Sunday, December 31, 2017


This was going to be a book collection of tales of horror and Cthulhu but I hope by sharing it here others might read me who would not otherwise choose to do so.

The words are copyright Alex Ness 2017 and the images, made from public domain sources are my own, but I do not extend any copyright over them.


"Slumber, watcher, till the spheres,
Six and twenty thousand years
Have revolv'd, and I return
To the spot where now I burn.
Other stars anon shall rise
To the axis of the skies;
Stars that soothe and stars that bless
With a sweet forgetfulness:
Only when my round is o'er
Shall the past disturb thy door."

H.P. Lovecraft

“We are weighed down, every moment, by the conception and the sensation of time. And there are but two means of escaping and forgetting this nightmare: pleasure and work. Pleasure consumes us. Work strengthens us. Let us choose.”  Charles Baudelaire


The day for Louis Jardon was long, laborious and mind numbing. He arrived home at a late hour, fed his cat, drank a brief bottle of beer, bit into a left over sausage, and decided that he’d feel better and deal with things with a relaxing bath, and then a night of sleep.  He was filled with dreams there.  Perhaps stirred by the sausage.  Perhaps the sausage had gone bad.

Each dream is recounted in the words of Master Jardon.

Dream 1

A beast approached me upon the street, where I had been walking.  It stood upright, as a man, but was covered in hair, had protruding tusks, and smelled of sweat, and the smell of fecund fur, never washed.  I was too stunned to move to avoid his approach.  My gaze, well, call it a stare, never stopped, however rude it might seem.  I didn’t fear for my safety, it was night, but I was not alone, surrounded upon the walk by dozens of pedestrians.  They didn’t seem to notice me, though.  And the beast walked past them, without alarm or regard.

The beast returned my gaze.  And too, it stared, intently.  The moon was out, the city lights shone, and my heart beat rapidly.  The closer it came the more I dread.  I was unable to move at all now.  I stared, locked in place, expecting my death, sometime soon.  But my fear was worse than my thoughts of death.  I might die, but the fashion of which I might die was the worst thing to consider.

It continued until I could feel the beast’s breath upon my face.  It smelled of death, and it was hot.  I couldn’t move.  The beast’s eyes burned holes in my own.  And then I felt the beast’s claws clutch my throat.  I could no longer breathe, and I felt as if my heart stopped.  And my body fell to the cobblestone.  And while I imagine it was horribly painfully painful, I felt nothing.

And yet, the world I knew changed permanently at that moment.  I had no wounds that I could see, nor injuries that I might feel, but I was wide awake in a world that I did not recognize.

I heard a voice speaking to me. It spoke in a language I couldn’t understand by the sound, but, knew by my heart what it was saying…

“You are now alive for the first time.  Do not lose your opportunity.  The land you are in accepts everyone, but here you are lord.  You are awake here but you are asleep in your waking world.  This is the land of dreams so, tear off your cloak of flesh and become one with your nightmare. Here you are what you are not in life. The beast has freed you from your fears. You and your minutia and crisis filled years are over; there is no sorrow. Here there is only hunger, lust, joy, and the becoming fulfilled of them.  Your ego will reign here, you are your own hero, you are the master, do nothing less than be yourself.”

I began to shiver.  I could feel my body in the waking world being cold, but in the dream world I was poised to make a choice.  Might I be a lord of an amoral world of choices, or should I wake and return to a land of limited choices, morality, and physical aging and sorrows?

Dream 2

In the depths of the distant lands, there is a watcher.  Atop the tallest hill, there is a wall, from a fortress built many generations past.  From his vantage point the watcher gazes out, knowing which way to look.  The walls have only once been breached, when the unmen of the Death Cult poured over the land in numbers no one could stop.  Like ants in a group frenzy they accepted death, in order to let the others climb forward and get across the wall.  Some were stopped, but most continued on, in their primal thrust, flooding the land with violence, and death, that would only stop with the last unman dead.   But even with that, the watcher just watched.  Whether the people on the other side were ready, did not matter, his job was to make sure to raise the call, when these mindless beasts who formerly were men came, he would respond with the horn, and let his people know the final days were here.

Dream 3

I am sleep
Enter the light
Mind Eye’s open
But my throat
I bleed
I breathe
But for long?
Have I purpose?
Do I matter?
Behold my friends
Do I deserve life
Or am I dead
To this world
Am I alive
Can I be heard
Am I screaming?
I’ve been blinded
To the flaws
I have hoarded
Without a single care
Seconds are my own
I refuse to share
This life is my own
I might as well be king
As I sit
Upon my bone cast throne

Dream 4

Coming back from the shores, we took our Model T and my small family and new member of the family on a direct track home.  We were excited.  The day was beautiful, the sun was shining, and with the news that our business sold for far more than we had ever hoped, it was a celebration.  The boardwalk was built up, and we enjoyed it.  1921 Atlantic City’s Boardwalk sold postcards that said "The World's Playground" and it surely was.  I enjoyed the weekend with my wife and my three year old boy, and we had a surprise at the end.

It was a rough looking mutt, but it followed along with us, and wanted all of our attention.  It was a lonely creature, and we took it into our heart.  With every step we saw that the new addition to our family was not what we thought.  A trail behind it was forming, and a dog that had seemed so attentive and loving to us, now had become a beast of indeterminate species.

And then, when he ate our child, we knew he wasn’t what we thought, but, we still could not release him.  We watched him, even despised him, yet, became strangely attached to him.

Dream 5

I spied her, sleeping. Her porcelain skin and fire red hair moved me deeply, she was silently moving me, moving me inside.  I lusted her form, but I could not reach out. I was frozen in my dream, held back from touching her, waking her to connect.  But she was too far from my touch, I was paralyzed by my desire, and the dream master held me fast to just inches from her.

I was in agony, for this beauty was who I had pursued in my heart, for the entire of my existence.  She was here, I was near her, and there was nothing I could do.  My heart was rent, as if the torment was to tell me, here was my deepest longing, and it was known to others, but I could not have it. 

And this dream, was not a dream, but a nightmare, for all it did, was remind me, of everything I have failed to find in my existence.

