The Story of Royal Bodyguard

A comprehensive essay by guest author Matthew Tash...

Royal Bodyguard is one of the original cards from the Alpha and Beta sets of Sorcery:

Contested Realm. It depicts an Elite Mortal tasked with protecting a nearby Avatar or member of royalty when they are threatened by damage. Elizabeth Danforth was commissioned by Erik Olofsson to create this artwork for the game, completing the piece in 2019. For its design and narrative foundation, Danforth chose to draw inspiration from the Spanish Golden Age masterpiece Las Meninas by Diego Velázquez.

This essay will first establish the importance of Las Meninas and explain why it holds such a significant place in the history of art. It will then examine Danforth’s Royal Bodyguard as a reinterpretation of Velázquez’s painting, highlighting both the similarities and the departures between the two works. It will present a series of open-ended questions that reveal the intellectual depth of Danforth’s painting and her deliberate

engagement with the complex conceptual framework established by Las Meninas. Finally, the importance of imagination will be highlighted which will serve to tie these two works together and unite them with the overarching draw of Sorcery: Contested Realm.

Diego Velázquez (1599–1660) was one of the greatest painters of the Spanish court during the Baroque era in the Golden Age of the Spanish Empire. He was born in Sevilla, Spain, but mastered his craft while having traveled to Italy, where he studied the work of contemporary Baroque masters. In 1623 he was appointed court painter to King Philip IV of Spain, a position he held for most of his life. While he produced numerous royal portraits, he is best known for Las Meninas, a masterpiece completed in 1656. He died in Madrid, Spain in 1660 after having achieved one of the profession’s highest valued careers with the Spanish monarchy.

Las Meninas, (The Maids-in-Waiting) is celebrated for its extraordinary complexity and its

thought-provoking composition. It warrants significant discussion and even debate about its manipulation of perspective, its layered use of foreground and background, its engagement with questions of reality and illusion, and its exploration of the role of both the viewer and the artist. It ultimately serves as a meditation on the artist’s place within the court, society, and the artwork itself. The painting was created after his return from Italy, where he had studied in Rome, the most prestigious artistic center of the time. Upon returning to Spain, Velázquez clearly viewed himself as elevated above many of his contemporaries, both socially and professionally.

As Gardner’s Art Through the Ages notes:

“As first painter to the king and as chief steward of the palace, Velázquez was

conscious not only of the importance of his court office but of the honor and dignity

belonging to his profession as a painter.”

Las Meninas depicts Velázquez painting a royal portrait of King Philip IV and Queen Mariana. On the left side of the composition, the artist includes himself standing beside a

large canvas, gazing outward toward the presumed sitters. The viewer appears to occupy the same physical space as the monarch and his wife, standing between the gaze of the artist and the royal subjects. At the visual center of the composition stands the Infanta Margarita Teresa, dressed in a luminous off-white gown and attended by her ladies-in-waiting. The figures appear frozen in a moment of interruption, as if startled by an unseen presence—possibly the viewers themselves.

What makes Las Meninas so compelling is its masterful play with perspective, illusion, and reality. The boundaries between artist, subject, and viewer dissolve, transforming what could have been a straightforward court portrait into a profound philosophical inquiry into representation and observation.

Velázquez’s confidence in his own social standing and artistic mastery is evident in his prominent placement within the composition. Positioned just off-center and bathed in light, he competes visually with the Infanta. This ambiguity, whether the true subject is the princess or the painter, invites the viewer to question hierarchy and social strata. These ambiguities give rise to several enduring questions around composition and intent:

Compositionally, what exactly is Velázquez painting? Is it Las Meninas or a formal portrait of the king and queen? Why is Velázquez so immediately recognizable, while the supposed subjects of his painting remain distant and indistinct? Why does the Infanta share the foreground with the artist, and what does this suggest about Velázquez’s self-perceived importance with said princess? This last question is really a question that blends ambiguities of composition and intention.

Intent is an important topic to explore in Las Meninas. Many topics orbiting around the intentions of the artist are raised but never answered. Perhaps the most intellectually challenging question concerns the role of the viewer. Are we meant to participate in the scene?

The composition strongly suggests that we occupy the position of the king and queen. In this author’s view, Las Meninas was likely intended for the private quarters of King Philip IV, meaning that both the viewer and the painted subject may have been one and the same. In this interpretation, the king stands precisely where the viewer must stand, becoming both observer and observed. As posed above, what is the self-perceived role of Velázquez within the overall subject matter of the painting, and to a larger extent his role within the court and society?

While Las Meninas alone could sustain endless discussion, it is necessary to return to the

central focus of this essay: Liz Danforth’s deliberate and intelligent use of Velázquez’s

masterpiece as the foundation for Royal Bodyguard. Danforth, born in the United States in 1953, has worked as a fantasy artist for over five decades beginning her career in the

mid-1970s. Her artistic practice spans across multiple forms of media, both traditional and digital, and her work consistently demonstrates careful thought and conceptual depth. Within the realm of the Sorcery catalog, she has painted such pieces as Mirror Realm, Court Jester, Slumbering Giantess, Puppet Master, Evil Presence, Planar Gate, and of course Royal Bodyguard.

