Podcasts about yog sothoth

Åter i Varbergs trivsammaste kök för att, precis som utlovat, prata om några väl valda Lovecraft-adaptioner, nämligen The Resurrected av Dan O'Bannon och The Whisperer in Darkness av Sean Branney. Vi får syn på en återkommande berättarstruktur och nämner bland annat därför Indiana Jones mer än en gång under avsnittet. Vi pratar också bland annat om: Stuart Gordon, “Re-Animator”, “Dagon”, “From Beyond”, “Castle Freak”, “hö, hö och hepp, hepp”-faktorn, Fredrik Johanssons podd “Lovecraft på svenska”, “The Case of Charles Dexter Ward”, gotisk skräck, uråldriga familjehemligheter, vampyrer, svart magi, alkemi, existentiell skräck, lovecraftiansk skräck, “The Shadow over Innsmouth”, förbjuden kunskap, det ockulta, kosmisk skräck, galenskap, Cthulhu-mytologin, Brent V. Friedman, “Shatterbrain”, privatdetektiver, film noir, “The Appointment”, John March, Claire Ward, svettig älskog, “Inception”, Providence-myset, Stephen King-myset, romantiseringen av småstaden, kvinnokarlar, body horror, Joseph Curwen, specialeffekter, CGI-fällan, dungeon crawls, ockult mysteriemys, monstermys, 1991 som ett bra år för Tomas, b-filmskänslan, sit com-känslan, Chris Sarandon, Sam Raimi, Don Coscarelli, Richard Band, Van Helsing-typen, Dr Willett, ockulta sammansvärjningar, Call of Cthulhu RPG, “The Resurrected 2: Ashes to Ashes”, H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, “The Call of Cthulhu”, Albert Wilmarth, Arkham, Miskatonic University, Henry Akeley, Charles Fort, Fox Mulder, snygga props, det återupplevda, The Woman in Black, Shub-Niggurath, The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, Tsathoggua, Matt Foyer, popcornrullar, Anders Fager, avsaknaden av sex och pengar i Lovecrafts världsbygge, Jan Lööf, A Ghost Story for Christmas, M.R James, science fiction, rymdvarelser, Yuggoth, Outsider-tropen, den vetgiriga akademikern, paranoia, gamla gudar, “Alien”, “Rovdjuret” och Yog-Sothoth. Patrons avnjuter dubbel speltid och djupdykningar i två ytterligare filmer.  Mycket nöje!  

Wally's Angels (don't snigger at the back) catch their breath and catch up with some old friends after the satisfactory completion of their investigation.Shadows of Yog-Sothoth will be taking a break but will return with the second thrilling chapter "Look to the Future" later in the year. For fans of the Apocalypse Grizzlies, the wait is over and those lunatics return in a couple of weeks with our second mash-up adventure The Asylum. So plenty to look forward to!If you like what you hear please support the show at Patreon to get early access, exclusive content and moreWe now have a Redbubble store where you can get all kinds of GPR swag with the wonderful new artwork by the masterful John SumrowWally Van Der Meer is played by Jenny at GrimHumorMagnus Daintry is played by Scott Dorward from Good Friends of Jackson EliasNorm O'Neill is played by Spencer Game of Keep Off the BorderlandsBT Raven is played by Barney from Loco Ludus

'Do not call up any that you cannot put down' has never been a more appropriate piece of advice as we reach the thrilling climax of the Silver Twilight Lodge chapter of the Shadows of Yog-Sothoth.If you like what you hear please support the show atPatreon to get early access, exclusive content and moreWe now have aRedbubble store where you can get all kinds of GPR swag with the wonderful new artwork by the masterfulJohn SumrowWally Van Der Meer is played by Jenny atGrimHumorMagnus Daintry is played by Scott Dorward fromGood Friends of Jackson EliasNorm O'Neill is played by Spencer Game ofKeep Off the BorderlandsBT Raven is played by Barney fromLoco LudusKeeper - Andy Goodman fromExpedition to the Grizzly Peaks

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a satanic ritual… well, actually it's probably not. In the weeks leading up to Super Bowl 57 the public was given multiple idols to honor in the name of ever-changing political correctness. The last week of January featured a statue of Ruth Bader Ginsburg on the New York State Supreme Court house next to actual law givers like Moses and Zoroaster. Her body was deformed though with tentacles and horns and she stood on a lotus flower, a symbol of spirit overcoming matter, even though the idol was a symbol of matter aborting spirit. The same artist crafted another similar statue across the street supposedly representing Eve. In both cases is the universal mother called upon and then inverted to draw on the energy of Lilith of Lamashtu, the Mother of Beasts. The graven image reminded many of medusa who is famous for turning men into stone. A week later on February 5th the Grammys featured Sam Smith and Kim Petra performing a song called ‘Unholy' with cartoonish depictions of the Devil, alongside of flames, cages, red clothes and horns. While most were caught up in the childlike depiction of evil they missed the intentional magic circle on stage and/or the lyrics of the song which referred to the unholy practices at the ‘body shop', perhaps a lyric noting our increasing desire to drug and mutilate children and adults in the name of identity, obesity, or rebellion. Darkness and chaos are, after all, rebellion against light and order, and altering the image of god is probably evil. The performance was said to be ground breaking because of the gender and sexual identities of Sam and Kim, relating their devilish images to a cartoon devil from the Powerpuff Girls tv show wherein Satan wears drag and is confused about his identity. His name is HIIM, or His Infernal Majesty. Social media was also ablaze about Madonna, who introduced the performance. Many said she looked plastic, fake, and just awful. Madonna, of course, blamed this on ageism and mysoginy despite many observers being older and women. Once again, largely overlooked, was her hair which was done in a way to mimic the horns on the Ginsburg statue. Since Madonna is trying to maintain her relevancy and youth it would seem that she is the one attempting to perform unholy acts against nature. She is, in essence, the Black Madonna, or the black MA (mother) DONNA (goddess). A week later we arrive at Super Bowl 57 on February 12, 2023, played in Glendale/Phoenix, Arizona, at State Farm Stadium, between the Philadelphia Eagles and Kansas City Chiefs. Commercials were mostly drab with few exceptions. A new Flash movie, Ant Man, Doritos triangles, Disney magic, the Masked Singer with a gargoyle, and some electric vehicle commercials from Jeep, GM (which featured zombies, Stranger Things, and Squid Games), and RAM (which seemed to really try with their ‘Premature Electrification' to convict you electric is better). The most notable were SquareSpace, Tubi, and U2. SquareSpace featured Adam Driver talking about how the service for websites ‘could create itself' and how this was the ‘singularity'. Adam Driver multiplied into what reminded some of agents from the matrix before being sucked into a portal. Square Space is also the dimension of Metatron's Cube or the meta verse, the eight sphere embodied by Saturn's essence.Tubi took viewers down a ‘rabbit hole' during the year of the rabbit, as rabbits physically took people and threw them into the abyss. And perhaps the most disturbing of all was the band U2 announcing their residency at the MSG Sphere in Las Vegas with a short 15 second ad featuring sphere-like UFOs, intense trailer-like music and a warning that ‘an unidentified object has been spotted over the skies'. What made this ad so disturbing to some was the fact that in the 72 hours prior to the game UFOs, which for some reason were not called UAPs and were not blamed on Russia, were tracked and shot down in Deadhorse, Alaska, Yukon, Canada, and over Lake Huron near Michigan. Lake Michigan airspace had been shut down hours before while the FAA also shut down the airspace over Montana due to NORAD tracking a ‘radar anomaly'. If the Super Bowl took your attention away from these unidentified objects then the U2 commercial redirected your attention back at the very end of the game. Not all of the UFOs were spherical, however, a reference to the Chinese Spy Balloon shot down on the east coast a week before. Instead, they were cylindrical and silver, while the Great Lakes UFO was octagonal. Several were called ‘airships'.In a tongue-in-cheek observation one could see the Vince Lombardi Trophy itself as holding not a football but a cylindrical, silver airship. Then there is Halftime. Usually sponsored by Pepsi the 2023 show was sponsored by Apple and performed by Rihanna and some dancers in white. Pre-game advertisements had Rihanna in a cloak of green moss or grass with her hair done (like a character from Dr. Seuss) to look like the roots or branches of a tree. Her entire pre-performance outfit made her appear to represent a tree which was sponsored by the black apple. This is obviously Edenic and the black apple logo is the poisoned apple given a tempted Eve in the garden, or Snow White. In essence, Rihanna was a representation of the Universal Mother of Nature. We even saw Adam and Eve in an avocado commercial during the game, a symbol of a womb and new life.Pre-game notes made sure the tens of millions of views knew that the game-day military flyover was performed entirely by women, that a black female coach Autumn Lockwood was the first to assistant coach a Super Bowl, and that both starting quarterbacks, Jalen Hurts and Patrick Mahomes, had darker skin, sort of. In other words, much homage was shown to black women in particular but black folks in general during black history month. As these things typically come off as insincere it was not noted that the NFL is over 70% black, and that roughly 38% of assistant coaches and 10% of head coaches are black. Not bad for representing only 14% of the entire population. But more to the point…Rihanna, who was opposed to the NFL for some time, decided to perform anyway. She represented the Universal Mother of Nature or Queen of Heaven. Halftime began with the singer suspended on a giant mirror and accompanied by two lower mirrors on each side, each with two dancers in white. Overall there were seven of these mirrors but we only see five to begin. The image created is that of the GEN (Chinese) or GON (Japanese), one of the Eight Trigrams of the I Ching, featuring a horizontal solid bar with two bars underneath on the left and right sides the.As the performance proceeds the suspended mirrors move in a way to indicate a stairway or a Staircase either to Heaven or Hell, as it shifts in both directions. This also flips the GEN or GON upside down and then back up. Next we see the mirrors on left and right drawing the eye down to the bottom central mirror with Rihanna, who was first at the apex of a ziggurat, is now at its bottom - this flipping represents both male and female or fire and water. It is traditionally Isis who is the all-seeing eye at the apex of the heavenly facing pyramid. We know Rihanna has a large Isis tattoo on her chest.After her dancers crawl behind her across the red stage and she retouches her makeup once, the mirrors return to view suspended in a straight line across the top of the stage. She then performs her iconic ‘Run this Town' song as the central mirror then lifts her back into the air and she transitions to the song ‘Umbrella'. A particularly interesting note about this song should not be passed up. UMBRELLA as a word is a combination of two words - UMBRA and ELLA. This is their meaning:UMBRA: a shadow region of darknessELLA: a female given name, from Germanic meaning ‘all'In other words, UMBRELLA is an all encompassing female name given to darkness. Here we are reminded again of the Black Madonna or the inverted Universal Mother. It should be noted, furthermore, that Rihanna has a giant tattoo of Lady Isis on her chest. We should also note that the black goddess Kali is said to be symbolized by mirrors. The mirrors at the halftime show furthermore reflected the heavens above as if to reject divinity. In the Lovecraft universe the god Yog-Sothoth appears in many different forms. He is the ‘guardian of the gate', or portal of past, present, and future (think of those commercials for SquareSpace and Tubi). He is described as a series of 13 ‘iridescent globes'. One of them is called UMBRA. Horror fan pages suggest that this particular representation of Yog-Sothoth is a type of demon who grants fame, fortune, etc., when worshipped. Such a demon is very popular in music and is honored by Eminem (the shadow), Lady Gaga (the monster and fame), and Billie Eilish (bury a friend). The chanting of UMBRELLA is like an incantation. The reduction of the word to “ella, ella, eh, eh, eh'” is similar to ABRACADABRA, which is reduced to BRACADABR, RACADAB, ACADA, CAD, A, etc. It is a word used to enchant when performing a magical act or ritual. The Super Bowl itself is a giant witch's cauldron to brew up magic potion. The reference to rain is excessive in the music industry, too, and is usually called the Rain Main, which is played by Jay Z in the ‘Umbrella' music video. Rihanna, it should be noted, begins the music video song with all black leather, oily attire and ends up covered in silver paint, signifying the infernal, while bowing down inside of a pyramid, a reference to the earth-womb. This is when she chants ‘ella' and ‘eh'. None of this happened at the Super Bowl Halftime show, however, which ends with pretty standardBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/tst-radio--5328407/support.

Programa 402 del 13 de noviembre, trasmitiendo en España en Sol y Rabia, Revi Radio, TNT Radio Rock, El Lokal del Rock y Asalto Mata Radio Rock, en Argentina en Lado Salvaje Radio y en Puerto Rico en Heavy Metal Mansion. Con bandas clásicas como The Police junto a otras más frescas como Serious Black, Timeless Fairytale, Champlin Williams Friestedt, Lifesick, Mystery Moon, No Favors, The Black Dahlia Murder, Yog-Sothoth, Weather Systems, Danger Zone y Distorted Reflection. De España, Synlakross, Closing the Earth y Greengoat. Bandas que escucharás hoy: 1.Serious Black - Silent Angel, 2.Synlakross - Mental Breakdown, 3.Timeless Fairytale - Forever and a Day, 4.Timeless Fairytale - Master of Illusion, 5.Closing the Earth - Metalcohol, 6.Greengoat - AI, 7.Champlin Williams Friestedt - Brighter Day, 8.Lifesick - Straight Jacket, 9.Mystery Moon - The Hidden Magic, 10.No Favors - Little White Lies, 11.The Black Dahlia Murder - Panic Hysteric, 12.Yog-Sothoth - Madness from the Stars, 13.Weather Systems - Synaesthesia, 14.Weather Systems - Still Lake, 15.The Police - Ghost in the Machine, 16.Danger Zone - I Like it, 17.Distorted Reflection - Mr. Snake

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Installez-vous confortablement au fond de votre lit, remontez la couette jusqu'au menton et fermez les yeuxLes histoiresAu loin sur Mars, par NémombeLes statues de Jésus, par MatgamarraAlt3Les gnomes enchantés du Soleil Radieux, par Never_You_Mind_WhoMerci à tous les auteurs, n'hésitez pas vous aussi, à envoyer vos histoires sur hello@avantdallerdormir.frLes recommandationsThe Sadness, sur Prime VidéoRejoignez-nousDiscordInstagram | FacebookYouTube | TwitchTwitterNotre siteNotre répondeur : 0749252790Soutenez-nousSur Patreon. Un remerciement à nos nouveaux patrons : Julien, Math, Ahriamy, Sarah, Giroto, Donovan, Souhaila, Thomas, Bleu-pigeon, Audrey, Anneux, Oriane, Lucie, Clara, Zantow, Yog-Sothoth, Jérémy, Genevivivi, Flux, Jérémy, Rose, Lesotites_cpascooltmtc, Lauriane, Myrtille, Natasha, Flora, Fabinus, Margaux, Julie, Lustucru, Lore-Kheann, Zaza, Nina, Akinao, TankaalEn nous mettant une note sur SensCritique, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, ou Podcast AddictL'équipe

  RETURN OF THE RAIN MAN According to conspiracy theories, the Rain Man is a powerful demon who makes deals with those who aspire to make it big in the industry. With the noun "rain", it is defined as water falling as rain, rainwater, and anything watery. According to the theories, rain can also be defined as one who receives abundant blessings from above. This is actually a unisexual title that can be used for both genders. The word "umbrella" is also synonymous with the Rain Man. The word umbrella is derived from a Latin word meaning "shadow" or under the influence of "Umbra". It can also be used in reference to a paranormal entity such as a ghost. Many cite the usage of the word in H. P. Lovecraft's book Necronomicon in which an umbra is one of the globes of Yog-Sothoth. In the Necronomicon, it states that Yog-Sothoth could bestow great riches on whoever bestows onto him a woman.