Dream 6

I was told that there was nothing I could not do.  That if I could imagine it, I could make it happen.   So I walked to the highest mountain, and climbed it, and upon the highest heights, I spread my arms, and I set myself aloft upon the winds, flying.  With every second, I could feel an unnatural force pulsing through me.  While I was flying I saw a dragon-like flying serpent in the distance.  A wave of anger and a feeling of something I can only describe as rivalry burned in me, I saw this serpent with wings as my enemy, without knowing a speck of information about it. 

I was only able to glide upon the wind, whereas the dragon could fly.  So my speed and agility compared to the beast’s was minimal.  However, while I know he could also breathe out a special attack of fire, lightning, or some other gaseous weapon, as I embraced my place in this world, my weapons began to protrude from my fists, as if I had two ultra sharp spikes to attack with. 

My desire was to close in with the dragon, and then attack.  His goal seemed to be to understand who I was, and cut off my attack, by maneuvering out of my reach.   I made his goals false, by aggressive attacks, showing no mercy or fear.   In this land, of Dreams become real, my flesh grew in response to the role I imagined.  And so the closer I approached, the greater the beast I became.  My attack was brutal, and his death was a great victory by me.

Dream 7

Frozen from the snow and freezing rain, I shivered, but I kept marching.   The highest plateau, the castle of the high king was undefended, after the battles that destroyed his armies.  I alone could raise the army of heroes to defend the battlements, and fortifications.  All those who joined the march were as devoted as I, and we moved as one towards the final destination.  It was so, so far away.  And we were so cold.  The castle was barely in our view, behind the wall of sleep, far away, distant from our reach.  We’d march until we died, in the cold of this winter, or until we reached the walls safely.

And hours later the snow turned red, from the bleeding feet of the marchers.  Bodies of the fallen had to be abandoned, because the march was more important than the sanctity of the body of the lost. The demon led armies were still trying to regroup to steal their own march on the high King’s castle.   Who would reach it first, I didn’t know.  It remained behind the wall of sleep, and I couldn’t see if I was on the right side of it.

Dream 8

The beautiful princess of the winter garden, so pure, white skin, with pure auburn hair, silver lips, so so beautiful… I bowed before her in my white metal armor.  I dipped my sword before her and made certain to follow the official protocols of the court. I could feel my heart beating, in my throat, and my soul panted to drink of her waters.

Dream 9

The eyes of the demon I faced became a thought, of how the last time I felt this fearful, I ran, like a child.  But here I stood, because the world needed me.  What a thought, I became, because I was, I was needed and my being replied.  This Dream Land was magical, powerful, and I had become something that in my waking, I’d never have become.   I was alive with courage, and I had killed fear.  How many can say that?  The people huddled behind me, and called for me to protect them.  I picked up my lance, and drove it through the flesh of the unholy one.  His ichors flowed, and no one would weep for his loss.

He woke up, sad to find, that he was no longer in the Dream-Lands.  He now returned to being normal, or, simply a mortal of no great heroic temperament or ability.


Born of evil intentions
The leaders of the fallen
Assign the madmen
To perform a duty
Who then choose
The breeder’s path
With the desired end
Gathering human women
Able to sustain gestation
Over the course of time
Needed to feed
An embryo
Enter devastation
Humanity’s end
This should never be
Half bred fish men
Or whatever form needed
To carry out the goals
Of the children of Dagon
The minions of Great Cthulhu
Or any other cults
Made up of slaves
With humans
And naïve fools


A chartreuse glow
Accompanied the beast
His body shook in echo
From the power
Of his steps
Trees scream from
Frightened crows
Leaping from branches
When the beast would go
From the casual walk
To determined jog
Those in his path would run
From the epic shock
Of his charge
The path was direct
From the starting point
To where his hunt
Discovers his prey
As agile as any hawk
More anger than hunger
None can face him
No defense avails
To stand in his way is death
A wild beast who stalks
Can bring terror
But a beast of manic anger
Causes brave men to flee
The field of battle
And to lose control
Facing single combat
After its destruction
Of the enemy lair
The beast moves on
Leaving only dead bodies
In his wake
And a glow
Similar to that
Of a bottle of absinthe
Artemisia absinthium
The beast never goes away
It hungers
Without end
With but a single message
To send
I exist
And therefore
All others are threatened
With non-existence


Deep Ones are vicious
Humans are that as well
The two species have been fighting
For thousands of years
Or so the stories tell
Neither side being superior
In numbers or in strategy
The two keep making war
Creating races of warriors
But the fight has not brought
Anything like understanding
Corpses have been studied
Flesh dissected
But when two species are considered
There are often misconceptions
And assumptions
In the world of academia
There are times when
Statistics equal reality
When instead
The truth observed
Reflects something
The flesh can be weighed
Considered in height
Lungs can be tested
For oxygen capacity
But numbers
Do not reveal
Things that motivate
To retaliate
Ability to push
Beyond one’s limits
And hate


The shores of northern Maine
Are thought pristine
By modern men
And they are
When the view alone
Is the determinant
But should the one
Answering the question
When the wars began
Nothing like beauty
Could be thought
Of a shallows
Red with blood
And slaughter
Of hybrid men
And humans
In confluence
Swirling with the tides
Rising and falling
As with the fortunes
Of ancient men and hybrids
Modern men do not know
The wages of the species wars
Cost each side
Generations upon generation
Of the young
And cost the future
Untold dreams
And memory scars


I have seen them
They are ancient
Long have they existed
Hunting, having their way
Harvesting the weak
Killing those who resist
They were not men like me
They were more like fish
From the sea
The ocean waters were their home
Born in the salted waters and foam
Rising up
With the tide
The deep ones spawn
Return to the dry
Where they feel drawn
To mate with human flesh
They mix indiscreetly
To become
What humans call hybrids
For the deep ones are called
By their deity
To make new men
The deep ones
Are not like us
They hunger for
Things that are vulgar
For flesh and viscera
And for human wombs to fill
But the men races to their woe
Fear the deep ones
And attempt to find them
And make war
When they know
Of their lairs
The deep ones accept no challenges
From other fetid races
Or from humans upon the walls
The fighting is inevitable
Attempting to turn back the tide
Of the spawning
Leaving only tombs to fill
Of all races
The walls are close to breach
As the desperation reaches deep
Forces gather
While the deep ones mill about
And nothing can be done
To prevent the break through
Mankind must commit
A racial genocide
Or the deep ones will renew
They will though
Some way
Or another
Their greenish blue visage
Will be viewed
From the perspective
Of mankind fallen
And deep ones


