Untitled, thus far
Posted: Wed Jun 16, 2004 9:48 pm
I'd like to know what you guys think of this. There are a few spelling errors and the like, but that's what I get for working on it in the hours between 12 and 6 AM ^^
It is far from finished, and when I do finish, I have a relative who is a writer and I'll have him review it as well. I even made a new god for it. I'd like any input, besides spelling mistakes and the like, since I am working on those (I had another person proofread what I have thus far). This is my first mythos story, and I haven't written a completed work in a while (looking thoughh my various notebooks will show you dozens of half-comeplete political essays and terrible poetry that I like to make fun of). Anyways, here it is (all rights are mine, etc. for now).
In the dank basement I searched, days and days I spent, I don't know why, until I found it. There was an incessant dripping noise too, and I couldn't get it to stop. The infernal noise reverberated in my head those days that I searched, yet I could never find the source. The cement walls were lined with ancient texts, scripts, and other writings from various periods. I finally found it, the infinitely rare R'lyeh Text. Excited beyond my means, I stayed awake through the night in that damnable dripping chamber. I read through the text with a translation aid of the ancient language, and the images it conveyed have been imprinted in my mind. Scarred, those ancient words have been seared into my soul forever. After calming myself down enough to where I could venture out of the basement, I made my way to my living room and dropped onto the couch, cowering, shivering, and reeking of the sea.
The basement was wet and dank, but I never remembered the smell of the sea, but it was highly probably that my mind was playing tricks on me, after all, the sourceless dripping sounds and faint voices must have been a result of the endless searching, and no doubt the trauma I uncovered in those texts. As I lay, exhaustion took over my apprehension, although my sleep was fitful. Out of the many dreams I had of destruction and monsters, there was one universal theme throughout, the beating of loud war drums and, in most, the chanting of a strange phrase from the cursed text: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." However, another different (but still hellishly haunting) phrase rose up from the ashes of the old phrase, something I surmised to be akin to "Cthulhu lives." This beast is supposed to be a scene of great terror, stories tall, with a man's body (albeit green and pulpy), a tentacled face, and, according to some research, wings. My dreams were haunting, this world and others were burning, cities were fallen, and people--no, beasts--surrounded dusty, burning cities, painted in tribal paints, wearing the skulls of their fellow humans (and some, the leaders, perhaps, wore their skulls with intact spines), a horrid sight to behold.
I woke every night in a sweat, and paranoid at a terror that could only be fought with sunlight. However, my sensible fears never got the better of my mad curiosity, and every day I spent much of my time in the basement. From the various writings in that hole, I gathered various gods inhabited the universe, I read names almost too horrid for the human tongue, of Azathoth and Nyarlathotep, Cthulhu and Yig, among other vile things that walk our world and the others, but one stood out with Cthulhu. This was found in the rare, worn copy of the Pnakotic Manuscripts, untranslated to any human tongue. How I knew what lay in the worn and copied pages, I did not know, but as a peered into the strange scribblings, horrific images came to my mind, of Titan-like races and other strangenesses.
As I studied the ancient texts, with the old lost words of the R'lyeh Text's words reverberating in my mind, the one image that stood out from all the other horrors of the Pnakotic Manuscripts was of a...a thing...the Nameless, the Void, the One None Can Name. What is was, my pen shakes to prevent its description, but I must, I must for my mind, my life, and my sanity. The thing was huge, taller than the steel towers made at the hands of man, encompassing burning cities of some ancient forsaken planet. It was a void, at first. It was sucking buildings and whatever else was unfortunate enough to cross its path into its dark, sullen mass that seemed to peer into space itself. Then, it mutated into something so utterly grotesque, so...human, but not, I could not help but try and shield my eyes. I could not, in this dream, however, as I viewed the world as a massless entity, in the middle of the events, but seperated and disassociated from them.