Mimic (Mimic) es un relato de terror del escritor norteamericano Donald A. Wollheim (1914-1990), publicado originalmente en la edición de diciembre de 1942 de la revista Astonishing Stories, y desde entonces reeditado en numerosas antologías. El cuento fue adaptado al cine por Guillermo del Toro en 1997. Mimic, uno de los mejores cuentos de Donald A. Wollheim, relata la historia del sujeto extraño en el barrio, alguien silencioso, reservado, que nunca tiene problemas con nadie pero que nadie llega a conocer realmente, alguien que, en realidad, es algo. SPOILERS. Mimic de Donald A. Wollheim consigue vislumbrar todo un mundo escondido con una narración notablemente sucinta y eficaz. La premisa de la historia es simple: algunos insectos han evolucionado para sobrevivir a través del camuflaje, como aquellas mariposas que imitan a las hojas y los escarabajos que imitan a las hormigas, llegando a pasar completamente desapercibidos. Pero, ¿qué tal si los insectos desarrollaran una forma de imitar a la criatura en la cima de la cadena alimentaria de nuestro planeta: los seres humanos? [«Pero en medio de las hormigas guerreras también viajan muchas otras criaturas, criaturas que no son hormigas en absoluto, y que las hormigas guerreras matarían si las descubrieran. Pero no saben de ellas porque estas otras criaturas están disfrazadas. Algunas son escarabajos que parecen hormigas. Tienen marcas falsas como tórax de hormigas y corren imitando la velocidad de las hormigas. ¡Incluso hay uno que es tan largo que parece tres hormigas en una sola fila! Se mueve tan rápido que las hormigas reales nunca le dan una segunda mirada.»] En Mimic, Donald A. Wollheim utiliza un número reducido de elementos. Al principio, el narrador describe brevemente a un hombre que vive en su misma calle, y que conoce desde su infancia. Es un tipo reservado, que viste una amplia capa negra, y que parece tener una particular aversión por las mujeres. De hecho, nadie lo ha visto hablar con una. El narrador crece y lo olvida. Cursa sus estudios y consigue trabajo como asistente del curador de un museo en el área de entomología. Allí aprende todo sobre cómo ciertos insectos utilizan el camuflaje para esconderse, mimetizarse, y pasar desapercibidos en un contexto que sería sumamente hostil si fuesen descubiertos [ver: Relatos de terror de insectos] El narrador tiene muchas ganas de hablar sobre las hormigas guerreras, esos feroces depredadores que viajan «en enormes columnas de cientos de miles». Son temibles e implacables, nos dice el narrador, pero también hay otras cosas viajando en esas columnas, disfrazadas, apoyándose en el mimetismo para aprovechar la protección que supone la fuerza superior de las hormigas. En este punto, es imposible para el lector no advertir que hay una conexión entre el interés del narrador por los insectos y su descripción del hombre de negro, «siempre vestido con una capa larga y negra que le llegaba hasta los tobillos, […] y un sombrero de ala ancha que le cubría la cara». Como un escarabajo, se podría pensar. También puede ser, como sugiere el narrador, que sea pura casualidad que el hombre de negro haya estado en la calle cuando la historia comienza a desarrollarse, mientras el conserje de la pensión sale corriendo pidiendo ayuda [ver: La biología de los Monstruos] El caso es que aún queda mucho por descubrir para la ciencia, y dado que el camuflaje y la imitación parecen ser recursos eficaces para estos insectos, es lícito preguntarse si el ser humano, el máximo depredador sobre la faz de la tierra, acaso no tiene sus propios imitadores viviendo junto a él. Desde luego, una vez que el narrador expresa esta pregunta filosófica, vuelve a encontrarse casualmente con el hombre de la capa negra. En cierto momento, lo sigue hasta su habitación en la pensión, donde el hombre siempre se ha comportado como un inquilino intachable, irrumpe en ella y lo encuentra tirado en el suelo, muerto. [«Durante varios instantes no vimos nada malo y luego, gradualmente, horriblemente, nos dimos cuenta de algunas cosas que estaban mal.»] Cuando el narrador inspecciona el rostro y la ropa del hombre de negro descubre no es humano: [«Lo que pensábamos que era un abrigo era una enorme funda de ala negra, como la que tiene un escarabajo. Tenía un tórax como un insecto, solo que la vaina del ala lo cubría y no podías notarlo cuando usaba la capa. El cuerpo sobresalía por debajo, reduciéndose a las dos patas traseras largas y delgadas. Sus brazos salían por debajo de la parte superior del abrigo. Tenía un pequeño par de brazos secundarios, cruzados con fuerza sobre su pecho. Había un agujero redondo y afilado recién perforado en su pecho, justo encima de estos brazos, todavía rezumando un líquido acuoso.»] Este hombre-escarabajo de Donald A. Wollheim es una mezcla particularmente inquietante de Gregor Samsa, el hombre-cucaracha de Kafka, y Wilbur Whateley, aquel personaje de El horror de Dunwich (The Dunwich Horror) de Lovecraft, con órganos y apéndices alienígenas bajo una fachada semihumana [ver: La Biblia de Yog-Sothoth: análisis de «El horror de Dunwich»]. Sin embargo, a diferencia de Samsa, el hombre de negro no se ha transformado en un ser grotesco a partir de un ser humano normal: es un insecto, un escarabajo que imita a los seres humanos para sobrevivir el tiempo suficiente para poner sus huevos. Al parecer, en este punto de la historia el hombre de la capa negra ha llegado al fin de su ciclo de vida. Mimic nos reserva algunos horrores más. Cuando el narrador abre una curiosa caja de metal que también estaba en la habitación, un enjambre de diminutos escarabajos escapa volando por la ventana: [«Debe haber habido docenas de ellos. Tenían unas dos o tres pulgadas de largo y volaban sobre anchas alas diáfanas de escarabajo. Parecían hombrecitos, extrañamente aterradores mientras volaban, vestidos con sus trajes negros, con sus rostros inexpresivos y sus ojos azules llorosos. Volaron con alas transparentes que salían de debajo de sus negros abrigos de escarabajo.»] «Es un hecho curioso de la naturaleza que aquello que está a simple vista suele ser lo que mejor está escondido», reflexiona el narrador de Mimic. C. Auguste Dupin estaría de acuerdo, como lo demuestra La carta robada (The Purloined Letter) de Edgar Allan Poe, donde el ladrón esconde la carta robada en el lugar más obvio, el portacartas, en cierto modo, camuflándola como una simple carta más. Mimic de Donald A. Wollheim parte de una premisa similar. Porque el hombre de negro es, en efecto, un insecto enorme que ha aprendido a coexistir con los humanos imitando su apariencia y, hasta cierto punto, su comportamiento. Pero, incluso después de descubrir la verdad, el hombre de negro no es lo que parece. De hecho, es una hembra. En este punto, Donald A. Wollheim trata de explicar que la aversión del hombre de negro por las mujeres era simplemente un recurso evolutivo. El narrador especula que la criatura tenía miedo de las mujeres porque ellas observan más cuidadosamente que los hombres, sobre todo a los hombres, y que por esa razón era más probable que su camuflaje sea detectado por una hembra. En cualquier caso, no es un elemento particularmente feliz. Mimic podría haber sido un relato mediocre si todo hubiese terminado aquí, pero hay más. En el cadáver del hombre de negro hay un «agujero redondo y afilado, recién perforado en su pecho, justo por encima de los brazos, que todavía rezumaba un líquido acuoso.» El narrador no explica qué ha ocurrido, y nos invita a buscar en los eventos al final de la historia una pista sobre la identidad del asesino [ver: Vermifobia: gusanos y otros anélidos freudianos en la ficción] Cuando la horrorosa cría del hombre de negro sale volando, ya liberada de su confinamiento en la caja de metal, el narrador mira por la ventana para seguir su vuelo y ve algo más acechando en un techo cercano, camuflado. Su observación transforma la escena urbana en un paisaje digno del horror cósmico de H.P. Lovecraft. De un plumazo, la ciudad, la antítesis de la naturaleza, se convierte en un lugar salvaje: [«Chimeneas, paredes y tendederos vacíos formaban el escenario sobre el que pasaba la diminuta masa de horror. Y luego vi una chimenea, a menos de diez metros de distancia en el siguiente techo. Era achaparrada, de ladrillo rojo, y tenía dos extremos de tubos negros al ras de la parte superior. La vi vibrar de repente, de forma extraña. Su superficie de ladrillo rojo parecía despegarse, y las aberturas de las tuberías negras se volvieron repentinamente blancas. Vi dos grandes ojos mirando al cielo. Una gran cosa con alas planas se desprendió silenciosamente de la superficie de la chimenea real y salió disparada tras la nube de cosas voladoras. Observé hasta que todas se perdieron en el cielo.»] Al contrario de lo que sucede con Lovecraft, no me atrevería a ser definitivo con el racismo subyacente en Mimic de Donald A. Wollheim, pero tampoco podemos eludir esa interpretación. Después de todo, el relato está ambientado en Nueva York, la puerta de entrada a los Estados Unidos donde los inmigrantes llegaban con la esperanza de pasar la inspección en Ellis Island y establecerse para empezar una nueva vida. En este contexto, el comentario del narrador: «la evolución creará un ser para cualquier nicho que se pueda encontrar, por improbable que sea», nos obliga a preguntarnos qué es lo que realmente está pasando aquí, porque el punto es que el hombre-escarabajo nunca ha encajado, nunca se ha mimetizado exitosamente. Podemos recordar que, cuando el narrador era niño, se burlaba de él por su miedo a las mujeres. De hecho, más que un imitador exitoso, perfectamente diseñado por la evolución, parece un extranjero que sencillamente trata de adaptarse, alguien que no pertenece del todo, alguien que despierta cierta inquietud pero que es lo suficientemente inteligente como para soportar las burlas de los demás y no despertar demasiada incomodidad [ver: Atrapado en el cuerpo equivocado] Es tentador especular sobre lo que está pasando en Mimic en términos de racismo no muy bien solapado, porque, vamos, el hombre de negro parece un ser humano, pero cuando miras más de cerca... Al flaco de Providence le hubiese gustado [ver: «La Sombra sobre Innsmouth»: del odio racial a la empatía] Análisis de: El Espejo Gótico https://elespejogotico.blogspot.com/2022/04/mimic-donald-wollheim-relato-y-analisis.html Texto del relato extraído de: https://elespejogotico.blogspot.com/2022/04/mimic-donald-wollheim-relato-y-analisis.html Musicas: - 01. Mind Tricks - Experia (Epidemic) Nota: Este audio no se realiza con fines comerciales ni lucrativos. Es de difusión enteramente gratuita e intenta dar a conocer tanto a los escritores de los relatos y cuentos como a los autores de las músicas. Nota: Este audio no se realiza con fines comerciales ni lucrativos. Es de difusión enteramente gratuita e intenta dar a conocer tanto a los escritores de los relatos y cuentos como a los autores de las músicas. ¿Quieres anunciarte en este podcast? Hazlo con advoices.com/podcast/ivoox/352537 Escucha el episodio completo en la app de iVoox, o descubre todo el catálogo de iVoox Originals

