I need to let you know that I have been working on a rebranding of the series, art-wise and content-size-wise. I'll be keeping the overhead title 'iumentis saga' but I am making new art for 2 of the old publications and as well as I need to make new absurdly detailed art for 3 other books. I am splitting "Lice, a Killer, and a Psychopath" into 2 books because it is just one massive novel right now (Over 220,000 words). I feel that it would be more easily digestible as two books around 115-135k each with a more refined ending and starting point to divide the story better and to insert a whole new unique prologue for the second half to do more world building. I love world building in my prologues and endings. I've also been limited on how much time per week I can work on this project, especially the art. My art style is incredibly time consuming despite how satisfying it is to see my progress and skills evolve. If you are an agent willing to invest, I will drop my life to make sure this series gets 60 hours a week of attention from me, or more. At how fast I write a 200k novel, I could get these books out every 2-4 months including the artwork if my agent has an editor to join me. Only you, an experienced agent or publisher would know if I am sitting on a gold mine or not, so let me know.
CONTACT:
X (formerly Twitter): @LouiePBernard
Bluesky: @lpbernard.bsky.social
e-mail: lpbernard@iumentissaga.com
I do not give out my personal number except to agents or publishers that want to physically meet at a coffee shop. If you are or know an agent for fiction writers looking for, well, what you see on this site, I am ready, willing, and able to return to focusing 40-60 hours a week on this passion of mine with your professional guidance and partnership. My writing is not and never will be for anyone under 18 years old. My contains shock and gore and horror and LGBTQ+ and many other sensitive topics and may not go well with most adult audiences. If you are squeamish about things like The Boys, Invincible, Attack on Titan, Beastars, Game of Thrones at its filthiest and bloodiest, then I would not make a good addition to your agency.
Thank you for reading this update posted on April 6th, 2025.
-LPB
Click/Tap the image of the books below to go to its page with more art and information! (Updates to book 4 COMING SOON, including a whole drawn comic I had made 15 years ago.)
There remains much work left to do, but this is where the artwork for the next book is at, for now. I've been tinkering with different backgrounds. I have also been quite busy and am finding it difficult to find the time to work on this as much as I wish.
Four days marching into the misery leaves only the blistering desert spanning this lonely horizon. Two colors set the contrast between Vaelia and Celestiae, ivory of the baking sand and the deep blue of the cloudless sky. Each dune hiked is a mountain, which can swell half a mile from trough to crest.
Wind carves across the sands, dividing half a dune with its other. Any spoor left by their march erodes within the moment. An implacable gale blows only the undulating track across each rising bluff, the fingerprint of nature’s breath.
The first day into the desert was one of timeless misery. Cecil will not soon forget how hot his fur became, despite the insulation. The sensation of baking had lasted until they reached the end of the rocky plateau.
Leading them, the wildebeest had marched callously and confidently through the heat. Experience is what drove the guide, and knowing that things would get easier once the wind hits.
That wind has hit them, and for days it has not let up.
The equipment he wears underneath his attire is not heavy or constricting; the vexation with it comes from the struggling cadence within the machinery. The air his lungs push through the tube sounds to be fighting rhythmically against a whirring, busted filter. Out of paranoia, he regularly elevates his arm to check if the warning light is on, but it broke that first day through the heat. He, nor his companions, have any real way to know if they are breathing in the rusty sands. Not unless someone’s breath tastes of baked, dry blood would anyone know they are about to die.
If not for their guide advising otherwise, Cecil and his companion would have set camp as soon as the cooling wind struck.
“One cannot rest when the sand dares not.” the wildebeest said at the end of that first day. “Moments into that nap, you become buried beneath these finest grains, never to be found. The sand feels too blissful when its warm embrace envelops your exhausted body.”
The times they rest last but a moment — to catch their breath. Any longer and the peak vanishes, sending the weariest to their doom.
The wildebeest had promised at the minimum five days without sleep. It has been four. Their guide had confessed only the day before, “The mountain we seek ought been well exposed and safe with caves and settlers.” As though he recently witnessed such mountains, they have yet to grace the bleak horizon.
He has the scent of Her Blessed Chaos. The shriek of The End's Shadowsteel has called to him. What foolish Meal thieves his opportunity for reprieve will eternally rue the day they enticed the toothy jowl of this vengeful beast.
Please offer me any feedback! I only just taught myself digital art and how to make a website. :) lpbernard@iumentissaga.com