I stared at the malformation, the shapeless void became a mocking irony of itself. It towered into recognizable shape, casting a dark shadow reeking of chaos over the ruins where the worshippers praised it with glee. A green humanoid shape, slightly humped, with a plated exoskeleton crushed its worshippers with no emotion at all. With purely blue eyes and a fish-like mouth that never closed carved into its large head, it never showed expression. All parts of it seemed like hard armor, much like an insect, except for the feelers outside the month--oh, the feelers, forged by maligned hands!--located about the mouth, they seemed to change size, reaching, grasping for anything and everything. Each seemingly with a distinct mind, they crushed buildings, reached for humans and electrocuted them, snapped them like twigs, or fed them to the horrendous beast. The drums and chanting rose to a fever pitch during this death orgy, and all eyes in the twisted human tribe looked towards three of their own tied in the center of the city. Their god paid no heed and continued its journey. It turned quickly, then, its tail destroying a crumbling obelisk, and looked straight at me. Somehow it saw me, as no one else, including myself, seemed to be able to. The feelers reached for me, at speeds that seemed impossible, and somehow warped, and attached to my body, burning me.
I woke with a start, sweat drenched my bed and my body. I was completely soaked and parched, and I could feel my heart racing as though it were attempting breaking free from my chest. I undressed to shower, and that was when I noticed them. Burn marks, all over my chest, back, arms, and legs. Droplets of blood formed strange rune-like shapes on the large circular red marks on my body. Some I noticed from the original languages in the rotting texts, others I did not. As soon as I saw these shapes in the mirror, the blood congealed, and something completely wondrous, strange, and terrifying ocurred. The bathroom, and indeed, the world, as it were, melted before me, everything just melted! I grasped and grasped, but everything that was was not anymore, everything around me was a void! I grasped at all I could, but there was nothing to grasp, and I had the constant sickening feeling of falling.
As I fell in this void I reflected on what I must have brought upon the Earth, and it saddened me deeply, for I knew of the trouble to come and I knew I did it. Worse, though, I knew why.
It started when I moved into this small house in the old town of Arkham, Massachusetts. As soon as I moved in, I began hearing strange dripping noises and loud thumpings that seemed to come from underground and WITHIN the house, as if the house itself were alive. I searched the basement with a flashlight, and only found a library of ancient, dusty tomes, as well as translation keys for some. Some were not needed, as I spoke French (for Cultes des Goules) and German (for the book Unaussprechlichen Kulten), in addition to my native English. I poured over the books, for reasons unknown even to myself, as the tomes were frightening books of spells, incantations, and accounts of monstrous beings only the most insane man could dream up (and one text, the Necronomicon, was written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred). Some of these books were more recent fiction (some of the more modern writers included H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth, Clark Ashton Smith, and others, writing their own tomes and featured in pulp magazines like "Weird Tales"), but I soon learned they held far more than fiction in their words. After reading the grimoires of old and ancient times, I noticed that the fictitious works contained numerous references--both hidden and overt--to the texts of now dead and unclean times of a fearful humanity. It was soon enough obvious to me that these books of old were more than the fancies of long dead psychopaths, that they were, in fact, something more, something dangerous.
My draw to the basement library grew each day, as did my knowledge and belief in the veracity of the compendiums I acquired with the house. I studied and studied these, and as I did, the sounds from below intensified and haunted me whenever I was on my property. Hellish visions of death and destruction invaded my dreams and wreaked havoc on my mind. As I reflected, I noticed the falling sensation stopped. I looked and could see nothing, but when I looked at my hand, it seemed lit my a normal day's sun. While pondering this curiosity, I notice a vague movement out of the corner of my eye. As the vulgar movement commenced, more came and surrounded me, these things seemed like tentacles, and grabbed me from all sides, and cut off my precious air. They pulled and pulled on my appendages like a cruel king's toy, and at once the ceased and moved away. Finally, I could see! I wish I was still blind to what I saw, though as the building (which appeared more like an ancient emperor's tomb than anything) was twisted in some grotesque perversion of architecture and known geometry. The worst horror, however, was what sat in front of me. Cthulhu. He was described just as the old tomes said, but even more horrific than I ever could have imagined. The rhythmic breathing, the tentacles about its maw (similar to the Nameless Void, but at a seemingly fixed length), the wings, the pulpy green flesh, and its arms wrapped about its knees while it slept at the throne, something about it was horrific, moreso than just the visual shock one would get (which would be deep, especially for one without knowledge of this Great Old One, or any, in fact). There was something tugging on my heart, something telling me to leave as fast as I could. I knew I couldn't, though, I was trapped here in R'lyeh with the sleeping Cthulhu, hearing the incessant haunting flute playing, and a faint chanting
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. (Italics)
Suddenly, I awoke again, this time in my bath, with painful distress throughout my arms and legs, and a red mark around my neck. I began to fear sleep, and that the next dream, nightmare, or hellvision could bring about my demise, mentally or physically. I escaped my house and went to the local tavern to calm my nerves, and possibly gather some information on the going-ons. I ordered a beer, and struck up a conversation with Theodore Asher, the bartender. Before long, I brought up Cthulhu and the books, and he gave me a stony glare. "If you wanna live, you'll stay outta them books, burn 'em, and forget ev'rything you read in them." This sudden change of attitude shocked me, but I pried further and got nowhere. I tried asking a few patrons, as well, but Asher overheard my talk, whipped his body around to face me, and cursed at me loudly, then screamed at me to get out. I hadn't been out of the inn for a minute when a small man in his upper years stepped out and told me, meekly, "You may found your information at the library of Miskatonic University." Before I could further inquire, he snuck back into the barroom.