Long have we sorrowed
The generations grieve
The coming of the star lords
From beyond our galaxies
Malevolent and violent
Desiring our flesh for food
The sacrifices of our children
And waging taxes of pain
Upon the innocent
And the survivors
Who remain
We are woeful
We question our ways
Why do the good men suffer
When will the good Gods return
How long before they rescue the pious
Instead they linger in the pit of fire
Where the lords of the stars
Foreign to this land
Demand the worship
Of the people
And the sacrifice
Of their children
With rites evil and obscene
They celebrate the torment
Of each generation
Until the future
Far off and unseen
When someone will lead us
To resist
And bring justice
For us all


The voice demanded
And the eyes commanded
My mind obeyed
And brought forth
The desired offering
How great the voice is
How powerful are the eyes
The children of mankind are small
In the eyes of such greatness
The harvest of humanity
Has begun
And the servants of the voice
Have succumb
To every order
From the voice before us
We have become undone
By our desire to be
Accepted by the Gods
Who came to us
From the far stars
And we march forward
Banging the war drums
We will move onward
And the enemy will be conquered
The result will be a slaughter
And their remains placed
Upon the unholy Altar
Of the hearts of man


In the forsaken salt marshes
Of the Sumerian temples
And ziggurats
Antiquity remembers well
But modernity does not
Humans have forgotten
Their ancient home
Thinking them primitive
Unworthy of being lived in
Long since abandoning them
Consigning them to refuse
Like some fetid carcass
They fester still
Giving birth instead
To an alien beast
The subterranean predator
Killer of the weak
Malevolent hunter
Bringer of doom
Demonic messenger
Of a new millennium
The predator race
Would dominate
Built lithe and swift
With physical power
An exoskeleton
A hard cranium
The predator race
Has no competition
From other species
Soon, they’ll announce
That they have arrived
Rising up, rising
In the midst
Of the swamps
And running rivers
Who will survive?


None know the haunting
From the opening of the portals
Into the world
Of the daemonic beasts
And slime pits of the hell lords
Black iris and eye pupils
Blinded from good
Guardians of the throne
Demonic words
Serving their all and utmost
Bearing swords
Carved of the bones
Of the angels
Onyx horns from a purpled host
Garish mauve flesh and smooth
Devourer of sins
Eater of untruth
Slayer of the aged
Destroyer of the youth
The most wicked beast
Sends his armies
Who join the horde
And calls
From the throne
Sending orders


Composite bestial children
Born of an anal birth
Where none wish to bear
The harmful evil curse
Cthulhu called
Deep calls to deep
Demonic parentage exposed
Growth mentally stalled
Souls ripped from sleep
Leaving behind dual embryos
Joining midgestation
The evil spirit within
Enjoying the temptation
Of hellish flesh composed
Following a tortured ovulation
The spiritual development halted
From the vile DNA exalted
Of half human
Half Cthulhu child
The fallen


In the ancient land
Called the Rus
January temperatures
Beyond freezing cold
Monks maintain the site
A church built of bone
Despite the weather
In an overwhelming winter
Beneath this immense ossuary
With a foundation
Made of hard packed rock and granite
Fortified by steel rods and blocks of stone
Houses a chamber meant to imprison
With three foot thick marble walls
Chains of a pure forged metal hold
Therein is a being
Who descended of the stars
Declared itself a god
Demanded worship
People served it
Initially out fear of the power
The people made an altar
And dressed the dais
The newly built temple
With the bones and skins
And preserved flesh and scars
Of the victims of the sacrifice
Made to the beast
Now held beneath
In the single cage
Of the ossuary
But one with honor
With armor
And blessed sword
Stepped forth
Defeating the beast
Despite its rage
He was a warrior
With a pure heart
Never doubted himself
As all the others had
And that was key
To the beast’s weakness
Doubt was part of the test
The warrior had chained
Such a vicious beast in winter
To a hellish place
The beast’s own mind
Filled with anger
Burning inside
Perhaps it will escape
And test modern men
And their fears
In time


He is ruler of this place
A remnant of the past
Where demons ruled
And devils fled
The fiery inferno
Would ever last
Dwelling in the nevers
The beast spews acid
From his undead body
His goat skull is grotesque
The dead he lingers over
Have an odor that is acrid
And the plume of smoke
Accompanies the ashes
The goat head’s horns
Are colored onyx
Acid pours forth
And the victims are burned
Their minds have been crushed
By how their lives
Have been forsaken
And their pleas for mercy
So deliciously spurned
He is the ruler here
With no one questioning his word
For the undead lord
Has no rivals
Has no lovers
Has no desire
His mind is absurd


They lurk there
Beneath our vision
Cloaked by reality
We cannot perceive them
Despite their presence
And yet we feel
Something is awry
Something is out of place
And we long for order
And an explanation
That we shall never get
Are they meant
To be more than haunts
To be more than the nightgaunts
That echo in our dreams?
Screaming cries of death
Pecking out our eyes
Leaving sockets red
Bleeding and empty
Instead of sleep
And calm
And restoration
They linger
Upon the edge
Of something called reality
But if they linger
In our minds
What do we know
Is real


Crossing over from one realm
To that of this world
The Cthulhu spawn
Had no plans
Beyond malice
Humans were meat
Well able to be harvested
Their minds were weak
Well able to be confused
The spawn had no designs
On any sort of power
He didn’t desire worship
Nor did he long for anything
Other than his hunger
His deep
His love of flesh
Human flesh
Was more dangerous
Than if he had longed
To be king
Or a God
For he had no need
For guile
For charisma
Or any sort of thing
Other than his ability
Than to hunt
And eat


Somewhere beyond now
Other than here
Nightgaunts guard Ngranek
A mountain, a dangerous one
In the Dream lands
A mountain, a former volcano
Now dead inside
And no longer burns
The nightgaunts are not kind
To climbers and trespassers
For they have been given
A directive
By the Great Ones
To never allow entrance
To the depths of the lava fields
Nor the heights
Where the distant castle
And towers stand
Far above the horizon
Standing where the clouds
Cannot obscure their peaks
The Dream lands are frightening
But so are many places
The nightgaunts however
Make that place
A land where climbers lay
Dead and ripening
On the slopes
Of Ngranek