Mimic (Mimic) es un relato de terror del escritor norteamericano Donald A. Wollheim (1914-1990), publicado originalmente en la edición de diciembre de 1942 de la revista Astonishing Stories, y desde entonces reeditado en numerosas antologías. El cuento fue adaptado al cine por Guillermo del Toro en 1997. Mimic, uno de los mejores cuentos de Donald A. Wollheim, relata la historia del sujeto extraño en el barrio, alguien silencioso, reservado, que nunca tiene problemas con nadie pero que nadie llega a conocer realmente, alguien que, en realidad, es algo. SPOILERS. Mimic de Donald A. Wollheim consigue vislumbrar todo un mundo escondido con una narración notablemente sucinta y eficaz. La premisa de la historia es simple: algunos insectos han evolucionado para sobrevivir a través del camuflaje, como aquellas mariposas que imitan a las hojas y los escarabajos que imitan a las hormigas, llegando a pasar completamente desapercibidos. Pero, ¿qué tal si los insectos desarrollaran una forma de imitar a la criatura en la cima de la cadena alimentaria de nuestro planeta: los seres humanos? [«Pero en medio de las hormigas guerreras también viajan muchas otras criaturas, criaturas que no son hormigas en absoluto, y que las hormigas guerreras matarían si las descubrieran. Pero no saben de ellas porque estas otras criaturas están disfrazadas. Algunas son escarabajos que parecen hormigas. Tienen marcas falsas como tórax de hormigas y corren imitando la velocidad de las hormigas. ¡Incluso hay uno que es tan largo que parece tres hormigas en una sola fila! Se mueve tan rápido que las hormigas reales nunca le dan una segunda mirada.»] En Mimic, Donald A. Wollheim utiliza un número reducido de elementos. Al principio, el narrador describe brevemente a un hombre que vive en su misma calle, y que conoce desde su infancia. Es un tipo reservado, que viste una amplia capa negra, y que parece tener una particular aversión por las mujeres. De hecho, nadie lo ha visto hablar con una. El narrador crece y lo olvida. Cursa sus estudios y consigue trabajo como asistente del curador de un museo en el área de entomología. Allí aprende todo sobre cómo ciertos insectos utilizan el camuflaje para esconderse, mimetizarse, y pasar desapercibidos en un contexto que sería sumamente hostil si fuesen descubiertos [ver: Relatos de terror de insectos] El narrador tiene muchas ganas de hablar sobre las hormigas guerreras, esos feroces depredadores que viajan «en enormes columnas de cientos de miles». Son temibles e implacables, nos dice el narrador, pero también hay otras cosas viajando en esas columnas, disfrazadas, apoyándose en el mimetismo para aprovechar la protección que supone la fuerza superior de las hormigas. En este punto, es imposible para el lector no advertir que hay una conexión entre el interés del narrador por los insectos y su descripción del hombre de negro, «siempre vestido con una capa larga y negra que le llegaba hasta los tobillos, […] y un sombrero de ala ancha que le cubría la cara». Como un escarabajo, se podría pensar. También puede ser, como sugiere el narrador, que sea pura casualidad que el hombre de negro haya estado en la calle cuando la historia comienza a desarrollarse, mientras el conserje de la pensión sale corriendo pidiendo ayuda [ver: La biología de los Monstruos] El caso es que aún queda mucho por descubrir para la ciencia, y dado que el camuflaje y la imitación parecen ser recursos eficaces para estos insectos, es lícito preguntarse si el ser humano, el máximo depredador sobre la faz de la tierra, acaso no tiene sus propios imitadores viviendo junto a él. Desde luego, una vez que el narrador expresa esta pregunta filosófica, vuelve a encontrarse casualmente con el hombre de la capa negra. En cierto momento, lo sigue hasta su habitación en la pensión, donde el hombre siempre se ha comportado como un inquilino intachable, irrumpe en ella y lo encuentra tirado en el suelo, muerto. [«Durante varios instantes no vimos nada malo y luego, gradualmente, horriblemente, nos dimos cuenta de algunas cosas que estaban mal.»] Cuando el narrador inspecciona el rostro y la ropa del hombre de negro descubre no es humano: [«Lo que pensábamos que era un abrigo era una enorme funda de ala negra, como la que tiene un escarabajo. Tenía un tórax como un insecto, solo que la vaina del ala lo cubría y no podías notarlo cuando usaba la capa. El cuerpo sobresalía por debajo, reduciéndose a las dos patas traseras largas y delgadas. Sus brazos salían por debajo de la parte superior del abrigo. Tenía un pequeño par de brazos secundarios, cruzados con fuerza sobre su pecho. Había un agujero redondo y afilado recién perforado en su pecho, justo encima de estos brazos, todavía rezumando un líquido acuoso.»] Este hombre-escarabajo de Donald A. Wollheim es una mezcla particularmente inquietante de Gregor Samsa, el hombre-cucaracha de Kafka, y Wilbur Whateley, aquel personaje de El horror de Dunwich (The Dunwich Horror) de Lovecraft, con órganos y apéndices alienígenas bajo una fachada semihumana [ver: La Biblia de Yog-Sothoth: análisis de «El horror de Dunwich»]. Sin embargo, a diferencia de Samsa, el hombre de negro no se ha transformado en un ser grotesco a partir de un ser humano normal: es un insecto, un escarabajo que imita a los seres humanos para sobrevivir el tiempo suficiente para poner sus huevos. Al parecer, en este punto de la historia el hombre de la capa negra ha llegado al fin de su ciclo de vida. Mimic nos reserva algunos horrores más. Cuando el narrador abre una curiosa caja de metal que también estaba en la habitación, un enjambre de diminutos escarabajos escapa volando por la ventana: [«Debe haber habido docenas de ellos. Tenían unas dos o tres pulgadas de largo y volaban sobre anchas alas diáfanas de escarabajo. Parecían hombrecitos, extrañamente aterradores mientras volaban, vestidos con sus trajes negros, con sus rostros inexpresivos y sus ojos azules llorosos. Volaron con alas transparentes que salían de debajo de sus negros abrigos de escarabajo.»] «Es un hecho curioso de la naturaleza que aquello que está a simple vista suele ser lo que mejor está escondido», reflexiona el narrador de Mimic. C. Auguste Dupin estaría de acuerdo, como lo demuestra La carta robada (The Purloined Letter) de Edgar Allan Poe, donde el ladrón esconde la carta robada en el lugar más obvio, el portacartas, en cierto modo, camuflándola como una simple carta más. Mimic de Donald A. Wollheim parte de una premisa similar. Porque el hombre de negro es, en efecto, un insecto enorme que ha aprendido a coexistir con los humanos imitando su apariencia y, hasta cierto punto, su comportamiento. Pero, incluso después de descubrir la verdad, el hombre de negro no es lo que parece. De hecho, es una hembra. En este punto, Donald A. Wollheim trata de explicar que la aversión del hombre de negro por las mujeres era simplemente un recurso evolutivo. El narrador especula que la criatura tenía miedo de las mujeres porque ellas observan más cuidadosamente que los hombres, sobre todo a los hombres, y que por esa razón era más probable que su camuflaje sea detectado por una hembra. En cualquier caso, no es un elemento particularmente feliz. Mimic podría haber sido un relato mediocre si todo hubiese terminado aquí, pero hay más. En el cadáver del hombre de negro hay un «agujero redondo y afilado, recién perforado en su pecho, justo por encima de los brazos, que todavía rezumaba un líquido acuoso.» El narrador no explica qué ha ocurrido, y nos invita a buscar en los eventos al final de la historia una pista sobre la identidad del asesino [ver: Vermifobia: gusanos y otros anélidos freudianos en la ficción] Cuando la horrorosa cría del hombre de negro sale volando, ya liberada de su confinamiento en la caja de metal, el narrador mira por la ventana para seguir su vuelo y ve algo más acechando en un techo cercano, camuflado. Su observación transforma la escena urbana en un paisaje digno del horror cósmico de H.P. Lovecraft. De un plumazo, la ciudad, la antítesis de la naturaleza, se convierte en un lugar salvaje: [«Chimeneas, paredes y tendederos vacíos formaban el escenario sobre el que pasaba la diminuta masa de horror. Y luego vi una chimenea, a menos de diez metros de distancia en el siguiente techo. Era achaparrada, de ladrillo rojo, y tenía dos extremos de tubos negros al ras de la parte superior. La vi vibrar de repente, de forma extraña. Su superficie de ladrillo rojo parecía despegarse, y las aberturas de las tuberías negras se volvieron repentinamente blancas. Vi dos grandes ojos mirando al cielo. Una gran cosa con alas planas se desprendió silenciosamente de la superficie de la chimenea real y salió disparada tras la nube de cosas voladoras. Observé hasta que todas se perdieron en el cielo.»] Al contrario de lo que sucede con Lovecraft, no me atrevería a ser definitivo con el racismo subyacente en Mimic de Donald A. Wollheim, pero tampoco podemos eludir esa interpretación. Después de todo, el relato está ambientado en Nueva York, la puerta de entrada a los Estados Unidos donde los inmigrantes llegaban con la esperanza de pasar la inspección en Ellis Island y establecerse para empezar una nueva vida. En este contexto, el comentario del narrador: «la evolución creará un ser para cualquier nicho que se pueda encontrar, por improbable que sea», nos obliga a preguntarnos qué es lo que realmente está pasando aquí, porque el punto es que el hombre-escarabajo nunca ha encajado, nunca se ha mimetizado exitosamente. Podemos recordar que, cuando el narrador era niño, se burlaba de él por su miedo a las mujeres. De hecho, más que un imitador exitoso, perfectamente diseñado por la evolución, parece un extranjero que sencillamente trata de adaptarse, alguien que no pertenece del todo, alguien que despierta cierta inquietud pero que es lo suficientemente inteligente como para soportar las burlas de los demás y no despertar demasiada incomodidad [ver: Atrapado en el cuerpo equivocado] Es tentador especular sobre lo que está pasando en Mimic en términos de racismo no muy bien solapado, porque, vamos, el hombre de negro parece un ser humano, pero cuando miras más de cerca... Al flaco de Providence le hubiese gustado [ver: «La Sombra sobre Innsmouth»: del odio racial a la empatía] Análisis de: El Espejo Gótico https://elespejogotico.blogspot.com/2022/04/mimic-donald-wollheim-relato-y-analisis.html Texto del relato extraído de: https://elespejogotico.blogspot.com/2022/04/mimic-donald-wollheim-relato-y-analisis.html Musicas: - 01. Mind Tricks - Experia (Epidemic) Nota: Este audio no se realiza con fines comerciales ni lucrativos. Es de difusión enteramente gratuita e intenta dar a conocer tanto a los escritores de los relatos y cuentos como a los autores de las músicas. Nota: Este audio no se realiza con fines comerciales ni lucrativos. Es de difusión enteramente gratuita e intenta dar a conocer tanto a los escritores de los relatos y cuentos como a los autores de las músicas. ¿Quieres anunciarte en este podcast? Hazlo con advoices.com/podcast/ivoox/352537

Les Grands Anciens, créations mythiques de l'écrivain H.P. Lovecraft, sont des entités cosmiques d'une puissance et d'une antiquité incompréhensibles pour l'esprit humain. Ils habitent les recoins les plus obscurs de l'univers et sont souvent invoqués dans les récits lovecraftiens pour représenter des forces primordiales de chaos et de destruction. Parmi eux se trouvent des entités comme Cthulhu, Nyarlathotep, Azathoth et Yog-Sothoth, dont la simple contemplation peut entraîner la folie chez ceux qui les rencontrent. Lovecraft utilise les Grands Anciens pour explorer la petitesse de l'humanité face à l'immensité et l'indifférence terrifiante de l'univers. Ces créatures ont profondément marqué la littérature de l'horreur et de la science-fiction, inspirant de nombreux auteurs et artistes à travers les décennies.Immersion sonore : MoyenneMonstresProduction : Aurélien Hérault, Damien Maric, Chloé LuizardChargée de production : Agathe LedeinAuteur : Arnold PetitComédien : Emmanuel KarsenStudio : Load StudioHabillage Sonore : Phauneradio Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

In der 61. Episode der PLATTNEREI tauchen eure Anglerfische des Deep-Talks Pint Eastwood und Kain Morgenmeer tief in die finsteren Strudel des Abyss ein und fischen für euch nach sieben Kronen und dem Buch der sieben Siegel. Das 4. Album “Seven Crowns And Seven Seals” der deutschen Death-Metal-Band Sulphur Aeon fegte 2023 über die Welt hinweg wie der Zorn der großen Alten. Grund genug, dass wir unser Necronomicon beiseite legen und euch an die Hände oder Tentakel nehmen, um endlich einmal ausführlich über H.P. Lovecraft und seine unheilvollen Wesen sowie einen musikalischen Hammer sondergleichen zu sprechen.Wer oder was sind Nyarlathotep, Yog-Sothoth, Shub-Niggurath und Cthulhu? Was lauert unter den Zikkurats? Was ist das blinde Chaos, welches in mitten der heulenden Leere träumt? Gehört Lakritz in ein Tintenfisch-Risotto? Findet es heraus und begleitet uns durch giftige Wurmlöcher und ungestüme Sternenwinde auf eine faszinierende Reise in die unauslotbaren Abgründe dieses Albums und in ein schwefeliges Zeitalter!