In Royal Bodyguard, the viewer encounters an Elite Mortal standing resolutely at the center of the composition. Clad in armor with a sword sheathed across his back, the figure has clearly been summoned in response to an immediate and unseen threat. The setting unmistakably mirrors that of Las Meninas as witnessed by the courtier in the background stairway, the directional light from the right-hand window, and the spatial arrangement of figures. All suggest that this scene unfolds only moments after Velázquez’s original painting. The expressions of the Infanta and her attendant remain nearly identical to their counterparts in Las Meninas, reinforcing the idea that the bodyguard has just stepped into the scene from off-canvas.

Three key differences distinguish Royal Bodyguard from Las Meninas: stylistic approach,

compositional focus, and artistic intent.

Stylistically, the contrast between the two artists is immediately apparent and requires little elaboration here given the discernable differences. Compositionally, however, two critical differences are readily observed. First, Danforth places the bodyguard foreground and center, obscuring much of the court behind him. Unlike Velázquez’s painting, there is no ambiguity regarding the focal point of her piece. The viewer’s attention is directed instantly to the bodyguard, who functions either as a protector or a threat depending on the player’s role within the game. The second major compositional difference, and certainly the more interesting, lies in Danforth’s self-representation as the artist in lieu of Velázquez. She replaces Velázquez with herself, but unlike her predecessor, she deliberately relegates her presence to the periphery. She steps back from the canvas and removes herself from the light, shrouding her figure in relative obscurity. This choice stands in stark contrast to Velázquez’s bold self-placement and signals a different relationship between artist, subject, and ego. We know Danforth’s election was quite intentional as stated by Mike Servati of Collector Arthouse on his website regarding this card’s history and composition, “[Ms. Danforth] asked Erik Olafsson to have herself marginalized to the periphery and therefore to obscurity, something Velázquez clearly did not do.”

Intent is the final and most meaningful distinction between Velázquez and Danforth. While Velázquez challenges the viewer’s relationship to art, Danforth reshapes those questions to suit the narrative demands of Sorcery: Contested Realm. Her work raises new inquiries in direct dialogue with Las Meninas as well as discourse with the viewers of the card and their game pieces.

Whom is the bodyguard protecting? Why does he face the viewer rather than the royal family, suggesting that the princess demands his servitude? Is the intent of her piece to draw attention away from the monarch or is she suggesting that as Avatars of the realm we become the new king or queen upon whom the bodyguard has drawn his gaze? Is this theory supported by the erasure of the king and queen both literally and symbolically from the scene? Is he facing us as caster out of reverence or facing our opponent as protector against the incoming damage?

More unanswered questions posed by Danforth’s choices are: Does the bodyguard’s placement within the center foreground suggest that, in moments of crisis, social hierarchy dissolves in favor of survival? Is the bodyguard defending the royal family from an external threat or from us, the voyeuristic viewer intruding upon a private moment that no plebeian was meant to witness?

In contrast to Velázquez’s work, Royal Bodyguard changes our relationship as viewer of the art because we are no longer looking at this piece from a museum floor as with Las Meninas, but rather we are a far more active participant as decision-maker of a complex and strategic card game. Intent and composition may therefore be dictated by game mechanics and player role.

Perhaps a better way to state this would be to take Louis Sullivan’s famous phrase, “Form

follows function.” This does seem like a compelling answer albeit simplistic. It would seem that the intent of Danforth is a combination of this pragmatic view combined with direction by Olofsson. This will fundamentally change the role of the viewer to the art.

Summary

In summary, what makes Royal Bodyguard so compelling is that Danforth does not merely reference Las Meninas—she expands upon it. She transforms an already complex and debated masterpiece into a sequel that plays with and enhances its concept and intentions. Rather than resolving Velázquez’s questions, she amplifies them, leaving interpretation entirely in the hands of the viewer who is now looking at it from a new perspective - as spellcaster of his or her deck.

On a larger scale what this implies is that a game like Sorcery: Contested Realm really

succeeds because it requires an active imagination. Imagination may be the central focus of all of this since these questions cannot be answered without it and the game would hold no meaning in its absence.

Sorcery: Contested Realm has consistently emphasized the importance of imagination by

exclusively calling upon the use of hand-crafted art. In doing so, the game honors the integrity of its artists and their imaginative contributions. It is therefore fitting that a game so deeply invested in visual storytelling would look to the masters of art history for inspiration. Ultimately, Royal Bodyguard invites players to step into the role of protector, strategist, and interpreter. Just as Las Meninas demands active engagement, Danforth’s painting asks us to decide what matters, whom we defend, and how we understand the unseen forces at play. In this way, the legacy of a Spanish Golden Age masterpiece continues not only on museum walls, but across the contested realm of imagination itself.

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Special thanks to guest author Matthew Tash for this exceptional essay on one of the great pieces of storytelling in the early era of Sorcery: Contested Realm TCG!

If you would like to contribute to the article archive at Collector Arthouse, please reach out to Mike Servati.

Thank you!