The skull of a minor demon
The beast was a foot soldier
In Hell’s army
Before dying in battle
The bone dry skull
Now was chained
Above the path
The passage to the lands
It was thereby marked off
For those who
Might be willing to see
With their wisdom
Not their eyes
Common travelers no
They’d not be able
Adventure seekers no
They’d be too bold
Risk takers would die
Only the most calm
Courageous and strong
Forewarned and able
Would be allowed
To have any sort of chance
For the realms of the Hells
Would be impossible to enter
Without a plan
Without a wise leader
Without an army
And even then
There’d be tremors
From the cataclysm
Of the battles
To follow


Long have they existed
Hunting and having their way
Harvesting the weak
Killing those who resist
They were not men like me
They were more like fish
From the sea
The ocean waters were their home
Born in the salted waters and foam
Rising up
With the tide
The deep ones spawn
Return to the dry
Where they feel drawn
To mate with human flesh
They mix indiscreetly
To become
What humans call hybrids
For the deep ones are called
By their deity
To make new men
The deep ones
Are not like us
They hunger for
Things that are vulgar
For flesh and viscera
And for human wombs to fill
But the men races to their woe
Fear the deep ones
And attempt to find them
And make war
When they know
Of their lairs
The deep ones accept no challenges
From other fetid races
Or from humans upon the walls
The fighting is inevitable
Attempting to turn back the tide
Of the spawning
Leaving only tombs to fill
Of all races
The walls are close to breach
As the desperation reaches deep
Forces gather
While the deep ones mill about
And nothing can be done
To prevent the break through
Mankind must commit
A racial genocide
Or the deep ones will renew


Spinning downward
The spiral never ends
The dark absorbs my being
And I can’t catch my breath
In the emotional vacuum
Of this place
In this emptiness
Ink black death
Alone here
Where they linger
Here psychobeasts roam
They suck my soul
From my
They eat the meat
From my bones
We are the last
Of the
Final songs


The demonic dimensions are chaos
For which there is no peace
Only the within depths
Of the vast domain
In demonic Hell’s reign
There is no asylum
From the inferno
Only an abyss
Far hotter than any volcano
Yet the vile demons are smiling
In ways most malicious
Ba‘al adh-dhabâb would shiver
Mephisto chooses to refrain from words
In their portion of Hell
Where the devils are left behind
Malak al-Maut waits for his orders
As the Lord of Flies begins to deliver
His sermon upon the fall of man
How many will survive
How many have surrendered
Humanity is going to go extinct
In the shadow of the Demons of the flies
For whom the gnashing of teeth
And the suffering of innocence
Is a sport and evil baptism
And a platter of lies


We are the ones
Who paid the cost
When they came
And planted the seeds
Of our regrets
They came ransomed
Children of the lost
They looked the same
Growing like weeds
Burning desire to forget
They lived now among us
To sow dissent
To change our flesh
To steal our breath
With the hybrid seed perversity
From the human race
To fish man
To eventual
Deep one misery
Mastery over the human race
But we refuse to change
We refuse to fall
To our knees
Despite the weak
Who worship
We are alone
But alive


Spoken solemnly
By the wise men
In great adjuration
Seers of the galaxies
All know the truth
That the heart of activity
Of the constellations
Is found in strength
Of the archer’s back
Sagittarius is distant
But it is the gateway
Of the alien gods
Who fell from the sky
To the blue planet
The alien star creatures
Called themselves
Worthy of worship
But while they were flesh
With powers of gods
They were incarnations of power
Without the power of creation
Destruction was their only gift
And humanity was devoured
Without measure
Of quality
Or worship
They were simple fodder
For the altar
There were towers
Built by men
In honor of their alien masters
The men of earth and women
Danced in celebration
Of some dark and ugly
Fecund masturbation
The altar lifted
With the fetuses and babies
Parentless children
All offerings
To the alien gods
Great Cthulhu
As well as countless others
Human flesh
For the hunger
Of these gods
Who desire
Human flesh
Destruction and hate
Misery and death
Were the legacy
Of the alien gods
They were not kind
They did not create
No, destruction
Was their art
And humanity
Was their palette
From distant stars
And ruined planets
They were here
To ruin this one
And their work
Had begun


The false gods
Employed Hunters
Who employed dogs
Half canine, half demon
They were kept hungry
Hungered for innocent flesh
If they could not capture a scent
None could
They never tired
Deep into the hunt
They went into the night
Even as night went into dawn
With the crying of the children
Waking the bored
The cold flesh
Those asleep to the world
The nights of the hunt
Never truly ended
For they never captured
The prey
The point was never to kill
But rather
To chase
To harrow
To hollow the soul
By exhaustion
The innocent
Until the dawn
When daylight
Chased the fear
From the mind


Hybernia was a beautiful place
A fog covered green land
With ocean rains and storms
The people grew accustomed
To the capricious ways
Of their land
Rather much
Like appreciating a rose
While bleeding from the thorns
A native son rose up
Much like the land
One who was as bold
As the ocean winds were cold
At the age of seventeen
As a youth he defended Ulster
He stood there
Alone against the armies
Of queen Medb of Connacht
In the Táin Bó Cúailnge.  
Cu Culainn
Now a man, soon a great hero
Prophesized to be
A man mightier
Than many men

His star was said
To burn bright but short
With an intense fire inside
From a glorious soul
From his birth to his death
De sa naissance à sa mort
Bastard child of the god Lugh
Himself a bastard child
Of an evil god
Atop a regal godly court
In him pumped a heart
With blood that flowed
Charged it did
Through his veins
Even glowed
With power that raged
Cu Culainn
Hound of Ulster
Approached a ridge
Overlooking the shores
At the very moment of need

There is a legend of a warrior who comes to the defense of the people of Hibernia.  At the last moment, when the tied has turned, and the enemy seems to have won, the warrior will appear, bearing a spear, being carried upon a chariot, and enters battle facing the worst odds. 