BEST OF: It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a satanic ritual… well, actually it's probably not. In the weeks leading up to Super Bowl 57 the public was given multiple idols to honor in the name of ever-changing political correctness. The last week of January featured a statue of Ruth Bader Ginsburg on the New York State Supreme Court house next to actual law givers like Moses and Zoroaster. Her body was deformed though with tentacles and horns and she stood on a lotus flower, a symbol of spirit overcoming matter, even though the idol was a symbol of matter aborting spirit. The same artist crafted another similar statue across the street supposedly representing Eve. In both cases is the universal mother called upon and then inverted to draw on the energy of Lilith of Lamashtu, the Mother of Beasts. The graven image reminded many of medusa who is famous for turning men into stone. A week later on February 5th the Grammys featured Sam Smith and Kim Petra performing a song called ‘Unholy' with cartoonish depictions of the Devil, alongside of flames, cages, red clothes and horns. While most were caught up in the childlike depiction of evil they missed the intentional magic circle on stage and/or the lyrics of the song which referred to the unholy practices at the ‘body shop', perhaps a lyric noting our increasing desire to drug and mutilate children and adults in the name of identity, obesity, or rebellion. Darkness and chaos are, after all, rebellion against light and order, and altering the image of god is probably evil. The performance was said to be ground breaking because of the gender and sexual identities of Sam and Kim, relating their devilish images to a cartoon devil from the Powerpuff Girls tv show wherein Satan wears drag and is confused about his identity. His name is HIIM, or His Infernal Majesty. Social media was also ablaze about Madonna, who introduced the performance. Many said she looked plastic, fake, and just awful. Madonna, of course, blamed this on ageism and mysoginy despite many observers being older and women. Once again, largely overlooked, was her hair which was done in a way to mimic the horns on the Ginsburg statue. Since Madonna is trying to maintain her relevancy and youth it would seem that she is the one attempting to perform unholy acts against nature. She is, in essence, the Black Madonna, or the black MA (mother) DONNA (goddess). A week later we arrive at Super Bowl 57 on February 12, 2023, played in Glendale/Phoenix, Arizona, at State Farm Stadium, between the Philadelphia Eagles and Kansas City Chiefs. Commercials were mostly drab with few exceptions. A new Flash movie, Ant Man, Doritos triangles, Disney magic, the Masked Singer with a gargoyle, and some electric vehicle commercials from Jeep, GM (which featured zombies, Stranger Things, and Squid Games), and RAM (which seemed to really try with their ‘Premature Electrification' to convict you electric is better). The most notable were SquareSpace, Tubi, and U2. SquareSpace featured Adam Driver talking about how the service for websites ‘could create itself' and how this was the ‘singularity'. Adam Driver multiplied into what reminded some of agents from the matrix before being sucked into a portal. Square Space is also the dimension of Metatron's Cube or the meta verse, the eight sphere embodied by Saturn's essence.Tubi took viewers down a ‘rabbit hole' during the year of the rabbit, as rabbits physically took people and threw them into the abyss. And perhaps the most disturbing of all was the band U2 announcing their residency at the MSG Sphere in Las Vegas with a short 15 second ad featuring sphere-like UFOs, intense trailer-like music and a warning that ‘an unidentified object has been spotted over the skies'. What made this ad so disturbing to some was the fact that in the 72 hours prior to the game UFOs, which for some reason were not called UAPs and were not blamed on Russia, were tracked and shot down in Deadhorse, Alaska, Yukon, Canada, and over Lake Huron near Michigan. Lake Michigan airspace had been shut down hours before while the FAA also shut down the airspace over Montana due to NORAD tracking a ‘radar anomaly'. If the Super Bowl took your attention away from these unidentified objects then the U2 commercial redirected your attention back at the very end of the game. Not all of the UFOs were spherical, however, a reference to the Chinese Spy Balloon shot down on the east coast a week before. Instead, they were cylindrical and silver, while the Great Lakes UFO was octagonal. Several were called ‘airships'.In a tongue-in-cheek observation one could see the Vince Lombardi Trophy itself as holding not a football but a cylindrical, silver airship. Then there is Halftime. Usually sponsored by Pepsi the 2023 show was sponsored by Apple and performed by Rihanna and some dancers in white. Pre-game advertisements had Rihanna in a cloak of green moss or grass with her hair done (like a character from Dr. Seuss) to look like the roots or branches of a tree. Her entire pre-performance outfit made her appear to represent a tree which was sponsored by the black apple. This is obviously Edenic and the black apple logo is the poisoned apple given a tempted Eve in the garden, or Snow White. In essence, Rihanna was a representation of the Universal Mother of Nature. We even saw Adam and Eve in an avocado commercial during the game, a symbol of a womb and new life.Pre-game notes made sure the tens of millions of views knew that the game-day military flyover was performed entirely by women, that a black female coach Autumn Lockwood was the first to assistant coach a Super Bowl, and that both starting quarterbacks, Jalen Hurts and Patrick Mahomes, had darker skin, sort of. In other words, much homage was shown to black women in particular but black folks in general during black history month. As these things typically come off as insincere it was not noted that the NFL is over 70% black, and that roughly 38% of assistant coaches and 10% of head coaches are black. Not bad for representing only 14% of the entire population. But more to the point…Rihanna, who was opposed to the NFL for some time, decided to perform anyway. She represented the Universal Mother of Nature or Queen of Heaven. Halftime began with the singer suspended on a giant mirror and accompanied by two lower mirrors on each side, each with two dancers in white. Overall there were seven of these mirrors but we only see five to begin. The image created is that of the GEN (Chinese) or GON (Japanese), one of the Eight Trigrams of the I Ching, featuring a horizontal solid bar with two bars underneath on the left and right sides the.As the performance proceeds the suspended mirrors move in a way to indicate a stairway or a Staircase either to Heaven or Hell, as it shifts in both directions. This also flips the GEN or GON upside down and then back up. Next we see the mirrors on left and right drawing the eye down to the bottom central mirror with Rihanna, who was first at the apex of a ziggurat, is now at its bottom - this flipping represents both male and female or fire and water. It is traditionally Isis who is the all-seeing eye at the apex of the heavenly facing pyramid. We know Rihanna has a large Isis tattoo on her chest.After her dancers crawl behind her across the red stage and she retouches her makeup once, the mirrors return to view suspended in a straight line across the top of the stage. She then performs her iconic ‘Run this Town' song as the central mirror then lifts her back into the air and she transitions to the song ‘Umbrella'. A particularly interesting note about this song should not be passed up. UMBRELLA as a word is a combination of two words - UMBRA and ELLA. This is their meaning:UMBRA: a shadow region of darknessELLA: a female given name, from Germanic meaning ‘all'In other words, UMBRELLA is an all encompassing female name given to darkness. Here we are reminded again of the Black Madonna or the inverted Universal Mother. It should be noted, furthermore, that Rihanna has a giant tattoo of Lady Isis on her chest. We should also note that the black goddess Kali is said to be symbolized by mirrors. The mirrors at the halftime show furthermore reflected the heavens above as if to reject divinity. In the Lovecraft universe the god Yog-Sothoth appears in many different forms. He is the ‘guardian of the gate', or portal of past, present, and future (think of those commercials for SquareSpace and Tubi). He is described as a series of 13 ‘iridescent globes'. One of them is called UMBRA. Horror fan pages suggest that this particular representation of Yog-Sothoth is a type of demon who grants fame, fortune, etc., when worshipped. Such a demon is very popular in music and is honored by Eminem (the shadow), Lady Gaga (the monster and fame), and Billie Eilish (bury a friend). The chanting of UMBRELLA is like an incantation. The reduction of the word to “ella, ella, eh, eh, eh'” is similar to ABRACADABRA, which is reduced to BRACADABR, RACADAB, ACADA, CAD, A, etc. It is a word used to enchant when performing a magical act or ritual. The Super Bowl itself is a giant witch's cauldron to brew up magic potion. The reference to rain is excessive in the music industry, too, and is usually called the Rain Main, which is played by Jay Z in the ‘Umbrella' music video. Rihanna, it should be noted, begins the music video song with all black leather, oily attire and en

In der heutigen Folge besprechen wir ein Thema, welches für viel Inspiration im Warcraft Kosmos sorgte: Das Necronomicon von H. P. Lovecraft. Azathoth, Yog-Sothoth, Cthylla & Co. kommen uns als WoW Fans seltsam vertraut vor. Aber sollen sie wirklich an Azeroth, Yogg-Saron und Xal'atath erinnern? Wir sprechen drüber und schätzen ein, was dran ist, an Warcrafts eigenem Cthulhu-Mythos. Zusammenfassung Flüstern: https://www.reddit.com/r/wow/comments/zay2yl/unkown_presence_in_the_black_empire_thaldraszus/ Alte Götter sind tot Interview: https://www.wowhead.com/de/news/are-old-gods-dead-shadowlands-interview-with-steve-danuser-and-r-wow-296046 Wiki Beispiel: https://lovecraft.fandom.com/wiki/Cthylla ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/craft12354 Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/craft12354 Youtube: https://youtube.com/@Craft12354 Twitter: https://twitter.com/Craft12354 Mail: YTCraft@web.de

Here is the first episode of our new Patreon bonus campaign where we tackle the classic Call of Cthulhu campaign "Shadows of Yog-Sothoth", originally published by Chaosium in 1982.Joining us as our keeper is our dear friend Matthew Dawkins.To listen to the second episode and to get following episodes delivered in your podcast app do check us out on Patreon and back us at the 5 dollar level or above.Music by: Lovecraftian compilations, used with permission from Cryo Chamber.Our Champions of the Red Moon: Martin Heuschober, Simon Cooper, David, Julia, Camilla, Bob de Lange, Cameron, Antxon and Graham Barey.Web: https://www.redmoonroleplaying.comiTunes: http://apple.co/2wTNqHxAndroid: http://bit.ly/2vSvwZiYoutube: https://www.youtube.com/RedMoonRoleplayingSpotify: https://spoti.fi/30iFmznRSS: http://www.redmoonroleplaying.com/podcast?format=rssPatreon: https://www.patreon.com/RedMoonRoleplaying

This episode kicks off with a wonderful message Mirke the Meek, whose podcast has had me contemplating the format of my show. We then have a potted history of Traveller courtesy of Micheal “Chigowiz” Shorten of The Dungeon Master's Handbook and a first-time call for Lex Mandrake of Dank Dungeons (creator of AZAG and 5B). Lex's creations are available on both DriveThruRPG https://preview.drivethrurpg.com/en/publisher/24684/dank-dungeons?keyword=dank%20dungeons and itch https://dank-dungeons.itch.ioI then take a look at some more recent Gus L. goodness in the shape of The Curse of the Ganshogrr https://preview.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/455858/the-curse-of-the-ganshoggrHonourable mentions: Karl Rodriguez of the GMologist presents…, Marc Miller's Traveller Facsimile Edition and 5th Edition, Mongoose Traveller, GURPs Traveller, Samardan Press's Cepheus, Kevin Crawford's Stars Without Number, Battlestar Galactica, TSR Dungeons & Dragons, WotC, Kelsey Dionne's ShadowDark, Chaosium's Call of Cthulhu, Shadows of Yog-Sothoth, Mike Mason's Pulp Cthulhu, Questingbeast's Glatisant newsletter, Kill Jester's Errant. Music by Timothy J. Drennon"Warning" by Lieren of Updates From the Middle of NowhereLeave me an audio message via ⁠https://www.speakpipe.com/KeepOffTheBorderlands⁠You can email me at ⁠spencer.freethrall@gmail.com⁠Subscribe to my newsletter The StochasiumYou can find me in a bunch of other places here ⁠https://freethrall.carrd.co⁠ and in actual plays on Grizzly Peaks Radio https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/grizzly-peaks-radio/id1530832637You can also find me on Discord by searching for FreeThrall/KeepOffTheBorderlands#7623 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit freethrall.substack.com

Zac and Bob, like the half-human twins of Yog-Sothoth, dive into backwater Dunwich and try to make sense of this mind-flaying world, hardly concealing its eldritch horrors and estranged albino mothers. Explore our Patreon at ⁠⁠⁠⁠patreon.com/wheelofgenre