I eventually found my way to the large campus, and found the dean, Braun Barker, roaming the courtyards. He seemed wise beyond his years, although his years already appeared to be many. After exchanging greetings and introductions, I inquired about the library. He seemed to be prepared for what I asked about, and said "No, I'm afraid those books are out of reach of the public, after the Innsmouth incident, and the numerous amounts of people meddling in the otherworldly activities that do not concern them." This bothered me a little, but I explained to him my plight and he looked up at me with great interest.
"It seems both Cthulhu and the Void are calling you to serve them, but why?" He rubbed his chin and went into a state of apparent deep thought. "Aha!" His blue eyes gleamed with a life I have not seen in many people before, save for scientists upon stumbling on a new discovery. He directed me to follow him, and we entered the large doors of the main entrance of Miskatonic University. Students milled about, going to classes, leaving the college, and doing things normal of a college student. We rushed by the all the activity, and I was led down an ornate staircase to the gargantuan library. Everywhere I could see were books on plenty of subjects, Arts, Social Sciences, Computer
*Everything in all caps is to be italicised
Reference: http://www.yankeeclassic.com/miskatonic/
http://www.cthuggle.com
It is far from finished, and when I do finish, I have a relative who is a writer and I'll have him review it as well. I even made a new god for it. I'd like any input, besides spelling mistakes and the like, since I am working on those (I had another person proofread what I have thus far). This is my first mythos story, and I haven't written a completed work in a while (looking thoughh my various notebooks will show you dozens of half-comeplete political essays and terrible poetry that I like to make fun of). Anyways, here it is (all rights are mine, etc. for now).
In the dank basement I searched, days and days I spent, I don't know why, until I found it. There was an incessant dripping noise too, and I couldn't get it to stop. The infernal noise reverberated in my head those days that I searched, yet I could never find the source. The cement walls were lined with ancient texts, scripts, and other writings from various periods. I finally found it, the infinitely rare R'lyeh Text. Excited beyond my means, I stayed awake through the night in that damnable dripping chamber. I read through the text with a translation aid of the ancient language, and the images it conveyed have been imprinted in my mind. Scarred, those ancient words have been seared into my soul forever. After calming myself down enough to where I could venture out of the basement, I made my way to my living room and dropped onto the couch, cowering, shivering, and reeking of the sea.
The basement was wet and dank, but I never remembered the smell of the sea, but it was highly probably that my mind was playing tricks on me, after all, the sourceless dripping sounds and faint voices must have been a result of the endless searching, and no doubt the trauma I uncovered in those texts. As I lay, exhaustion took over my apprehension, although my sleep was fitful. Out of the many dreams I had of destruction and monsters, there was one universal theme throughout, the beating of loud war drums and, in most, the chanting of a strange phrase from the cursed text: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." However, another different (but still hellishly haunting) phrase rose up from the ashes of the old phrase, something I surmised to be akin to "Cthulhu lives." This beast is supposed to be a scene of great terror, stories tall, with a man's body (albeit green and pulpy), a tentacled face, and, according to some research, wings. My dreams were haunting, this world and others were burning, cities were fallen, and people--no, beasts--surrounded dusty, burning cities, painted in tribal paints, wearing the skulls of their fellow humans (and some, the leaders, perhaps, wore their skulls with intact spines), a horrid sight to behold.