The clans gathered
To defend their land
Making war
Against an enemy
Unseen ever before
Eyes hollow and white
Bodies electric and fierce
With souls entranced
Minds bewitched
The enemy entered battle
With flesh painted
Carrying forward
An invader’s banner
The response of the clans
Every ounce of courage
Barely softening
The invader’s punch
Soon enough the invader
Had become a hammer

DOWN from the heights
A chariot had come
Black cloud growing
A scream of rage building
All witnesses seeing
Entered flight
The invaders were unaware
Of the hero they now fought
His rage consumed him
And he began the fight
One against many
After the many
Had fallen

Upon reaching his black ríastrad, and rage all those upon the field became his enemy, regardless of their allegiance.  Along with the madness, when he appeared, he would his spear Gae Bolg.  A magical weapon, it was unique, with multiple spear barbs, and functions.  How such a gentle good man could turn from human to beast as a result from entering battle is no mystery.   He had no wall between his waking mind, and his battle mind.  When his rage was triggered, he’d lose control.   And the black rage would take all with him.

While the remnants of the clans
Watched from a distance
The invaders were slaughtered
Upon the shores
The bodies washed out
With the tide
All dead and ripe
Viscera spilled
And poured forth
Every invader’s corpe
Slain by the spear
Gae Bolg

The ocean tide
Lifted the bodies
From the shore
Washing away
The unliving dead
The ships that brought them
Were now emptied
Afire and broken
The shallows turned red
The sails of a single ship
Being blown fully
In retreat
While the rest
Were burning
Emptied and sinking
Burning and drifting

Cu Culainn shouted
To the gathered clans
Get a ship ready
And gather a crew
And be ready for battle
We must chase
The survivor ship
And find out why
They wished to bring
Such a fate to our lands
Who are they to do this
How did they do this
They will pay
A ship was brought
To the harbor shore
And a crew and picked force
Joined Cu Culainn

Time was of the essence
There was no delay
What was odd
The direction
The survivor ship took
South and west
The only land in that direction
The mystical lands
Found in rare books
Where time was stopped
Covered in mists
Land of mystery
Slipping through time
And dimensions
Meant to keep men
On the outside
How it mystified travelers
With intrigue and beauty
And Inhabitants
With wisdom and magic sublime

Following the path
Of the surviving ship
Led directly to a place
No one could easily pick
From a mitt of choices
High cliffs
Mist covered island
With a strange, sweet sound
Like singing
Like a choir of youth
Singing for the elders
Laid out upon the grass
Celebrating the new day
By the drops of dew

Such a destination
What could they want
With Hybernia and Ulster
Except that they had
Already showed their desire
Bared their teeth
When they invaded
The shores of the land
So rather than wonder
At the motive
As the battle seethed
Determine the enemy
And stop future predation
With expedience

An island that appears just once in every seven years, Hy-Brasil was at first thought to be a legend.  But the people of the day saw it as a distant place, real, but populated by beings, not human, with great power.  Time is not linear, nor is it unbreakable.  Hy-Brasil was an entry place to different realms, the mists that hid it, were the guardians. 

 The ship rightly landed
Upon the rocky shores
Of Hy-Brasil
The chase followed
Upon the land so difficult to approach
The Hound of Ulster led the pack
His spear Gae Bulg prepared
And his anger simmering
The sight he saw
Was beyond human awareness

A massive temple, carved from rock
Not built from stones but
Dug from the stones of the earth
And laying upon them
As if it were a bed
Little was known
But this was a curse
This immense gray green beast
Slightly moving
So very ugly
Turned to see
Cu Culainn
And the brave men he led
Running towards it
Now for the first
Sitting up, to standing
The gray green beast
Could be fully seen
His countenance caused fear
In mortal men
Many eyes, it seemed
And wild tentacles for hair
He was 10 times taller
Than any human
With two great arms
That ended with claws
And form that stood
On two giant legs
The men of Cu Culainn
Fled the field
Leaving the giant beast
And the Hound to fight

In a language from a million galaxies distant
The gray green beast called
And strangely, and fearfully
Cu Culainn understood it all
It said leave my slumber
Leave my land
As my acolytes are preparing
Your funerary chant
You will die
As all of your kind do
Screaming madly
As you fall
Into my reach

The Hound of Ulster
Cu Culainn was unmoved
For he found the one
Who had sent the invaders
His black mood did rise
His men had long ran
From the field
Where now beast versus hound
Would be answered

The Hound of Ulster was not a beast, except for his heart towards battle.  And when he went to battle, his rage would build.  His allies knew best, run for their life, for when the Hound would enter combat. The numbers against him will not tell, his eyes go blank, his countenance turn black, and a cloud of darkness would cover him.

As the gray green beast advanced
He did not see how he was endangered
But Cu Culainn’s eyes were blank
His face was contorted in snarl
And the Hound of Ulster became a blur
As a dark cloud of hate
Covered his flesh
For the Hound was no beast of nature
He avenged his allies losses
He took to heart his beloved’s cries
And in moments he was in battle
With a primordial being
Who used fear and control
As weapons
Against a man, a hero
Without fear, and unable
To be tamed
His black cries rose
His rage grew deeper
And Gae Bulg sang
With every blow

As the beast fell backward
His weight crushed the temple
Forcing out his followers
Or they would surely die
Scattered acolytes of the star born beast
With shattered beliefs
Of its invincibility
They grew mournful
And began to cry

It is at a moment like this, when a storyteller often gives a reassuring nod to civility.  Somewhere there is a notion that the hero would take the mourners and comfort them.   But that is not the nature of the Hound of Ulster, who knowing the ways of men knew, these imbecilic followers would follow another leader, with their sycophantic ways.  So he slaughtered them there, covering the collapsed temple of rock with blood, and Cu Culainn returned to the shore.  Seeing his men, huddled in fear and prepared to leave, Cu Culainn just smiled, and said it is over.

In the echoes of history… The greatest hero of Hybernia was Cu Culainn, the Hound of Ulster.  A great many tales were told of his exploits, and his life was one with many escapes of deadly fates.  But also, with a dark destiny foretold, he managed a life outlook that was somehow hopeful if also grim in tone, in the face of such fatalistic expectations.  He faced a world of danger, betrayal, treacherous allies, foes of amazing powers, and evil waiting to pounce upon any weakness.