  The Haunter of the Dark By H. P. Lovecraft (Dedicated to Robert Bloch) I have seen the dark universe yawning Where the black planets roll without aim— Where they roll in their horror unheeded, Without knowledge or lustre or name. —Nemesis. Cautious investigators will hesitate to challenge the common belief that Robert Blake was killed by lightning, or by some profound nervous shock derived from an electrical discharge. It is true that the window he faced was unbroken, but Nature has shewn herself capable of many freakish performances. The expression on his face may easily have arisen from some obscure muscular source unrelated to anything he saw, while the entries in his diary are clearly the result of a fantastic imagination aroused by certain local superstitions and by certain old matters he had uncovered. As for the anomalous conditions at the deserted church on Federal Hill—the shrewd analyst is not slow in attributing them to some charlatanry, conscious or unconscious, with at least some of which Blake was secretly connected. For after all, the victim was a writer and painter wholly devoted to the field of myth, dream, terror, and superstition, and avid in his quest for scenes and effects of a bizarre, spectral sort. His earlier stay in the city—a visit to a strange old man as deeply given to occult and forbidden lore as he—had ended amidst death and flame, and it must have been some morbid instinct which drew him back from his home in Milwaukee. He may have known of the old stories despite his statements to the contrary in the diary, and his death may have nipped in the bud some stupendous hoax destined to have a literary reflection. Among those, however, who have examined and correlated all this evidence, there remain several who cling to less rational and commonplace theories. They are inclined to take much of Blake's diary at its face value, and point significantly to certain facts such as the undoubted genuineness of the old church record, the verified existence of the disliked and unorthodox Starry Wisdom sect prior to 1877, the recorded disappearance of an inquisitive reporter named Edwin M. Lillibridge in 1893, and—above all—the look of monstrous, transfiguring fear on the face of the young writer when he died. It was one of these believers who, moved to fanatical extremes, threw into the bay the curiously angled stone and its strangely adorned metal box found in the old church steeple—the black windowless steeple, and not the tower where Blake's diary said those things originally were. Though widely censured both officially and unofficially, this man—a reputable physician with a taste for odd folklore—averred that he had rid the earth of something too dangerous to rest upon it. Between these two schools of opinion the reader must judge for himself. The papers have given the tangible details from a sceptical angle, leaving for others the drawing of the picture as Robert Blake saw it—or thought he saw it—or pretended to see it. Now, studying the diary closely, dispassionately, and at leisure, let us summarise the dark chain of events from the expressed point of view of their chief actor. Young Blake returned to Providence in the winter of 1934–5, taking the upper floor of a venerable dwelling in a grassy court off College Street—on the crest of the great eastward hill near the Brown University campus and behind the marble John Hay Library. It was a cosy and fascinating place, in a little garden oasis of village-like antiquity where huge, friendly cats sunned themselves atop a convenient shed. The square Georgian house had a monitor roof, classic doorway with fan carving, small-paned windows, and all the other earmarks of early nineteenth-century workmanship. Inside were six-panelled doors, wide floor-boards, a curving colonial staircase, white Adam-period mantels, and a rear set of rooms three steps below the general level. Blake's study, a large southwest chamber, overlooked the front garden on one side, while its west windows—before one of which he had his desk—faced off from the brow of the hill and commanded a splendid view of the lower town's outspread roofs and of the mystical sunsets that flamed behind them. On the far horizon were the open countryside's purple slopes. Against these, some two miles away, rose the spectral hump of Federal Hill, bristling with huddled roofs and steeples whose remote outlines wavered mysteriously, taking fantastic forms as the smoke of the city swirled up and enmeshed them. Blake had a curious sense that he was looking upon some unknown, ethereal world which might or might not vanish in dream if ever he tried to seek it out and enter it in person. Having sent home for most of his books, Blake bought some antique furniture suitable to his quarters and settled down to write and paint—living alone, and attending to the simple housework himself. His studio was in a north attic room, where the panes of the monitor roof furnished admirable lighting. During that first winter he produced five of his best-known short stories—“The Burrower Beneath”, “The Stairs in the Crypt”, “Shaggai”, “In the Vale of Pnath”, and “The Feaster from the Stars”—and painted seven canvases; studies of nameless, unhuman monsters, and profoundly alien, non-terrestrial landscapes. At sunset he would often sit at his desk and gaze dreamily off at the outspread west—the dark towers of Memorial Hall just below, the Georgian court-house belfry, the lofty pinnacles of the downtown section, and that shimmering, spire-crowned mound in the distance whose unknown streets and labyrinthine gables so potently provoked his fancy. From his few local acquaintances he learned that the far-off slope was a vast Italian quarter, though most of the houses were remnants of older Yankee and Irish days. Now and then he would train his field-glasses on that spectral, unreachable world beyond the curling smoke; picking out individual roofs and chimneys and steeples, and speculating upon the bizarre and curious mysteries they might house. Even with optical aid Federal Hill seemed somehow alien, half fabulous, and linked to the unreal, intangible marvels of Blake's own tales and pictures. The feeling would persist long after the hill had faded into the violet, lamp-starred twilight, and the court-house floodlights and the red Industrial Trust beacon had blazed up to make the night grotesque. Of all the distant objects on Federal Hill, a certain huge, dark church most fascinated Blake. It stood out with especial distinctness at certain hours of the day, and at sunset the great tower and tapering steeple loomed blackly against the flaming sky. It seemed to rest on especially high ground; for the grimy facade, and the obliquely seen north side with sloping roof and the tops of great pointed windows, rose boldly above the tangle of surrounding ridgepoles and chimney-pots. Peculiarly grim and austere, it appeared to be built of stone, stained and weathered with the smoke and storms of a century and more. The style, so far as the glass could shew, was that earliest experimental form of Gothic revival which preceded the stately Upjohn period and held over some of the outlines and proportions of the Georgian age. Perhaps it was reared around 1810 or 1815. As months passed, Blake watched the far-off, forbidding structure with an oddly mounting interest. Since the vast windows were never lighted, he knew that it must be vacant. The longer he watched, the more his imagination worked, till at length he began to fancy curious things. He believed that a vague, singular aura of desolation hovered over the place, so that even the pigeons and swallows shunned its smoky eaves. Around other towers and belfries his glass would reveal great flocks of birds, but here they never rested. At least, that is what he thought and set down in his diary. He pointed the place out to several friends, but none of them had even been on Federal Hill or possessed the faintest notion of what the church was or had been. In the spring a deep restlessness gripped Blake. He had begun his long-planned novel—based on a supposed survival of the witch-cult in Maine—but was strangely unable to make progress with it. More and more he would sit at his westward window and gaze at the distant hill and the black, frowning steeple shunned by the birds. When the delicate leaves came out on the garden boughs the world was filled with a new beauty, but Blake's restlessness was merely increased. It was then that he first thought of crossing the city and climbing bodily up that fabulous slope into the smoke-wreathed world of dream. Late in April, just before the aeon-shadowed Walpurgis time, Blake made his first trip into the unknown. Plodding through the endless downtown streets and the bleak, decayed squares beyond, he came finally upon the ascending avenue of century-worn steps, sagging Doric porches, and blear-paned cupolas which he felt must lead up to the long-known, unreachable world beyond the mists. There were dingy blue-and-white street signs which meant nothing to him, and presently he noted the strange, dark faces of the drifting crowds, and the foreign signs over curious shops in brown, decade-weathered buildings. Nowhere could he find any of the objects he had seen from afar; so that once more he half fancied that the Federal Hill of that distant view was a dream-world never to be trod by living human feet. Now and then a battered church facade or crumbling spire came in sight, but never the blackened pile that he sought. When he asked a shopkeeper about a great stone church the man smiled and shook his head, though he spoke English freely. As Blake climbed higher, the region seemed stranger and stranger, with bewildering mazes of brooding brown alleys leading eternally off to the south. He crossed two or three broad avenues, and once thought he glimpsed a familiar tower. Again he asked a merchant about the massive church of stone, and this time he could have sworn that the plea of ignorance was feigned. The dark man's face had a look of fear which he tried to hide, and Blake saw him make a curious sign with his right hand. Then suddenly a black spire stood out against the cloudy sky on his left, above the tiers of brown roofs lining the tangled southerly alleys. Blake knew at once what it was, and plunged toward it through the squalid, unpaved lanes that climbed from the avenue. Twice he lost his way, but he somehow dared not ask any of the patriarchs or housewives who sat on their doorsteps, or any of the children who shouted and played in the mud of the shadowy lanes. At last he saw the tower plain against the southwest, and a huge stone bulk rose darkly at the end of an alley. Presently he stood in a windswept open square, quaintly cobblestoned, with a high bank wall on the farther side. This was the end of his quest; for upon the wide, iron-railed, weed-grown plateau which the wall supported—a separate, lesser world raised fully six feet above the surrounding streets—there stood a grim, titan bulk whose identity, despite Blake's new perspective, was beyond dispute. The vacant church was in a state of great decrepitude. Some of the high stone buttresses had fallen, and several delicate finials lay half lost among the brown, neglected weeds and grasses. The sooty Gothic windows were largely unbroken, though many of the stone mullions were missing. Blake wondered how the obscurely painted panes could have survived so well, in view of the known habits of small boys the world over. The massive doors were intact and tightly closed. Around the top of the bank wall, fully enclosing the grounds, was a rusty iron fence whose gate—at the head of a flight of steps from the square—was visibly padlocked. The path from the gate to the building was completely overgrown. Desolation and decay hung like a pall above the place, and in the birdless eaves and black, ivyless walls Blake felt a touch of the dimly sinister beyond his power to define. There were very few people in the square, but Blake saw a policeman at the northerly end and approached him with questions about the church. He was a great wholesome Irishman, and it seemed odd that he would do little more than make the sign of the cross and mutter that people never spoke of that building. When Blake pressed him he said very hurriedly that the Italian priests warned everybody against it, vowing that a monstrous evil had once dwelt there and left its mark. He himself had heard dark whispers of it from his father, who recalled certain sounds and rumours from his boyhood. There had been a bad sect there in the ould days—an outlaw sect that called up awful things from some unknown gulf of night. It had taken a good priest to exorcise what had come, though there did be those who said that merely the light could do it. If Father O'Malley were alive there would be many the thing he could tell. But now there was nothing to do but let it alone. It hurt nobody now, and those that owned it were dead or far away. They had run away like rats after the threatening talk in '77, when people began to mind the way folks vanished now and then in the neighbourhood. Some day the city would step in and take the property for lack of heirs, but little good would come of anybody's touching it. Better it be left alone for the years to topple, lest things be stirred that ought to rest forever in their black abyss. After the policeman had gone Blake stood staring at the sullen steepled pile. It excited him to find that the structure seemed as sinister to others as to him, and he wondered what grain of truth might lie behind the old tales the bluecoat had repeated. Probably they were mere legends evoked by the evil look of the place, but even so, they were like a strange coming to life of one of his own stories. The afternoon sun came out from behind dispersing clouds, but seemed unable to light up the stained, sooty walls of the old temple that towered on its high plateau. It was odd that the green of spring had not touched the brown, withered growths in the raised, iron-fenced yard. Blake found himself edging nearer the raised area and examining the bank wall and rusted fence for possible avenues of ingress. There was a terrible lure about the blackened fane which was not to be resisted. The fence had no opening near the steps, but around on the north side were some missing bars. He could go up the steps and walk around on the narrow coping outside the fence till he came to the gap. If the people feared the place so wildly, he would encounter no interference. He was on the embankment and almost inside the fence before anyone noticed him. Then, looking down, he saw the few people in the square edging away and making the same sign with their right hands that the shopkeeper in the avenue had made. Several windows were slammed down, and a fat woman darted into the street and pulled some small children inside a rickety, unpainted house. The gap in the fence was very easy to pass through, and before long Blake found himself wading amidst the rotting, tangled growths of the deserted yard. Here and there the worn stump of a headstone told him that there had once been burials in this field; but that, he saw, must have been very long ago. The sheer bulk of the church was oppressive now that he was close to it, but he conquered his mood and approached to try the three great doors in the facade. All were securely locked, so he began a circuit of the Cyclopean building in quest of some minor and more penetrable opening. Even then he could not be sure that he wished to enter that haunt of desertion and shadow, yet the pull of its strangeness dragged him on automatically. A yawning and unprotected cellar window in the rear furnished the needed aperture. Peering in, Blake saw a subterrene gulf of cobwebs and dust faintly litten by the western sun's filtered rays. Debris, old barrels, and ruined boxes and furniture of numerous sorts met his eye, though over everything lay a shroud of dust which softened all sharp outlines. The rusted remains of a hot-air furnace shewed that the building had been used and kept in shape as late as mid-Victorian times. Acting almost without conscious initiative, Blake crawled through the window and let himself down to the dust-carpeted and debris-strown concrete floor. The vaulted cellar was a vast one, without partitions; and in a corner far to the right, amid dense shadows, he saw a black archway evidently leading upstairs. He felt a peculiar sense of oppression at being actually within the great spectral building, but kept it in check as he cautiously scouted about—finding a still-intact barrel amid the dust, and rolling it over to the open window to provide for his exit. Then, bracing himself, he crossed the wide, cobweb-festooned space toward the arch. Half choked with the omnipresent dust, and covered with ghostly gossamer fibres, he reached and began to climb the worn stone steps which rose into the darkness. He had no light, but groped carefully with his hands. After a sharp turn he felt a closed door ahead, and a little fumbling revealed its ancient latch. It opened inward, and beyond it he saw a dimly illumined corridor lined with worm-eaten panelling. Once on the ground floor, Blake began exploring in a rapid fashion. All the inner doors were unlocked, so that he freely passed from room to room. The colossal nave was an almost eldritch place with its drifts and mountains of dust over box pews, altar, hourglass pulpit, and sounding-board, and its titanic ropes of cobweb stretching among the pointed arches of the gallery and entwining the clustered Gothic columns. Over all this hushed desolation played a hideous leaden light as the declining afternoon sun sent its rays through the strange, half-blackened panes of the great apsidal windows. The paintings on those windows were so obscured by soot that Blake could scarcely decipher what they had represented, but from the little he could make out he did not like them. The designs were largely conventional, and his knowledge of obscure symbolism told him much concerning some of the ancient patterns. The few saints depicted bore expressions distinctly open to criticism, while one of the windows seemed to shew merely a dark space with spirals of curious luminosity scattered about in it. Turning away from the windows, Blake noticed that the cobwebbed cross above the altar was not of the ordinary kind, but resembled the primordial ankh or crux ansata of shadowy Egypt. In a rear vestry room beside the apse Blake found a rotting desk and ceiling-high shelves of mildewed, disintegrating books. Here for the first time he received a positive shock of objective horror, for the titles of those books told him much. They were the black, forbidden things which most sane people have never even heard of, or have heard of only in furtive, timorous whispers; the banned and dreaded repositories of equivocal secrets and immemorial formulae which have trickled down the stream of time from the days of man's youth, and the dim, fabulous days before man was. He had himself read many of them—a Latin version of the abhorred Necronomicon, the sinister Liber Ivonis, the infamous Cultes des Goules of Comte d'Erlette, the Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, and old Ludvig Prinn's hellish De Vermis Mysteriis. But there were others he had known merely by reputation or not at all—the Pnakotic Manuscripts, the Book of Dzyan, and a crumbling volume in wholly unidentifiable characters yet with certain symbols and diagrams shudderingly recognisable to the occult student. Clearly, the lingering local rumours had not lied. This place had once been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known universe. In the ruined desk was a small leather-bound record-book filled with entries in some odd cryptographic medium. The manuscript writing consisted of the common traditional symbols used today in astronomy and anciently in alchemy, astrology, and other dubious arts—the devices of the sun, moon, planets, aspects, and zodiacal signs—here massed in solid pages of text, with divisions and paragraphings suggesting that each symbol answered to some alphabetical letter. In the hope of later solving the cryptogram, Blake bore off this volume in his coat pocket. Many of the great tomes on the shelves fascinated him unutterably, and he felt tempted to borrow them at some later time. He wondered how they could have remained undisturbed so long. Was he the first to conquer the clutching, pervasive fear which had for nearly sixty years protected this deserted place from visitors? Having now thoroughly explored the ground floor, Blake ploughed again through the dust of the spectral nave to the front vestibule, where he had seen a door and staircase presumably leading up to the blackened tower and steeple—objects so long familiar to him at a distance. The ascent was a choking experience, for dust lay thick, while the spiders had done their worst in this constricted place. The staircase was a spiral with high, narrow wooden treads, and now and then Blake passed a clouded window looking dizzily out over the city. Though he had seen no ropes below, he expected to find a bell or peal of bells in the tower whose narrow, louver-boarded lancet windows his field-glass had studied so often. Here he was doomed to disappointment; for when he attained the top of the stairs he found the tower chamber vacant of chimes, and clearly devoted to vastly different purposes. The room, about fifteen feet square, was faintly lighted by four lancet windows, one on each side, which were glazed within their screening of decayed louver-boards. These had been further fitted with tight, opaque screens, but the latter were now largely rotted away. In the centre of the dust-laden floor rose a curiously angled stone pillar some four feet in height and two in average diameter, covered on each side with bizarre, crudely incised, and wholly unrecognisable hieroglyphs. On this pillar rested a metal box of peculiarly asymmetrical form; its hinged lid thrown back, and its interior holding what looked beneath the decade-deep dust to be an egg-shaped or irregularly spherical object some four inches through. Around the pillar in a rough circle were seven high-backed Gothic chairs still largely intact, while behind them, ranging along the dark-panelled walls, were seven colossal images of crumbling, black-painted plaster, resembling more than anything else the cryptic carven megaliths of mysterious Easter Island. In one corner of the cobwebbed chamber a ladder was built into the wall, leading up to the closed trap-door of the windowless steeple above. As Blake grew accustomed to the feeble light he noticed odd bas-reliefs on the strange open box of yellowish metal. Approaching, he tried to clear the dust away with his hands and handkerchief, and saw that the figurings were of a monstrous and utterly alien kind; depicting entities which, though seemingly alive, resembled no known life-form ever evolved on this planet. The four-inch seeming sphere turned out to be a nearly black, red-striated polyhedron with many irregular flat surfaces; either a very remarkable crystal of some sort, or an artificial object of carved and highly polished mineral matter. It did not touch the bottom of the box, but was held suspended by means of a metal band around its centre, with seven queerly designed supports extending horizontally to angles of the box's inner wall near the top. This stone, once exposed, exerted upon Blake an almost alarming fascination. He could scarcely tear his eyes from it, and as he looked at its glistening surfaces he almost fancied it was transparent, with half-formed worlds of wonder within. Into his mind floated pictures of alien orbs with great stone towers, and other orbs with titan mountains and no mark of life, and still remoter spaces where only a stirring in vague blacknesses told of the presence of consciousness and will. When he did look away, it was to notice a somewhat singular mound of dust in the far corner near the ladder to the steeple. Just why it took his attention he could not tell, but something in its contours carried a message to his unconscious mind. Ploughing toward it, and brushing aside the hanging cobwebs as he went, he began to discern something grim about it. Hand and handkerchief soon revealed the truth, and Blake gasped with a baffling mixture of emotions. It was a human skeleton, and it must have been there for a very long time. The clothing was in shreds, but some buttons and fragments of cloth bespoke a man's grey suit. There were other bits of evidence—shoes, metal clasps, huge buttons for round cuffs, a stickpin of bygone pattern, a reporter's badge with the name of the old Providence Telegram, and a crumbling leather pocketbook. Blake examined the latter with care, finding within it several bills of antiquated issue, a celluloid advertising calendar for 1893, some cards with the name “Edwin M. Lillibridge”, and a paper covered with pencilled memoranda. This paper held much of a puzzling nature, and Blake read it carefully at the dim westward window. Its disjointed text included such phrases as the following: “Prof. Enoch Bowen home from Egypt May 1844—buys old Free-Will Church in July—his archaeological work & studies in occult well known.” “Dr. Drowne of 4th Baptist warns against Starry Wisdom in sermon Dec. 29, 1844.” “Congregation 97 by end of '45.” “1846—3 disappearances—first mention of Shining Trapezohedron.” “7 disappearances 1848—stories of blood sacrifice begin.” “Investigation 1853 comes to nothing—stories of sounds.” “Fr. O'Malley tells of devil-worship with box found in great Egyptian ruins—says they call up something that can't exist in light. Flees a little light, and banished by strong light. Then has to be summoned again. Probably got this from deathbed confession of Francis X. Feeney, who had joined Starry Wisdom in '49. These people say the Shining Trapezohedron shews them heaven & other worlds, & that the Haunter of the Dark tells them secrets in some way.” “Story of Orrin B. Eddy 1857. They call it up by gazing at the crystal, & have a secret language of their own.” “200 or more in cong. 1863, exclusive of men at front.” “Irish boys mob church in 1869 after Patrick Regan's disappearance.” “Veiled article in J. March 14, '72, but people don't talk about it.” “6 disappearances 1876—secret committee calls on Mayor Doyle.” “Action promised Feb. 1877—church closes in April.” “Gang—Federal Hill Boys—threaten Dr. —— and vestrymen in May.” “181 persons leave city before end of '77—mention no names.” “Ghost stories begin around 1880—try to ascertain truth of report that no human being has entered church since 1877.” “Ask Lanigan for photograph of place taken 1851.” . . . Restoring the paper to the pocketbook and placing the latter in his coat, Blake turned to look down at the skeleton in the dust. The implications of the notes were clear, and there could be no doubt but that this man had come to the deserted edifice forty-two years before in quest