Westport, a prosperous Cornish town, met its end in 1358. I wonder about the robed figure - did he summon the Doom or did he banish it back to slumber?
Olaus Magnus, in his History of the Nordic Peoples (1555), thought he was so superior, so smart. He laughed at the Geats, calling them superstitious, backwards, afraid of of thunder and lightning!
I contend that they were right, that horrible things lurk in the deep dark woods of their homeland. The Black Goat Herself dwells there in a den made of man's folly. Here Shub-Niggurath emerges from the woods to repel encroaching humanity. The Geats stand bravely, foolishly, for how can man stand against the gods?
It seems like every year, Yuletide comes earlier and earlier to the town of Kingsport. Of course, you are aware of Kingsport's Yuletide Festival? H.P. Lovecraft wrote about it in his story "The Festival" in 1923, but the narrator in that story didn't have a great time of it. Tourists, am I right? Maybe that's why the Elders are advertising so early this year.
"The second Massacre occurred two nights later when the soldiers, quartered in the homes of supposed loyal residents of Innsmouth, woke to a strange bloodshed of scale and claw. Father Dagon watches us all and sees his Children avenged evermore." - from the journal of Obed Crowninshield, discovered after the fire.
Evoking H.P. Lovecraft's 'The Shadow Over Innsmouth' and Paul Revere's own engraving of the Boston Massacre, this hand carved and hand pressed piece was made to honor the fallen and the sunken alike. It is the perfect gift for the strange one in your life, the one whose eyes have grown wide and staring, the one who knows that strangeness is always more than skin deep.
In his History of the Nordic Peoples, Olaus Magnus never had much cause to think outside the cold, snow-swept North. If he had turned his attentions south to the dry and dusty desert, he would have seen Chaos creeping across the dunes.
Nyarlethotep is unique amongst the Outer Gods in that It seems to prefer company. Most of the ancient intelligences that fevre dream at the ends of reality rarely think about us (and if they do spare us a thought, it's usually "delicious!"). The Black Pharaoh is different, though. A herald and teacher of madness, It draws a flock to it, whispering secrets that warp our very souls.
In my dreams I travel backwards and fore, loosened from the bonds of time. What power plucks at the weave of reality? None but the Opener of the Way, Yog-Sothoth the Beyond One who picks at the threads of time and space.
The images fold in on themselves - a glimpse of Olaus Magnus's A History of the Nordic Peoples (1555) invokes runes and rustic wizards. But is that the Tree of Life I see? Perhaps, perhaps. I shudder when I awake, sick with longing for what I hope I only dreamt.
"The Hero wears no mask! Haunting the streets of Carcosa, the mysterious King in Yellow preys on those who dare to turn their eyes skyward. A true detective, the King in Yellow can suss out the failings in all of us, drawing them to the surface before cutting them out in a grizzly rite. Based on the tales by Robert W. Chambers." - from unused advertising copy for The King in Yellow comic book.
Adorn your walls with this handcarved pressing of the mythical King in Yellow #1. Some say the King was created by a flatmate of Bob Kane, one of the creators of Batman who has a reputation for "liberating" other artists work as his own (Just ask Bill Finger!). The original artist is unknown, having disappeared under mysterious circumstances before Batman's debut.
The Crawling Chaos is an element of change, but there is one constant it brings - death and destruction. These two realities follow Nyarlathotep around like a flock of two headed carrion birds. Summoned to our reality, the Herald of the Old Gods advances with a grim certainty on its unstoppable, unfathomable mission.
Pray you are not swept up in its wake.
Give this panel as a gift to those in your life who remember and respect the Old Ways. Or, keep it for yourself in your secret shrine. Who knows, if you sleep beneath it, you too might hear the call?
Under the Pyramids in a distant land there are treasures to be uncovered. Guided by the whispering brass head, Knight Templar Anouilh sought out the riches of the treasure hoards, but found there no gold, no riches, just the dread knowledge that his place in the universe was that of a speck, a forgotten flea clinging to the hide of creatures beyond it.
Anouilh returned from Egypt broken and mad. Locked away in the Chapterhouse for the rest of his days, he spent his time carving what he saw and arguing with that terrible, terrible brass head that brought him there.