He was a hero in the greatest sense of the word.  That is, he was selflessly devoted to the victory of his people, faced death constantly, and often refused to take care for his own safety.  This was not the kind of hero who would live eternally.  It was the kind who would be a new star, shining bright and awesomely, before burning out spectacularly.  He'd ride into battle upon chariot, shooting a bow, and downing the hordes arrayed against his allies. And then, he'd dismount. Then when entered battle a black mist would rise, and when battle reached the peak of gore, he would find himself in an ecstatic place.  He recognized neither enemy nor ally, and all who were alive upon the field of battle would scatter and flee for their lives.  He rarely took damage, as the foes barely stood to fight, running as they could.  But beyond that, even those who tried did very little damage.

When he fought on foot Cu Culainn used his famous spear.  Gáe Bulg was the powerful weapon of the Hound of Ulster. It was an unique spear, described differently by different sources, but it is said by some to have the quality when piercing a foe with its main blade, 7 more blades would open within that foe's flesh, and would lodge within.  Only by greatly damaging the wounded being could the spear be removed.

In the end his life was ended by a breaking of his personal code, a taboo, which he held deeply.  And with his past of sorrows, and damage from the taboo breaking, he was to die, slowly, and painfully.  While he was chained to a boulder, by those who oversaw his death, a raven sat upon his shoulder.  And the hero passed, as beautifully he entered the realm of the dead, as he had faced death in life, without fear.

A hero's death should be sad, but honored with a celebration of the heroic life.  We should remark upon how fortunate we were to have had the chance to have been moved and helped by that hero in our existence.  Celebrate those lives I am trying to say, instead of mourning that they are gone, we should remember them, in song, and story.


In the deepest keep of the most high Emperor
Fools trigger an ancient artifact
Without knowing the consequences
Moments later, screams are heard
And a warrior has been attacked
Ambushed in fact
By the released beast from the hells
A demon with inhuman hungers
After release from a millennia long slumber
The battle is uneven, with a warrior who refuses to die
And a demon who has just been awakened
The naginata causes blood and parts to fly
And the tentacles lash gashes in the unshaken foe
Together one is content to die in honor
The other retreats, content to live in shame
And neither die this night
But this demon has a name
It is Cthulhu's spawn
And it will return
Just as came
This night
Awakened, angry
Hungry, vile
The spawn reached
Through the veil
Of the darkness
One after another
Warriors fell
The hungry demon
Ate his fill
Souls sucked in
Spat out cold
To be hounded in hell
The demon's reign
Fear and violence
His tolling bell
Only one stood alone
Made a stand
His heart prepared
To die
No need to atone
His vigilant heart
Fierce and noble
Frightened the demon
Back to his abode
Somewhere deep
In the bowels of hell

Hastur, He of the Unspeakable Name

Upon a mist covered island
A fog shrouded shore
Lays an elaborate structure
Built efficiently
Using the labors
Of an enslaved humanity
The vulgar evil overlords
Showed no mercy
Nor kindness
The human flesh
With labor, and terror
And thereafter
The harvest of the bodies
For fetid use as brooding host
Or flesh to eat
The slave holders used brutality
The surviving slaves
Soon after were slain
A fortress and city
With a temple at the core
Serving an other dimensional
Demon lord
The one unnamed
The beasts
Around him
Lived in worship
Soon, they marched
Upon the distant shores
In enormous numbers
With a loud and hellish roar
Near the margins
Of the murky sea 
Came an army
They were feared
Rightly abhored
People of the surface
Fled in terror
But not all escaped
The beasts invading
Came in the dead of night
When humans sleep
Awakened by a clanging bell
Rung with ardor
The humans could not exist
In peace
They lay in wait
For these evil beings
Their villages lit
With torches and flames
The armies
Obediently served
Their lord Hastur
Of unspeakable name
From distant realm
Of horrid hell
Apocalypse and destruction
Should he be named


Narrow is the path the seekers take
Upon the surface, slowly walking
The leader carries the candle
And the rest follow in his wake
In the solemn walk none are talking
All focus upon something unspoken
A deeply disturbing spiritual battle
Preparing the way for their gods
They are power
And Cthulhu
Await their minions
When the moon is right
And the invocations sound out power
The time is correct
To the precise second, minute and hour
The seekers walk
Knowing they shall soon
Know their god
And if they are fortunate
They will become the sacrifice
And forever be remembered
By the others
As having been close
To those who wield magicks
And eldritch mastery
And dread

Ghost of the Rub'al Khali

Life is demanding
In so very many ways
When it is ended
Death is not diplomatic
It takes whom it will
It takes the rich
It takes the poor
No guarantee
The number of our days
According to the Greeks
Ares is a democrat
Taking all, regardless
Of their status
The same goes for death
When it arrives
Life will leave a corpse
A rich man’s corpse is fat
A poor man’s corpse is gaunt
And they fade without status
Just dust
Time is unforgiving
Everyone dies
Immortality is a dream
A fleeting wish that taunts
Each life has a legacy
Complete with victories
And defeats
Leaving only a voice
Now I am a memory
Left behind to haunt
As a ghost in the desert

I chose my battles but never fought
For fighting’s sake
For me, my sword
My word was everything
Or, that is, was
I was a gentleman, not a rake
I was a soul ready to learn
My father before me fought
And it was his honor
To die for our Sheikh

Yes I am a ghost
But I was a warrior
From tribes of warriors
I tried though
To be more than a nail
To be hammered down
I learned to read
I wrote poetry
I learned calligraphy
I spoke seven languages
In every way I wished
To be known as a man
Who was completed
In mind and body
I was a man of honor
I knew what was right
What was good
The world I knew
Was filled with conflict
And beauty
Deciding which to pursue
Tormented so many
But never me
I worked the caravans
And trade routes
As a guard, and warrior
Sometimes fighting
Sometimes just getting paid
For riding a camel
Across the desert waste
Without any issues
The work was hard
But there was about it
A sense of isolation
That led to peace
Inside my brain

During the day we slept
When the blistering heat
Made our world dangerous
Beyond any hope of survival
At night
When the moon was bright
When air was cooling
We began our journey
Following the trade routes
Beneath the desert moon
The caravan was moving
Steadily, avoiding heat
Or worse, the sand storms
So large they must be named
We carried our leader’s fineries
His spices, his goods, for trade
In the darkness, making our way
Our camels were steady
Slowly passing through
The few canyons and hills
Valleys and rocks
But aside from that
It was an ocean of sand
Where no man’s act
No building, no footprint
Nothing could be seen
As evidence of the work of his hand