of a newspaper sensation which no one else had been bold enough to attempt. Perhaps no one else had known of his plan—who could tell? But he had never returned to his paper. Had some bravely suppressed fear risen to overcome him and bring on sudden heart-failure? Blake stooped over the gleaming bones and noted their peculiar state. Some of them were badly scattered, and a few seemed oddly dissolved at the ends. Others were strangely yellowed, with vague suggestions of charring. This charring extended to some of the fragments of clothing. The skull was in a very peculiar state—stained yellow, and with a charred aperture in the top as if some powerful acid had eaten through the solid bone. What had happened to the skeleton during its four decades of silent entombment here Blake could not imagine. Before he realised it, he was looking at the stone again, and letting its curious influence call up a nebulous pageantry in his mind. He saw processions of robed, hooded figures whose outlines were not human, and looked on endless leagues of desert lined with carved, sky-reaching monoliths. He saw towers and walls in nighted depths under the sea, and vortices of space where wisps of black mist floated before thin shimmerings of cold purple haze. And beyond all else he glimpsed an infinite gulf of darkness, where solid and semi-solid forms were known only by their windy stirrings, and cloudy patterns of force seemed to superimpose order on chaos and hold forth a key to all the paradoxes and arcana of the worlds we know. Then all at once the spell was broken by an access of gnawing, indeterminate panic fear. Blake choked and turned away from the stone, conscious of some formless alien presence close to him and watching him with horrible intentness. He felt entangled with something—something which was not in the stone, but which had looked through it at him—something which would ceaselessly follow him with a cognition that was not physical sight. Plainly, the place was getting on his nerves—as well it might in view of his gruesome find. The light was waning, too, and since he had no illuminant with him he knew he would have to be leaving soon. It was then, in the gathering twilight, that he thought he saw a faint trace of luminosity in the crazily angled stone. He had tried to look away from it, but some obscure compulsion drew his eyes back. Was there a subtle phosphorescence of radio-activity about the thing? What was it that the dead man's notes had said concerning a Shining Trapezohedron? What, anyway, was this abandoned lair of cosmic evil? What had been done here, and what might still be lurking in the bird-shunned shadows? It seemed now as if an elusive touch of foetor had arisen somewhere close by, though its source was not apparent. Blake seized the cover of the long-open box and snapped it down. It moved easily on its alien hinges, and closed completely over the unmistakably glowing stone. At the sharp click of that closing a soft stirring sound seemed to come from the steeple's eternal blackness overhead, beyond the trap-door. Rats, without question—the only living things to reveal their presence in this accursed pile since he had entered it. And yet that stirring in the steeple frightened him horribly, so that he plunged almost wildly down the spiral stairs, across the ghoulish nave, into the vaulted basement, out amidst the gathering dusk of the deserted square, and down through the teeming, fear-haunted alleys and avenues of Federal Hill toward the sane central streets and the home-like brick sidewalks of the college district. During the days which followed, Blake told no one of his expedition. Instead, he read much in certain books, examined long years of newspaper files downtown, and worked feverishly at the cryptogram in that leather volume from the cobwebbed vestry room. The cipher, he soon saw, was no simple one; and after a long period of endeavour he felt sure that its language could not be English, Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, Italian, or German. Evidently he would have to draw upon the deepest wells of his strange erudition. Every evening the old impulse to gaze westward returned, and he saw the black steeple as of yore amongst the bristling roofs of a distant and half-fabulous world. But now it held a fresh note of terror for him. He knew the heritage of evil lore it masked, and with the knowledge his vision ran riot in queer new ways. The birds of spring were returning, and as he watched their sunset flights he fancied they avoided the gaunt, lone spire as never before. When a flock of them approached it, he thought, they would wheel and scatter in panic confusion—and he could guess at the wild twitterings which failed to reach him across the intervening miles. It was in June that Blake's diary told of his victory over the cryptogram. The text was, he found, in the dark Aklo language used by certain cults of evil antiquity, and known to him in a halting way through previous researches. The diary is strangely reticent about what Blake deciphered, but he was patently awed and disconcerted by his results. There are references to a Haunter of the Dark awaked by gazing into the Shining Trapezohedron, and insane conjectures about the black gulfs of chaos from which it was called. The being is spoken of as holding all knowledge, and demanding monstrous sacrifices. Some of Blake's entries shew fear lest the thing, which he seemed to regard as summoned, stalk abroad; though he adds that the street-lights form a bulwark which cannot be crossed. Of the Shining Trapezohedron he speaks often, calling it a window on all time and space, and tracing its history from the days it was fashioned on dark Yuggoth, before ever the Old Ones brought it to earth. It was treasured and placed in its curious box by the crinoid things of Antarctica, salvaged from their ruins by the serpent-men of Valusia, and peered at aeons later in Lemuria by the first human beings. It crossed strange lands and stranger seas, and sank with Atlantis before a Minoan fisher meshed it in his net and sold it to swarthy merchants from nighted Khem. The Pharaoh Nephren-Ka built around it a temple with a windowless crypt, and did that which caused his name to be stricken from all monuments and records. Then it slept in the ruins of that evil fane which the priests and the new Pharaoh destroyed, till the delver's spade once more brought it forth to curse mankind. Early in July the newspapers oddly supplement Blake's entries, though in so brief and casual a way that only the diary has called general attention to their contribution. It appears that a new fear had been growing on Federal Hill since a stranger had entered the dreaded church. The Italians whispered of unaccustomed stirrings and bumpings and scrapings in the dark windowless steeple, and called on their priests to banish an entity which haunted their dreams. Something, they said, was constantly watching at a door to see if it were dark enough to venture forth. Press items mentioned the long-standing local superstitions, but failed to shed much light on the earlier background of the horror. It was obvious that the young reporters of today are no antiquarians. In writing of these things in his diary, Blake expresses a curious kind of remorse, and talks of the duty of burying the Shining Trapezohedron and of banishing what he had evoked by letting daylight into the hideous jutting spire. At the same time, however, he displays the dangerous extent of his fascination, and admits a morbid longing—pervading even his dreams—to visit the accursed tower and gaze again into the cosmic secrets of the glowing stone. Then something in the Journal on the morning of July 17 threw the diarist into a veritable fever of horror. It was only a variant of the other half-humorous items about the Federal Hill restlessness, but to Blake it was somehow very terrible indeed. In the night a thunderstorm had put the city's lighting-system out of commission for a full hour, and in that black interval the Italians had nearly gone mad with fright. Those living near the dreaded church had sworn that the thing in the steeple had taken advantage of the street-lamps' absence and gone down into the body of the church, flopping and bumping around in a viscous, altogether dreadful way. Toward the last it had bumped up to the tower, where there were sounds of the shattering of glass. It could go wherever the darkness reached, but light would always send it fleeing. When the current blazed on again there had been a shocking commotion in the tower, for even the feeble light trickling through the grime-blackened, louver-boarded windows was too much for the thing. It had bumped and slithered up into its tenebrous steeple just in time—for a long dose of light would have sent it back into the abyss whence the crazy stranger had called it. During the dark hour praying crowds had clustered round the church in the rain with lighted candles and lamps somehow shielded with folded paper and umbrellas—a guard of light to save the city from the nightmare that stalks in darkness. Once, those nearest the church declared, the outer door had rattled hideously. But even this was not the worst. That evening in the Bulletin Blake read of what the reporters had found. Aroused at last to the whimsical news value of the scare, a pair of them had defied the frantic crowds of Italians and crawled into the church through the cellar window after trying the doors in vain. They found the dust of the vestibule and of the spectral nave ploughed up in a singular way, with bits of rotted cushions and satin pew-linings scattered curiously around. There was a bad odour everywhere, and here and there were bits of yellow stain and patches of what looked like charring. Opening the door to the tower, and pausing a moment at the suspicion of a scraping sound above, they found the narrow spiral stairs wiped roughly clean. In the tower itself a similarly half-swept condition existed. They spoke of the heptagonal stone pillar, the overturned Gothic chairs, and the bizarre plaster images; though strangely enough the metal box and the old mutilated skeleton were not mentioned. What disturbed Blake the most—except for the hints of stains and charring and bad odours—was the final detail that explained the crashing glass. Every one of the tower's lancet windows was broken, and two of them had been darkened in a crude and hurried way by the stuffing of satin pew-linings and cushion-horsehair into the spaces between the slanting exterior louver-boards. More satin fragments and bunches of horsehair lay scattered around the newly swept floor, as if someone had been interrupted in the act of restoring the tower to the absolute blackness of its tightly curtained days. Yellowish stains and charred patches were found on the ladder to the windowless spire, but when a reporter climbed up, opened the horizontally sliding trap-door, and shot a feeble flashlight beam into the black and strangely foetid space, he saw nothing but darkness, and an heterogeneous litter of shapeless fragments near the aperture. The verdict, of course, was charlatanry. Somebody had played a joke on the superstitious hill-dwellers, or else some fanatic had striven to bolster up their fears for their own supposed good. Or perhaps some of the younger and more sophisticated dwellers had staged an elaborate hoax on the outside world. There was an amusing aftermath when the police sent an officer to verify the reports. Three men in succession found ways of evading the assignment, and the fourth went very reluctantly and returned very soon without adding to the account given by the reporters. From this point onward Blake's diary shews a mounting tide of insidious horror and nervous apprehension. He upbraids himself for not doing something, and speculates wildly on the consequences of another electrical breakdown. It has been verified that on three occasions—during thunderstorms—he telephoned the electric light company in a frantic vein and asked that desperate precautions against a lapse of power be taken. Now and then his entries shew concern over the failure of the reporters to find the metal box and stone, and the strangely marred old skeleton, when they explored the shadowy tower room. He assumed that these things had been removed—whither, and by whom or what, he could only guess. But his worst fears concerned himself, and the kind of unholy rapport he felt to exist between his mind and that lurking horror in the distant steeple—that monstrous thing of night which his rashness had called out of the ultimate black spaces. He seemed to feel a constant tugging at his will, and callers of that period remember how he would sit abstractedly at his desk and stare out of the west window at that far-off, spire-bristling mound beyond the swirling smoke of the city. His entries dwell monotonously on certain terrible dreams, and of a strengthening of the unholy rapport in his sleep. There is mention of a night when he awaked to find himself fully dressed, outdoors, and headed automatically down College Hill toward the west. Again and again he dwells on the fact that the thing in the steeple knows where to find him. The week following July 30 is recalled as the time of Blake's partial breakdown. He did not dress, and ordered all his food by telephone. Visitors remarked the cords he kept near his bed, and he said that sleep-walking had forced him to bind his ankles every night with knots which would probably hold or else waken him with the labour of untying. In his diary he told of the hideous experience which had brought the collapse. After retiring on the night of the 30th he had suddenly found himself groping about in an almost black space. All he could see were short, faint, horizontal streaks of bluish light, but he could smell an overpowering foetor and hear a curious jumble of soft, furtive sounds above him. Whenever he moved he stumbled over something, and at each noise there would come a sort of answering sound from above—a vague stirring, mixed with the cautious sliding of wood on wood. Once his groping hands encountered a pillar of stone with a vacant top, whilst later he found himself clutching the rungs of a ladder built into the wall, and fumbling his uncertain way upward toward some region of intenser stench where a hot, searing blast beat down against him. Before his eyes a kaleidoscopic range of phantasmal images played, all of them dissolving at intervals into the picture of a vast, unplumbed abyss of night wherein whirled suns and worlds of an even profounder blackness. He thought of the ancient legends of Ultimate Chaos, at whose centre sprawls the blind idiot god Azathoth, Lord of All Things, encircled by his flopping horde of mindless and amorphous dancers, and lulled by the thin monotonous piping of a daemoniac flute held in nameless paws. Then a sharp report from the outer world broke through his stupor and roused him to the unutterable horror of his position. What it was, he never knew—perhaps it was some belated peal from the fireworks heard all summer on Federal Hill as the dwellers hail their various patron saints, or the saints of their native villages in Italy. In any event he shrieked aloud, dropped frantically from the ladder, and stumbled blindly across the obstructed floor of the almost lightless chamber that encompassed him. He knew instantly where he was, and plunged recklessly down the narrow spiral staircase, tripping and bruising himself at every turn. There was a nightmare flight through a vast cobwebbed nave whose ghostly arches reached up to realms of leering shadow, a sightless scramble through a littered basement, a climb to regions of air and street-lights outside, and a mad racing down a spectral hill of gibbering gables, across a grim, silent city of tall black towers, and up the steep eastward precipice to his own ancient door. On regaining consciousness in the morning he found himself lying on his study floor fully dressed. Dirt and cobwebs covered him, and every inch of his body seemed sore and bruised. When he faced the mirror he saw that his hair was badly scorched, while a trace of strange, evil odour seemed to cling to his upper outer clothing. It was then that his nerves broke down. Thereafter, lounging exhaustedly about in a dressing-gown, he did little but stare from his west window, shiver at the threat of thunder, and make wild entries in his diary. The great storm broke just before midnight on August 8th. Lightning struck repeatedly in all parts of the city, and two remarkable fireballs were reported. The rain was torrential, while a constant fusillade of thunder brought sleeplessness to thousands. Blake was utterly frantic in his fear for the lighting system, and tried to telephone the company around 1 a.m., though by that time service had been temporarily cut off in the interest of safety. He recorded everything in his diary—the large, nervous, and often undecipherable hieroglyphs telling their own story of growing frenzy and despair, and of entries scrawled blindly in the dark. He had to keep the house dark in order to see out the window, and it appears that most of his time was spent at his desk, peering anxiously through the rain across the glistening miles of downtown roofs at the constellation of distant lights marking Federal Hill. Now and then he would fumblingly make an entry in his diary, so that detached phrases such as “The lights must not go”; “It knows where I am”; “I must destroy it”; and “It is calling to me, but perhaps it means no injury this time”; are found scattered down two of the pages. Then the lights went out all over the city. It happened at 2:12 a.m. according to power-house records, but Blake's diary gives no indication of the time. The entry is merely, “Lights out—God help me.” On Federal Hill there were watchers as anxious as he, and rain-soaked knots of men paraded the square and alleys around the evil church with umbrella-shaded candles, electric flashlights, oil lanterns, crucifixes, and obscure charms of the many sorts common to southern Italy. They blessed each flash of lightning, and made cryptical signs of fear with their right hands when a turn in the storm caused the flashes to lessen and finally to cease altogether. A rising wind blew out most of the candles, so that the scene grew threateningly dark. Someone roused Father Merluzzo of Spirito Santo Church, and he hastened to the dismal square to pronounce whatever helpful syllables he could. Of the restless and curious sounds in the blackened tower, there could be no doubt whatever. For what happened at 2:35 we have the testimony of the priest, a young, intelligent, and well-educated person; of Patrolman William J. Monahan of the Central Station, an officer of the highest reliability who had paused at that part of his beat to inspect the crowd; and of most of the seventy-eight men who had gathered around the church's high bank wall—especially those in the square where the eastward facade was visible. Of course there was nothing which can be proved as being outside the order of Nature. The possible causes of such an event are many. No one can speak with certainty of the obscure chemical processes arising in a vast, ancient, ill-aired, and long-deserted building of heterogeneous contents. Mephitic vapours—spontaneous combustion—pressure of gases born of long decay—any one of numberless phenomena might be responsible. And then, of course, the factor of conscious charlatanry can by no means be excluded. The thing was really quite simple in itself, and covered less than three minutes of actual time. Father Merluzzo, always a precise man, looked at his watch repeatedly. It started with a definite swelling of the dull fumbling sounds inside the black tower. There had for some time been a vague exhalation of strange, evil odours from the church, and this had now become emphatic and offensive. Then at last there was a sound of splintering wood, and a large, heavy object crashed down in the yard beneath the frowning easterly facade. The tower was invisible now that the candles would not burn, but as the object neared the ground the people knew that it was the smoke-grimed louver-boarding of that tower's east window. Immediately afterward an utterly unbearable foetor welled forth from the unseen heights, choking and sickening the trembling watchers, and almost prostrating those in the square. At the same time the air trembled with a vibration as of flapping wings, and a sudden east-blowing wind more violent than any previous blast snatched off the hats and wrenched the dripping umbrellas of the crowd. Nothing definite could be seen in the candleless night, though some upward-looking spectators thought they glimpsed a great spreading blur of denser blackness against the inky sky—something like a formless cloud of smoke that shot with meteor-like speed toward the east. That was all. The watchers were half numbed with fright, awe, and discomfort, and scarcely knew what to do, or whether to do anything at all. Not knowing what had happened, they did not relax their vigil; and a moment later they sent up a prayer as a sharp flash of belated lightning, followed by an earsplitting crash of sound, rent the flooded heavens. Half an hour later the rain stopped, and in fifteen minutes more the street-lights sprang on again, sending the weary, bedraggled watchers relievedly back to their homes. The next day's papers gave these matters minor mention in connexion with the general storm reports. It seems that the great lightning flash and deafening explosion which followed the Federal Hill occurrence were even more tremendous farther east, where a burst of the singular foetor was likewise noticed. The phenomenon was most marked over College Hill, where the crash awaked all the sleeping inhabitants and led to a bewildered round of speculations. Of those who were already awake only a few saw the anomalous blaze of light near the top of the hill, or noticed the inexplicable upward rush of air which almost stripped the leaves from the trees and blasted the plants in the gardens. It was agreed that the lone, sudden lightning-bolt must have struck somewhere in this neighbourhood, though no trace of its striking could afterward be found. A youth in the Tau Omega fraternity house thought he saw a grotesque and hideous mass of smoke in the air just as the preliminary flash burst, but his observation has not been verified. All of the few observers, however, agree as to the violent gust from the west and the flood of intolerable stench which preceded the belated stroke; whilst evidence concerning the momentary burned odour after the stroke is equally general. These points were discussed very carefully because of their probable connexion with the death of Robert Blake. Students in the Psi Delta house, whose upper rear windows looked into Blake's study, noticed the blurred white face at the westward window on the morning of the 9th, and wondered what was wrong with the expression. When they saw the same face in the same position that evening, they felt worried, and watched for the lights to come up in his apartment. Later they rang the bell of the darkened flat, and finally had a policeman force the door. The rigid body sat bolt upright at the desk by the window, and when the intruders saw the glassy, bulging eyes, and the marks of stark, convulsive fright on the twisted features, they turned away in sickened dismay. Shortly afterward the coroner's physician made an examination, and despite the unbroken window reported electrical shock, or nervous tension induced by electrical discharge, as the cause of death. The hideous expression he ignored altogether, deeming it a not improbable result of the profound shock as experienced by a person of such abnormal imagination and unbalanced emotions. He deduced these latter qualities from the books, paintings, and manuscripts found in the apartment, and from the blindly scrawled entries in the diary on the desk. Blake had prolonged his frenzied jottings to the last, and the broken-pointed pencil was found clutched in his spasmodically contracted right hand. The entries after the failure of the lights were highly disjointed, and legible only in part. From them certain investigators have drawn conclusions differing greatly from the materialistic official verdict, but such speculations have little chance for belief among the conservative. The case of these imaginative theorists has not been helped by the action of superstitious Dr. Dexter, who threw the curious box and angled stone—an object certainly self-luminous as seen in the black windowless steeple where it was found—into the deepest channel of Narragansett Bay. Excessive imagination and neurotic unbalance on Blake's part, aggravated by knowledge of the evil bygone cult whose startling traces he had uncovered, form the dominant interpretation given those final frenzied jottings. These are the entries—or all that can be made of them. “Lights still out—must be five minutes now. Everything depends on lightning. Yaddith grant it will keep up! . . . Some influence seems beating through it. . . . Rain and thunder and wind deafen. . . . The thing is taking hold of my mind. . . . “Trouble with memory. I see things I never knew before. Other worlds and other galaxies . . . Dark . . . The lightning seems dark and the darkness seems light. . . . “It cannot be the real hill and church that I see in the pitch-darkness. Must be retinal impression left by flashes. Heaven grant the Italians are out with their candles if the lightning stops! “What am I afraid of? Is it not an avatar of Nyarlathotep, who in antique and shadowy Khem even took the form of man? I remember Yuggoth, and more distant Shaggai, and the ultimate void of the black planets. . . . “The long, winging flight through the void . . . cannot cross the universe of light . . . re-created by the thoughts caught in the Shining Trapezohedron . . . send it through the horrible abysses of radiance. . . . “My name is Blake—Robert Harrison Blake of 620 East Knapp Street, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. . . . I am on this planet. . . . “Azathoth have mercy!—the lightning no longer flashes—horrible—I can see everything with a monstrous sense that is not sight—light is dark and dark is light . . . those people on the hill . . . guard . . . candles and charms . . . their priests. . . . “Sense of distance gone—far is near and near is far. No light—no glass—see that steeple—that tower—window—can hear—Roderick Usher—am mad or going mad—the thing is stirring and fumbling in the tower—I am it and it is I—I want to get out . . . must get out and unify the forces. . . . It knows where I am. . . . “I am Robert Blake, but I see the tower in the dark. There is a monstrous odour . . . senses transfigured . . . boarding at that tower window cracking and giving way. . . . Iä . . . ngai . . . ygg. . . . “I see it—coming here—hell-wind—titan blur—black wings—Yog-Sothoth save me—the three-lobed burning eye. . . .”

