Review of "Rex Mundi: The Guardian of the Temple"

“Rex Mundi: The Guardian of the Temple” written by Arvid Nelson and illustrated by Eric J is an impressive graphic novel. The story takes place in Paris. The year is 1933, but with the backdrop of a revisionist past. Avrid Nelson’s France along with all of Europe is still ruled by monarchies. The Ottoman and Holy Roman empires still exist. Guilds and knightly orders exert influence on society, while sorcery is very real and policed by the Church. All these themes are flawlessly interwoven. Despite the factual and historical differences, the tale feels like it takes place in 1930’s Paris.

The story’s protagonist is Dr. Julien Sauniere. The intrigue begins when Father Marin asks him to investigate the theft of a medieval scroll from his church. During the course of Juelien’s investigation, he discovers a series or ritual killings tied to a secret society. But as he digs deeper into the mystery of the missing scroll, he catches the attention of those who don’t want their secrets revealed…

Eric J makes this world come to life. The visual design of the cloths, furniture, and architecture is historically accurate. Using full-page spreads of newspaper stories to give the readers a sense of the time and players in this altered world is a stroke of genius. Eric’s illustrations work well with Nelson’s story to immerse the reader in a tale of conspiracy and magic. I haven’t read anything this good since The Sandman Series.

"Elements - Fire" - By Cathrine Langwagen

Cathrine Langwagen is a digital artist who specializes in fantasy and natural element themed works. A resident of Cardiff, Wales - her inspirations come from nature, myths, and fairy tales. In creating her art, Cathrine primarily uses a Wacom Tablet and Adobe Photoshop.

Ms. Langwagen's work has been awarded the Daily Deviation multiple times. I highly recommend visiting her gallery.Prints of her work are available on her website: http://www.cassiopeiaart.com

I, Dracula: Part One by Jason Zapata

By the Order of The Dragon I was knighted
To defend Wallachia and faithfully support
His holiness Pope Pius II's crusade to thwart
The Turks who left Constantinople blighted
Crescent moons marked that land as benighted
Many prayed for the fall of the Ottoman Court
I never possessed a tongue for such a resort
Battle was the only psalm I wished recited

The Sultan’s claim of sovereignty I would refute
Treating his demands and envoys with disrespect
Turbans nailed to their heads had the desired effect
Of showing I held Mehmed’s authoring in disrepute
Denying him the men and gold he took as tribute
The riches of Wallachia were no longer his to collect
My beautiful wife and kingdom I swore to protect
Against my hated adversaries that were en route

Safe from danger I intended Elizabeta to be kept
But Poenari’s Castle’s walls could not withhold
The army of Romanian Janissaries that did enfold
Life in captivity was something she could not accept
So from the heights of her besieged tower she leapt
...She fell into the Raul Doamnei that ran so cold
The sodden remains of my wife I would behold
Tears shed mourning her were the last I ever wept

In blood soaked butchery I avenged the lover I failed
Word of my excessive barbarity became widespread
One act in particular filled Sultan Mehmed with dread
My forests of flesh made from Turks I had impaled
For days these dying soldiers screamed and wailed
As I gathered their blood in bowls to dip my bread
A mad king who surrounded himself with the dead
Giving no rest or quarter to the enemies I assailed



Click here to read: Part Two

"House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Danielewski

"House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Danielewski is jarringly unconventional and instills a deep sense of dread within its readers. Through the use of elaborate text arrangement, numerous footnotes, (some referencing non-existent books), and multiple narrators - Danielewski creates a dark and disorientating tale.

House of Leaves begins with the first-person narration of Johnny Truant. Johnny is a troubled tattoo parlor employee who stumbles upon a manuscript written by a blind, elderly man named Zampano.This turns out to be a written account of a fictional, documentary film called The Navidson Record. Johnny begins to read Zampano’s notes and becomes drawn into the maddening tale.

The manuscript describes the Navidson family as they move into a mysterious house in Virginia whose interior exceeds its exterior. This oddity is quickly overshadowed by the sudden appearance of a closet in the family’s living room. A closet that inexplicable expands into tunnels and caverns of utter darkness. This paradox draws members of the Navidson family and others in. Dementia and death shortly follow.

Johnny Truant’s own grip on reality falters as his obsession in completing Zampano’s work takes over his life. The darkness and fear haunting the Navidson’s family soon materializes in his own life when a beast of shadow stalks him. But is this an actual monster? Or is it a figment of Truant’s own mind? As the credibility of Johnny’s narration erodes throughout the story – what can the reader consider real?

Danielewski uses the myth of the Minotaur in the Labyrinth. Is this done to allude to those beings lost within the Navidson home’s inky depths? Is it an allusion to Johnny Truant being lost to the darkness within his own mind? Or is the reader the misshapen creature trapped within the maze of Danielewski’s words? Read the House of Leaves and decide for yourself.

"Path of Petals" By Linda Bergkvist

~

The moss, underneath the touch of her fingertips, was thick, and sticky; when she retracted her trembling digits, it clung to the satin skin. Stubbornly, bitterly; scented in a cloyingly sweet way that became almost overwhelming, as she rubbed her fingertips together.

It smells like blood.

That was her first thought, and it was strong. It nailed itself firmly to the walls of her mind, and lingered there as she turned to rush deeper into the woods. Soft, silky tears streaming down ivory white cheeks.

Pale blossoms clutched to her chest, as if their bridal-veil petals could somehow banish the harsh words she had spoken - and those that had been spoken to her.
~

It's interesting that Linda Bergkvist included the text above with this piece. Linda is a Swedish artist who specializes in fantasy art. She likes to include Elves and the Fae in her creations. Fashion Photograph serves as another influence and we see this in the garb her characters wear in her paintings.

Linda's work as a digital artist began when she received a Wacom on her 20th birthday. Her future ambition is to create a book on dark fairy tales that will feature her artwork. You can see more of Linda Bergkvist's work by checking out her gallery on deviant art.

She also has her work displayed on her website: http://www.furiae.com/index.php

My Redeemer by Jason Zapata

What Hell I have dragged her through.
This devoted conscience bound in flesh.
Rescuing me from fires of fault and flaw,
The flames of my failures sear her.
Irrationally she remains by my side still.
Faithful in her belief I will someday honor
All the promises I have yet to fulfill.
I caress her lovely face.
She is my guardian angel,
My would-be saving grace.

There is no abandoning this path I tread,
As it coils deeper into unyielding sorrow.
She’s radiant in the darkness engulfing me,
My salvation that refuses to surrender.
She sees all the noble acts I would commit
Fall easy prey to the infirmity of my nature,
Victims of the failings to which I submit.
Her heart has not hardened,
As I seek forgiveness for,
Crimes that cannot be pardoned.

How can anyone remain so patient,
When given no reason to remain so?
Despite this battle being a lost cause.
She valiantly confronts my demons,
Always without reservation or pause.
She is my Virgil in this Hell.
I would be lost without her,
My last and only chance.
My Redeemer.

Abdul Alhazred by Jason Zapata

As a man in Sana’a I heard their voices
The inhuman dialect flooded my mind
With images of a vast nameless city
Lying in the wastes of Roba El Khaliyeh

I wandered through buildings and spires
Built by a race not of this earth and time
Descending deeper into the city’s depths
Where madness and damnation awaited

Within the fathomless cavern I became
A worshipper of the great devourer
Imbued with the forbidden knowledge of
The unreverberate blackness of the abyss

In forgotten R’lyeh dead Cthulhu sleeps
But my master's message reaches me still:
That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange aeons even death may die