I woke every night in a sweat, and paranoid at a terror that could only be fought with sunlight. However, my sensible fears never got the better of my mad curiosity, and every day I spent much of my time in the basement. From the various writings in that hole, I gathered various gods inhabited the universe, I read names almost too horrid for the human tongue, of Azathoth and Nyarlathotep, Cthulhu and Yig, among other vile things that walk our world and the others, but one stood out with Cthulhu. This was found in the rare, worn copy of the Pnakotic Manuscripts, untranslated to any human tongue. How I knew what lay in the worn and copied pages, I did not know, but as a peered into the strange scribblings, horrific images came to my mind, of Titan-like races and other strangenesses.
As I studied the ancient texts, with the old lost words of the R'lyeh Text's words reverberating in my mind, the one image that stood out from all the other horrors of the Pnakotic Manuscripts was of a...a thing...the Nameless, the Void, the One None Can Name. What is was, my pen shakes to prevent its description, but I must, I must for my mind, my life, and my sanity. The thing was huge, taller than the steel towers made at the hands of man, encompassing burning cities of some ancient forsaken planet. It was a void, at first. It was sucking buildings and whatever else was unfortunate enough to cross its path into its dark, sullen mass that seemed to peer into space itself. Then, it mutated into something so utterly grotesque, so...human, but not, I could not help but try and shield my eyes. I could not, in this dream, however, as I viewed the world as a massless entity, in the middle of the events, but seperated and disassociated from them.
I stared at the malformation, the shapeless void became a mocking irony of itself. It towered into recognizable shape, casting a dark shadow reeking of chaos over the ruins where the worshippers praised it with glee. A green humanoid shape, slightly humped, with a plated exoskeleton crushed its worshippers with no emotion at all. With purely blue eyes and a fish-like mouth that never closed carved into its large head, it never showed expression. All parts of it seemed like hard armor, much like an insect, except for the feelers outside the month--oh, the feelers, forged by maligned hands!--located about the mouth, they seemed to change size, reaching, grasping for anything and everything. Each seemingly with a distinct mind, they crushed buildings, reached for humans and electrocuted them, snapped them like twigs, or fed them to the horrendous beast. The drums and chanting rose to a fever pitch during this death orgy, and all eyes in the twisted human tribe looked towards three of their own tied in the center of the city. Their god paid no heed and continued its journey. It turned quickly, then, its tail destroying a crumbling obelisk, and looked straight at me. Somehow it saw me, as no one else, including myself, seemed to be able to. The feelers reached for me, at speeds that seemed impossible, and somehow warped, and attached to my body, burning me.
I woke with a start, sweat drenched my bed and my body. I was completely soaked and parched, and I could feel my heart racing as though it were attempting breaking free from my chest. I undressed to shower, and that was when I noticed them. Burn marks, all over my chest, back, arms, and legs. Droplets of blood formed strange rune-like shapes on the large circular red marks on my body. Some I noticed from the original languages in the rotting texts, others I did not. As soon as I saw these shapes in the mirror, the blood congealed, and something completely wondrous, strange, and terrifying ocurred. The bathroom, and indeed, the world, as it were, melted before me, everything just melted! I grasped and grasped, but everything that was was not anymore, everything around me was a void! I grasped at all I could, but there was nothing to grasp, and I had the constant sickening feeling of falling.
As I fell in this void I reflected on what I must have brought upon the Earth, and it saddened me deeply, for I knew of the trouble to come and I knew I did it. Worse, though, I knew why.
It started when I moved into this small house in the old town of Arkham, Massachusetts. As soon as I moved in, I began hearing strange dripping noises and loud thumpings that seemed to come from underground and WITHIN the house, as if the house itself were alive. I searched the basement with a flashlight, and only found a library of ancient, dusty tomes, as well as translation keys for some. Some were not needed, as I spoke French (for Cultes des Goules) and German (for the book Unaussprechlichen Kulten), in addition to my native English. I poured over the books, for reasons unknown even to myself, as the tomes were frightening books of spells, incantations, and accounts of monstrous beings only the most insane man could dream up (and one text, the Necronomicon, was written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred). Some of these books were more recent fiction (some of the more modern writers included H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth, Clark Ashton Smith, and others, writing their own tomes and featured in pulp magazines like "Weird Tales"), but I soon learned they held far more than fiction in their words. After reading the grimoires of old and ancient times, I noticed that the fictitious works contained numerous references--both hidden and overt--to the texts of now dead and unclean times of a fearful humanity. It was soon enough obvious to me that these books of old were more than the fancies of long dead psychopaths, that they were, in fact, something more, something dangerous.