Spiderman 2 best in the series? Super Mario Bros. Wonder review and shadowbox! Plus games for depression, Cities Skylines II, Mind over Magic playtest, Yog-Sothoth's Yard, The Lamplighters League vs. Xcom, Laserhawk: A Blood Dragon Remix, Apple 4k tv with Arcade, TMNT Splintered Fate, VGO lore, Halo Infinite, and more Xbox and PlayStation gaming news. Head to videogameoutsiders.com for the entire back catalog of VGO, weekly bonus shows, our Discord, VGOmerch.com shop, show notes, and more! Get our free VGO app for bonus content, or listen to the weekly bonus shows on the web at ilovevgo.com! 

This week we are going to cover the rules for Cthulhu: Death May Die. Cthulhu: Death May Die is a game designed by Rob Daviau and Eric Lang and is illustrated by Nicolas Fructus, Karl Kopinski, Thierry Masson, Edgar Skomoroski, etc. The game is published by CMON games.Expansions include Season 2 Expansion (2019), Yog-Sothoth (2019), Unspeakable Box (2019), Scarlett Hayes (2019), Black Goat of the Woods (2019), R'lyeh Rising (2019), CMON Comics: Vol. 1 Promos (2021), R'lyehian Seizures Promo (2022), Iron Maiden Pack #1 (2023), Iron Maiden Pack #2 (2023), Iron Maiden Pack #3 (2023), Season 4 Expansion (2023), Fear of the Unknown: Ithaqua the Win-Walker (2023), Fear of the Unknown: Animal Allies (2023), Fear of the Unknown: Unknowable Box (2023), CMON Comics: Vol. 2 Promos (2023).It looks like a lot but there are 16 expansions (which is less than some of the other ones I have written out in the past).Check out the Character Guide here: https://makecraftgame.com/2022/10/21/dmd-character-guide/Chapters:00:00 Introduction & Components01:59 Overview11:06 Setup13:18 Dice and Checks17:11 Turn Sequence33:11 Death of an Investigator34:04 Disrupting the Ritual34:30 Fighting the Elder One36:47 Ending the Game37:40 Rules Summary40:39 MCG Thoughts

In this episode, I respond to a couple of calls from John Alan Large of The Red Dice Diaries, Joe Richter of Hindsightless and Michael ‘Chicagowiz' Shorten of The Dungeon Master's Handbook before addressing prompts 7 to 14 of #RPGaDAY2023.Find all the prompts here https://www.autocratik.com/2023/07/this-august-10th-rpgaday.html?m=1Find out more from David F. Chapman and Anthony ‘Runeslinger' Boyd hereFeaturing…Lieren of Updates from the Middle of NowhereAdvanced Dungeons & Dragons by Gary GygaxTraveller by Marc MillerOsseous by Free Thrall (me)Cthulhu Dark by Graham WalmsleyScott Dorward of The Good Friends of Jackson EliasThe Black Hack by David BlackDave Aldridge of DpercentileMiddle-Earth Role Playing by Iron Crown EnterprisesMenion aka Rob of Confessions of a Wee Tim'rous BushiTroika! by Daniel SellThe Dying Earth by Jack VancePulp Cthulhu and Shadows of Yog-Sothoth from ChaosiumMusic by Timothy J. Drennon"Warning" by Lieren of Updates From the Middle of NowhereLeave me an audio message via ⁠https://www.speakpipe.com/KeepOffTheBorderlands⁠You can email me at ⁠spencer.freethrall@gmail.com⁠Subscribe to my newsletter The StochasiumYou can also find me here ⁠https://twitter.com/FreeThrall⁠, here ⁠https://www.facebook.com/FreeThrall/⁠, here ⁠https://freethrall.carrd.co⁠ and on Discord by searching for FreeThrall/KeepOffTheBorderlands#7623 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit freethrall.substack.com

After absolutely curb-stomping the Clockwork Sphinx, Micah's Angels begin exploring the Cradle of Quartz in earnest and uncovering its secrets and treasures.   Check out the visualized version of this episode on YouTube   Bonus Banter Listener Question/Feedback Form: https://forms.gle/ks9ggJGE7grpgp8r9   Tour of the Inner Sea links:   Paizo: Pathfinder Campaign Setting (1e): Belkzen, Hold of the Orc Hordes - https://paizo.com/products/btpy97lw   Pathfinder Wiki: Hold of Belkzen: https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Hold_of_Belkzen   Check us out at thirdgallon.com   Ambience created by Michael Ghelfi. Check his work out on YouTube and Patreon   The Third Gallon Podcast uses trademarks and/or copyrights owned by Paizo Inc., used under Paizo's Community Use Policy (paizo.com/communityuse). We are expressly prohibited from charging you to use or access this content. The Third Gallon Podcast is not published, endorsed, or specifically approved by Paizo. For more information about Paizo Inc. and Paizo products, visit paizo.com.