Even as we walked
Or the camels as they strode
Within moments of our step
There was no sign of our passing
But we were being watched
They appeared only as shadows
Stretching long upon the dunes
They were made of flesh
And hungered
For more than our trade goods
They didn’t strike immediately
They just followed until
Someone fell, slipped or tripped
A great desert will reveal
The evidence of events
Even more rarely
Will a desert show the bones
From when it consumed
Those who became lost
Or maybe some predator’s meal
Or perhaps an unfortunate dead traveler
In this burning lost waste
The voice of the dead is
Silenced forever or
Perhaps now in a paradise
Dreams of a world
In abject collapse
The dead lay there
Perhaps a sacrifice
Given up to unseen gods
Laid upon a sacred stone
Allowed to bleed into a bowl
Bled slowly at first slowly
Unto silent loss
Finally the dagger plunges deeply
Ending the dream forever sleep
In the ocean of sand the oven of heat
I have seen the smoke of burning bodies
Like incense the aroma
So thick and vulgar the scent

Beyond the obvious
Dangers of the desert
There are beasts of legend
Creatures and monsters
Real or imagined
Spirit of the winds
Spirit of the Djinn
I do not fear
Dangers of the mind
As I knew them to be
Fears born inside
A jackal will follow,
It will hunt and kill
Carrion eaters swarm
Cover the bodies
Smother the dead
Clean the corpse of flesh
In moments
But I fear them not
The hand of an assassin
Or bandit, or gang of thieves, yes
They are worth my attention
But all can be dealt with
If a mind is aware
If eyes are open
And prepared
But these shadows
Still chased our steps
They wanted to harvest
Our flesh
They longed to eat
From our viscera
Suck our marrow
From the bones and to feast
Only fear
In some of our number
Led them to continue
When exhaustion ruled
The shadows were still
Never far from our caravan
Those of our train of camels
And the walkers
Who did not keep pace
Fell behind, and were lost
To their own sorrow
We could not stop
Without threatening the safety
Of every member
Of the party
Every moment in the dark
Was twice as valuable
As that of the day
The sands were like water
Oceans covering our steps
Our souls
Being sucked down
Every step into a vacuum
Never sure of our step
But we kept walking
Kept walking
While the caravan
Passed over the sand

The third day of the caravan
I noticed a horrible thing
A frightening thing that
I can barely think about
Let alone describe
It was a scent
An aroma of burning
Of flesh and death
But not of animal flesh
You had to close your nostrils
And take short breaths
To avoid the horrific odor
From taking you over
But it did to all of us
With grave consequences
Soon I fell from the camel
Hard to the desert floor
So did we all
The caravan had to stop
Despite the dangers
And the rules
Because if it did not
And yet continued
There would be
An empty set of camels
Running wild with goods
Without any humans
To guide them
The smoke rose high and oh gods
This stench was grotesque
Soon most were retching
Some were passing out
Black smoky grease
Coating our throats
Kept air from us
Our lungs begged
For air to breathe
And when three of us
Finally escaped
The vortex of smoke
Our eyes opened to see
Something beyond belief

We saw something
Standing above
The desert floor
We saw a great
Solitary wall of rock
Carved into the face
A temple front
Ornately carved stone
With images defying
Sanity and hope
The moon lit the scene
And what we saw
Was less than we could
Reasonable deduce
We had no idea what this was
Other than a temple or
Mausoleum dedicated for a king
But why then place it
In the Rub' al Khali
In the middle of the waste?
In the emptiness?
How does one relate the sight
Of corrupt majesty
Of foul evil
Captured perfectly
In disgusting beauty?

My companions were silent
Staring at the macabre display
The carvings were bizarre
Shocked us speechless
The two other survivors
Were opposites of sorts
One was an experienced warrior
The other was young
Barely more than a boy
No scars upon his girlish face
We were all in distress
The greasy smoke still lingered
We were standing before a wall carved
By an insane hand
Soon the smoke began to crowd us
Again, we found it hard to breathe
It was harder yet to understand
What was going on, in a panic
We started pushing at the entrance
Clawing like animals to escape
Suffocation and death
Dying unless we stole a breath
We began to pray
To whatever gods we held
In our hearts, minds and thoughts
As having any sway

Our last push dislodged the door
The stone carved doorway
And loudly collapsed
Allowed three desperate souls
To exist moments more
If for only that
We were desperate
Willing to trade
Instant death now
For possible excruciating pain
Torture: unmerciful and degenerate
Later or not, they might try
We were prepared to die
If also
We had a chance to survive
At this moment
We were alone in darkness
Between the walls
Of the macabre stone enclosure
My two companions and I drank air
Sweating, and desperately breathing
As if we’d never tasted sweet breath
Before in our miserable lives
Our flesh was safe, for the moment
As the smoke dissipated with our entry
And now, three alone remained from thirty
Stood up in a rock fortress, or temple
And fumbled about, trying the walls
To find a torch, or wall mounted lamp

The older warrior was an Ethiopian
He’d been nearly around the world
His body was worn, but not his mind
I was grateful to have him as an ally
He was bright and full of knowledge
His name was unpronounceable
So we called him Old Father
His skin was almost pitch black
But his features were delicate
His head was bald, and face was shaven
He wore no tattoos, and he spoke quietly
But when he spoke we all listened
The younger warrior with us was quiet
He was thin, so fast when running
Was graceful like a gazelle
An asset in many ways, but,
So very hard to figure
He was an enigma,
Yes, I liked him
But I didn’t “know” him,
I’d say I knew who he was
But never had a real conversation with him
He had a single name, leading others
To great suspicions, thinking that
The boy was hiding something criminal
But not me, but perhaps I was naïve
The was Adiv, the meaning of which was “pleasant”
An apt name for the young warrior

Something indescribable occurred
Darkness put a chill through us
It was intangible but, we felt it
We all turned to each other, urgently
With almost no light in the corridor
Yet except the trickles of light outside
Did you feel that?  We all said
A force moved through us
It made Adiv vomit
Old Father fell to a knee
I didn’t move, but, it wasn’t from fear
I could not, because I became transfixed
I felt a rope around my throat
I heard a voice in my head
I would have screamed
Due to the pain, due to the shock
If only I could, but I was unable
In my mind I could see scenes
Cut directly from antiquity
Thousands of years
Beyond the present moment
There were ancient people
Building cities of stone temples
For masters, enormous, vile, and cruel
Building great monolithic statues
Constructing walled off tombs
There were walkways built
For the enormous beings
Who clearly ruled the city