My draw to the basement library grew each day, as did my knowledge and belief in the veracity of the compendiums I acquired with the house. I studied and studied these, and as I did, the sounds from below intensified and haunted me whenever I was on my property. Hellish visions of death and destruction invaded my dreams and wreaked havoc on my mind. As I reflected, I noticed the falling sensation stopped. I looked and could see nothing, but when I looked at my hand, it seemed lit my a normal day's sun. While pondering this curiosity, I notice a vague movement out of the corner of my eye. As the vulgar movement commenced, more came and surrounded me, these things seemed like tentacles, and grabbed me from all sides, and cut off my precious air. They pulled and pulled on my appendages like a cruel king's toy, and at once the ceased and moved away. Finally, I could see! I wish I was still blind to what I saw, though as the building (which appeared more like an ancient emperor's tomb than anything) was twisted in some grotesque perversion of architecture and known geometry. The worst horror, however, was what sat in front of me. Cthulhu. He was described just as the old tomes said, but even more horrific than I ever could have imagined. The rhythmic breathing, the tentacles about its maw (similar to the Nameless Void, but at a seemingly fixed length), the wings, the pulpy green flesh, and its arms wrapped about its knees while it slept at the throne, something about it was horrific, moreso than just the visual shock one would get (which would be deep, especially for one without knowledge of this Great Old One, or any, in fact). There was something tugging on my heart, something telling me to leave as fast as I could. I knew I couldn't, though, I was trapped here in R'lyeh with the sleeping Cthulhu, hearing the incessant haunting flute playing, and a faint chanting
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. (Italics)
Suddenly, I awoke again, this time in my bath, with painful distress throughout my arms and legs, and a red mark around my neck. I began to fear sleep, and that the next dream, nightmare, or hellvision could bring about my demise, mentally or physically. I escaped my house and went to the local tavern to calm my nerves, and possibly gather some information on the going-ons. I ordered a beer, and struck up a conversation with Theodore Asher, the bartender. Before long, I brought up Cthulhu and the books, and he gave me a stony glare. "If you wanna live, you'll stay outta them books, burn 'em, and forget ev'rything you read in them." This sudden change of attitude shocked me, but I pried further and got nowhere. I tried asking a few patrons, as well, but Asher overheard my talk, whipped his body around to face me, and cursed at me loudly, then screamed at me to get out. I hadn't been out of the inn for a minute when a small man in his upper years stepped out and told me, meekly, "You may found your information at the library of Miskatonic University." Before I could further inquire, he snuck back into the barroom.
I eventually found my way to the large campus, and found the dean, Braun Barker, roaming the courtyards. He seemed wise beyond his years, although his years already appeared to be many. After exchanging greetings and introductions, I inquired about the library. He seemed to be prepared for what I asked about, and said "No, I'm afraid those books are out of reach of the public, after the Innsmouth incident, and the numerous amounts of people meddling in the otherworldly activities that do not concern them." This bothered me a little, but I explained to him my plight and he looked up at me with great interest.
"It seems both Cthulhu and the Void are calling you to serve them, but why?" He rubbed his chin and went into a state of apparent deep thought. "Aha!" His blue eyes gleamed with a life I have not seen in many people before, save for scientists upon stumbling on a new discovery. He directed me to follow him, and we entered the large doors of the main entrance of Miskatonic University. Students milled about, going to classes, leaving the college, and doing things normal of a college student. We rushed by the all the activity, and I was led down an ornate staircase to the gargantuan library. Everywhere I could see were books on plenty of subjects, Arts, Social Sciences, Computer
*Everything in all caps is to be italicised
Reference: http://www.yankeeclassic.com/miskatonic/
http://www.cthuggle.com
