Newquay, Cornwall
Mystic in Connecticut
Cash'ya the historian Rabbit.