There were central avenues
Lined with slaves bowed and singing
On the walls of this horrible city
There were vulgar decorations
Horrific celebrations of evil
On the walls were bodies
Flensed and corpses hanging
Victim’s heads
Were removed from bodies
They were collected in pyramid piles
The scene changed
Standing upon the parapets
Were warriors with royal trumpets
They blew them loudly
To announce to approaching retinue
Castrated and neutered children
Were forced to dance
Behind them walked an elite guard
Lizard men, huge, green, scaly
Carrying enormous bladed weapons
And they walked one by one
Behind newly taken prisoners of war
Each were killed to provide
A fresh red carpet
For the leader to step upon
Upon the entrance into the city
By the city’s leader

A leader
Who was not human
Was to enter and take the throne
Something beyond my belief
A loathsome, ungodly creature
A frightening obscenity
Blackish green skin
No arms, and a face of eyes
With a worm like body
Looking like a slug,
One enormous in size
Behind him were twelve beings
All looking like half crocodiles
And half humans, bearing weapons
And wearing heavy armor
I realized immediately
This was no dream
I was in communication
Somehow, with someone
Something, here, now
That had existed
At the time of the scenes
I mentally witnessed
My heart began to feel
As if it would burst
From the fear and sheer lack of control
I felt that the presence that had been
Controlling my mind seemed gone
But I was no less fearful

All the while
My two companions
Were in no better shape
Than me
Old Father rose from his knees
Began screaming
Took out his great sword
With a look of fear
He ran toward the exit
It was pulsing with light
A greenish light, a wicked tint
It looked alive
The smoke remained
And more than just being thick
They were swirling clouds
And he was swinging his sword
In moments he had been cut down
The blood of Old Father
Sprayed all over the ground
Where the blood sprayed
And the blood landed
The cloud darkened there
I was horrified, Adiv cried
He said loudly oh my god
The voice I heard was not male
In moments I could move
I moved quickly to Adiv
I grabbed him by his tunic
His clothing and robe fell off
And I learned that
We had a teenage girl
Masquerading as a boy
I was stunned, and
But for the moment
I was also somewhat bemused

But we still had a mission
It didn’t make things more difficult
Nor did this change my opinion
It did explain other things
There was no time to deal with things
Other than the task before us
Which clearly was survival
Adiv looked horrified
But in the dim light
She also looked relieved
When I didn’t say a word
We were both now looking
Toward the entry way
Our sole escape route
We knew that we might
Have to leave the way
We came in
But that entry was crowded
The smoke that swarmed
Was swirling there
And seemed to be forming
Now after Old Father died
The cloud of smoke changed
Fed by the blood that was shed
The formless cloud grew closer

Life is short, I knew that
Especially at this point
I had lived a good life
Should I die, who would mourn?
Adiv had a life left to live
Even if she had no family
She’d be mourned
The cloud waited on one side
The dark tunnel on the other
I shouted for her to run
Expected my body to be torn
The further she went down the tunnel
The cloud did not come closer
Unexpectedly, the cloud retreated
While she ran down the tunnel
I shot three arrows into the cloud
And soon there was no cloud visible
I called Adiv’s name, and said stop
We lit a small torch to lit the tunnel
All along the way from tunnel head
To the where Adiv stood
Were carved into walls
More macabre scenes of horror
Pregnant human women
Birthing children
For food to feed the beast men
Humans strung up like prey
Perhaps for sacrifice
All in the service
Of some vulgar deity

We could see down the tunnel
And had to make a choice
Were we going further
To our doom
Or, were we going to
Somehow find an empty,
If, also, remnant room?
The small torches worked well
There was a cross breeze here
We could breathe
But the smell was foul
Worse than the smoke of death
Without any warning
The floor beneath us fell
We slid down
Landing in a bone strewn room
Smelling and looking like
A deeply insane version
Of Hell
We saw some who were freshly dead
Not yet cleaned of the bones
But had recently met their doom
We were not harmed, but
Were we trapped?

We could still smell fresh air
Could not see the source
It was probably the same
As the source of light
The scene
Was of a glowing monolith
Of a foul horror of stone
A giant tentacled beast
Aglow in green light
Surrounded by nude human girls
And headless males
In stone
I drew my bow and
I set out many arrows
I knew there’d be combat
Adiv looked transfixed
Staring at the monolith
I’d seen the look before
In the market place or bazaar
When a poor man sees gold
Or a wealthy man sees
A prize stallion or gem
Transfixed and fixated
She couldn’t hear my entreaties
To get moving

As I feared
From the corners of the room
Surrounding us came the minions
Of this god
And while I was not a religious man
I knew what evil sounds like
I could hear it in their voices
I could even see it in their eyes
All the while they tried to close in
But could not
I kept firing my bow
Firing shots down the gullet
Of the encroaching beasts
I grabbed Adiv and started climbing
Up the monolith, and the bone walls
When I reached a midway point
I set her down, and used my last arrows
To kill five or six more
I cast off my empty bow and quiver
From the midlevel of the room
I could see the many dead
Sent my body into shivers
The last beast I shot was bleeding
As if emptying with a spout

I took the limp Adiv into my arms
Placed her over my shoulder
I climbed to the top
Out of reach of the few left
Reaching the ceiling found an opening
Like a trap door
Going up
I pushed her through first
And I then tried to then pull myself up
But slipped from exhaustion
Tried again, my arms were noodles
A view before me presented
That shattered all doubt
Adiv was sitting before the throne
Of a multi tentacled slug, king
Emperor of the ancient lands
My legs soon began to fail
And I was struggling to breathe
Once again in my mind
I could hear a voice
And see an ancient scene
Women were dressed
In fineries to serve him
The emperor
While they were surrounded
By human male warriors
Who were beheaded
As happened to me
At this time

There is nothing left
This is all I know
It is my story
But it is my hope
To warn all
Who might travel
Upon the same path
Or perhaps you hear the call
Of adventure
This quest
Will kill you
Do not answer
Do not go
There is only

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