Gooday everyone,
Welcome to the Deacon Corner. If you’re new here, these galleries dive into the inspirations behind the images you’ll find throughout the books posted on these pages. In these issues, I also like to share the commission details for each project, so readers can follow along with how these images came to life.
If there’s a particular piece you’re curious about, you can find all previous issues under my journal entries or linked directly beneath the images within each chapter.
Now before we begin, none of these beautiful art pieces would exist without the incredible talent of Sickjoe who is the creative force behind all the artwork in these books. Quite literally the heart and soul of this visual world. If you appreciate his work as much as I do, I encourage you to visit his gallery and explore more of his stunning creations.
Now, without further ado, let's take a look at the featured image and the commission details below.
The Leviathans are fractured echoes of the Great Devourer, carved from her flesh and will by the trinity of Crucius, Crux, and Saevus. Each one is a wandering nightmare, colossal, abstract beings adrift across the stars, resembling cosmic jellyfish twisted into impossible geometries. Their forms defy symmetry: some trail vaporous tendrils that flicker and fade, others pulse with internal organs that spiral like blooming galaxies. No two Leviathans are alike, but all are defined by their gaping maws—dark, endless voids from which not even light returns.
They drift silently between constellations, patrolling the heavens in search of new “flavors”, hungering for novelty, for life, for memory. Their passage explains the emptiness of space, vast regions scrubbed clean by their insatiable consumption. Planets, stars, even time-warped debris fields, all devoured without pause.
From these lesser Leviathans are born a different breed of engineers, children not of Kath’le Kal, but of bastard bloodlines. These engineers, forged in alien wombs and pulsing nebulae, are deemed unworthy of entry into the sacred desert of the Devourer. Instead, they are cast into the void, drifting like broken tools.
Yet they are not without their uses.
Even in rejection, they serve a purpose—to assist the Devourer in her eternal search for the lost Garden of Eden, that fabled origin point, a mythic oasis whispered through larval hymns and corrupted scripture. And so they wander, malformed and loyal, shaping nothing, consuming everything, dreaming of paradise.