I begin this episode by re-answering the first RPGaDAY prompt then I respond to a couple of calls from Jason Connerley of Nerd's RPG Variety Cast and John Alan Large of The Red Dice Diaries before addressing prompts 2 to 6 of #RPGaDAY2023.Find all the prompts here https://www.autocratik.com/2023/07/this-august-10th-rpgaday.html?m=1Find out more from David F. Chapman and Anthony ‘Runeslinger' Boyd hereGet Yochai Gal's Cairn 2E playtest here https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Km4LQliCbn-sAH2nzT6WhLTnGKZyijLx/viewFeaturing…Lieren of Updates from the Middle of NowhereLeague of Eternal Guardians by Barney Dicker of Loco LudosPulp Cthulhu and Shadows of Yog-Sothoth from ChaosiumAndy Goodman of Grizzly Peaks RadioInto the Odd by Chris McDowallBarrow of the Elf King by Nate TremeColin Green of SpikepitOsseous by Free Thrall (me)Middle-Earth Role Playing by Iron Crown EnterprisesCarl KnightIsle of Ixx by SkullfungusThe Dark Crystal Adventure Game and Jim Henson's Labyrinth The Adventure Game from River HorseUltraviolet Grasslands and the Black City by Luka RejecTroika! by Daniel SellCarapace by Goblin's HenchmenElectric Bastionland by Chris McDowallVaesen – Nordic Horror Roleplaying by Nils HintzeMusic by Timothy J. Drennon"Warning" by Lieren of Updates From the Middle of NowhereLeave me an audio message via ⁠https://www.speakpipe.com/KeepOffTheBorderlands⁠You can email me at ⁠spencer.freethrall@gmail.com⁠Subscribe to my newsletter The StochasiumYou can also find me here ⁠https://twitter.com/FreeThrall⁠, here ⁠https://www.facebook.com/FreeThrall/⁠, here ⁠https://freethrall.carrd.co⁠ and on Discord by searching for FreeThrall/KeepOffTheBorderlands#7623 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit freethrall.substack.com

H.P. Lovecraft fue un escritor estadounidense nacido el 20 de agosto de 1890 en Providence, Rhode Island. Es mejor conocido por sus obras de ficción de terror, las cuales han tenido una profunda influencia en el género y en las generaciones de escritores posteriores. La carrera de escritura de Lovecraft abarcó las décadas de 1920 y 1930, aunque permaneció relativamente desconocido durante su vida y publicó principalmente en revistas de pulp fiction. Fue solo después de su muerte en 1937 que su obra obtuvo reconocimiento y se hizo altamente valorada por su combinación única de horror cósmico, narrativa atmosférica y mitologías intrincadas. Las historias de Lovecraft suelen girar en torno a la idea de antiguos seres malévolos o entidades cósmicas que existen más allá del alcance de la comprensión humana. Estas entidades, conocidas como los "Grandes Antiguos" o "Primigenios", representan fuerzas aterradoras y omnipotentes que pueden conducir a la locura a aquellos que se encuentran con ellas. Lovecraft desarrolló un universo ficticio compartido conocido como el "Círculo de los Mitos", que incluye criaturas como Cthulhu, Nyarlathotep y Yog-Sothoth. Aunque Lovecraft no alcanzó la fama en vida, su influencia ha sido significativa en la literatura de terror y la cultura popular en general. Su enfoque único del horror y su habilidad para crear atmósferas inquietantes han dejado una marca duradera en la ficción contemporánea. (Continuará…) Otros temas en el programa: 53:24 Ligar en el Siglo de Oro 1:07:14 Titanic La pirámide inmortal - Capítulos 14 y 15 Publicado en luisbermejo.com en el enlace directo: https://luisbermejo.com/lovecraft-con-nombre-de-podcast-04x42/ Puedes encontrarme y comentar o enviar tu mensaje o preguntar en: WhatsApp: +34 613031122 Paypal: https://paypal.me/Bermejo Bizum: +34613031122 Web: https://luisbermejo.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ConNombredePodcast/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/LuisBermejo Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/luisbermejo/ Canal Telegram: https://t.me/ConNombredePodcast Grupo Signal: https://signal.group/#CjQKIA_PNdKc3-SAGWKoJZjqR3RwMQ7uzo0bW2eBB4QDtJVZEhBc504fpeK4tyETyuwFVAUI Grupo Whatsapp: https://chat.whatsapp.com/FQadHkgRn00BzSbZzhNviT

Jason and Doug back atcha with a another Cthulu Corner. This time it's the boi himself, the gately god, the massive mass of messy entrails, Yog-Sothoth.Support the showStarting your own podcast? Use this link to receive a $20 Amazon gift card when you sign up for a paid account with Buzzsprout!https://www.buzzsprout.com/?referrer_id=1671664LinktreeBuy us a beer!Join us in Discord!DLUTI.comUnplanned PodnancyUndefined Graphics (Photography & Graphic Design)Don't Look Under The Internet PO BOX 6437 Aurora IL 60598

Yog-Sothoth es el más terrible de los Dioses Exteriores, el día que se liberen sus ataduras será uno con el espacio y el tiempo, pues Yog-Sothoth todo lo sabe todo todo lo ve. "Complacerle es sinónimo de abundancia y " conocimiento, pero su presencia atrae desastres de consecuencias fatales. Tan solo el contemplarlo nos arrastrará a la locura, y aquellos que logren adaptarse a su presencia y Ganar su favor serán requeridos en valioso sacrificio, ya sea en la pérdida propia o ajena de nuestra pobre humanidad, en la servidumbre eterna o la transformación blasfema y definitiva... Así lo dicen los viejos grimorios... pues el día que se presente ante nosotros... con el vendrán los extraños cambios del fin de los tiempos. Archivo secreto de la universidad de Miskatonic Apuntes del profesor Armitage Sin duda el mundo es un lugar extraño... aunque raro sería quizá una palabra mas adecuada... bizarro posiblemente sea el término definitivo... el común de los mortales nos empeñamos en darle sentido a todo lo que nos rodea tratando de encajar, al menos de reunir las piezas de un puzzle que no parece tener principio ni final, una maraña cósmica de coincidencias imposibles que termina por estallarnos en la cara... y a la hora de la verdad, incluso cuando los dioses primigenios se plantan frente a nosotros, al abrirse los grimorios de la pérdida masiva de cordura y la sinrazón, aquellos que no encajen tmb serán desechados, entregados como alimento a los profundos y los perros de tindalos, ofrecidos en sacrificio al impío Tsathoggua, encerrados bajo llave en las celdas del palacio de plata de Nyarlathotep. Y cuando los advenedizos y los profetas del burbujeante barro primordial triunfen, la gran mayoría, simplemente, nos arrojaremos a sus brazos en busca de la seguridad y la paz de una nueva edad de las tinieblas. Y es que como dijo aquel sabio, al fin y al cabo todos tenemos nuestras cosillas Acomódense pues amigos en su cubil favorito, apaguen las luces enciendan una vela y prepárense porque esta noche vuelven los dioses primigenios a noviembre nocturno... con todos ustedes... Tentáculos! Un relato del maestro Sergi Álvarez en homenaje a los mitos de Cthulhu... Escucha el episodio completo en la app de iVoox, o descubre todo el catálogo de iVoox Originals

Cultisti! Prima parte tutta dal vivo per questo nuovo episodio del DBC, con poi due chicche facili, veloci e poco costose dedicate a tutti io nostri ascoltatori che ci rimproverano ogni settimana dell'indigenza a cui “noi” li avremmo abilmente condotti, sobillandoli con continui interventi dedicati a giochi belli. Ma sarebbe come lamentarsi di Yog-Sothoth e dei sacrifici umani da lui pretesi onde non divorare scampoli di realtà. Ma è lui che ha fame o siamo noi che lo nutriamo? In altre parole: è arrivato prima l'uovo o Yog-Sothoth? La risposta, cari ascoltatori, non la troverete in questo episodio del DBC. Buon ascolto. Buon ascolto e come sempre… Ci vediamo dall'altra parte.

Hoy se cumplen 86 años de la muerte de H. P. Lovecraft, el genio del horror cósmico que me abrió las puertas a un mundo de pesadillas y maravillas. Su obra me ha acompañado desde mi juventud, cuando descubrí sus relatos en un mercado itinerante. Desde entonces, he sentido una fascinación irresistible por sus creaciones, que me han hecho explorar los rincones más oscuros y profundos de la realidad y de mi propia mente. Su voz resuena en mi cabeza como un eco persistente, que me susurra secretos arcanos y terribles que nadie más puede oír. Sus palabras me han revelado la existencia de seres ancestrales y malignos que habitan en las dimensiones más remotas del espacio y del tiempo, y que esperan el momento propicio para regresar y reclamar su dominio sobre la Tierra. Sus visiones me han mostrado paisajes indescriptibles e imposibles, donde la geometría y la lógica se desvanecen ante el caos primordial. Su influencia me ha hecho ver más allá de las apariencias y de las convenciones. Me ha hecho cuestionar todo lo que me han enseñado y todo lo que me rodea. Me ha hecho buscar la verdad oculta tras el velo de la realidad. Pero esa verdad tiene un precio. Un precio que he pagado con mi cordura. Ahora estoy solo en este mundo hostil y cruel, sonde nadie sabe lo que yo sé. Lo que él me ha enseñado. Lo que él espera de mí. Que le rinda culto. Que le ofrezca sacrificios. Que le prepare el camino para su retorno. Iä, iä! Yog-Sothoth! ¡Oh llave y guardián de la puerta! ¡Oh señor de los portales y las esferas! ¡Oh amo de la vida y la muerte! ¡Oh origen y destino de todo lo que existe! ¡Te invoco con fervor y devoción! ¡Te imploro con angustia y desesperación! ¡Te ofrezco mi alma y mi sangre! ¡Te ruego que me escuches y me respondas! ¡Abre la puerta que separa los mundos! ¡Llévame contigo a tu reino glorioso! ¡Hazme uno contigo en tu ser omnisciente! ¡Yog-Sothoth neblod zin! #aiart #aiartist #promptist AI ART My networks linktr.ee/elabuelokraken El abuelo Kraken Thanks for watching! ⩙ 93! 93/93 Y así termino este homenaje a mi maestro y mentor, el gran H.P. Lovecraft, cuya obra me ha dado sentido y propósito. ☺️

                                                                                        The Devils Music According to conspiracy theories, the Rain Man is a powerful demon who makes deals with those who aspire to make it big in the industry. With the noun "rain", it is defined as water falling as rain, rainwater, and anything watery. According to the theories, rain can also be defined as one who receives abundant blessings from above. This is actually a unisexual title that can be used for both genders. The word "umbrella" is also synonymous with the Rain Man. The word umbrella is derived from a Latin word meaning "shadow" or under the influence of "Umbra". It can also be used in reference to a paranormal entity such as a ghost. Many cite the usage of the word in H. P. Lovecraft's book Necronomicon in which an umbra is one of the globes of Yog-Sothoth. In the Necronomicon, it states that Yog-Sothoth could bestow great riches on whoever bestows onto him a woman.

       The Devil In The Music: RISE OF THE RAIN MAN According to conspiracy theories, the Rain Man is a powerful demon who makes deals with those who aspire to make it big in the industry. With the noun "rain", it is defined as water falling as rain, rainwater, and anything watery. According to the theories, rain can also be defined as one who receives abundant blessings from above. This is actually a unisexual title that can be used for both genders. The word "umbrella" is also synonymous with the Rain Man. The word umbrella is derived from a Latin word meaning "shadow" or under the influence of "Umbra". It can also be used in reference to a paranormal entity such as a ghost. Many cite the usage of the word in H. P. Lovecraft's book Necronomicon in which an umbra is one of the globes of Yog-Sothoth. In the Necronomicon, it states that Yog-Sothoth could bestow great riches on whoever bestows onto him a woman.

Estirpe de Dunwich | Cómo jugar | Manifestaciones de Yog-Sothoth

Hoy contamos con la presencia de Enrique Camino para explicarnos las reglas generales de Estirpe de Dunwich. ¿Quieres un resumen completo para poder jugar a Estirpe de Dunwich? Lo único que tienes que hacer es escuchar este programa. Entra a formar parte de los marcados por Yog-Sothoth.

This is a replay of the Call of Cthulhu scenario The Dead Boarder written by Todd Gardiner and published by Chaosium as the third scenario in Gateways to Terror. You can find the written replay on mjrrpg.com. You can purchase Gateways to Terror on DriveThruRPG, Chaosium's website, Amazon, or your friendly neighbourhood game shop. And credit to CryoChamber for use of their albums 'Cthulhu' and Yog-Sothoth.' Check out their youtube and bandcamp.

Today we talk about PC Gaming, Yog- Sothoth and his descendants, then the Goat Goddess of Fertility! Stop on by and give it a listen and let us know what you thought here! https://linktr.ee/Mythologicast

El conocimiento de los Mitos de Cthulhu y todas las civilizaciones prehumanas atenta contra la compresión de todo ser humano. Por tanto, es magia. En la obras de Lovecraft, se da a entender que el uso de la magia es el uso de ciertas leyes científicas que no comprendemos y quizá nunca lo hagamos. Aunque a veces se parezca a tradicionales ceremonias, formas de uso de la alquimia y a la taumaturgia. Todo conocimiento ocultista es enrevesado proveniente de los Mitos y hay niveles de realidad en los que la magia funciona, quizá en ciertos lugares o momentos del año. (Como hoy) porque la magia ritual son necesarios para amplificar los poderes psíquicos o para acceder a fuerzas del universo. Todas las teorías, de porque funciona la magia, se pueden encontrar en distintos tomos de los Mitos y deducirse a partir de la información que contienen. Los que conocen estos libros saben que creer o no en esas teorías no cambia lo que ocurre cuando se lanza un hechizo. Saltamos los Tomos Nos saltamos los tomos para irnos a los hechizos. La magia lovecraftiana se centra en dimensiones, poderes, fuerzas o seres del Exterior, por eso la hace muy peligrosa. Una persona hechicera puede controlar el tiempo y el espacio, ver pasado o futuro, hacerse inmortal así como romper las leyes naturales que rigen nuestro mundo. Los investigadores no poseen esta magia, son los enemigos que la utilizarán contra ellos. Para que un humano pueda usarla, es preciso que haya perdido cordura y humanidad. Cualquier hechizo por simple que parezca, puede ser más hostil que útil, el libro nos presenta algunos tipo pulp para Guardianes que les guste complicar cosas. Aprender hechizos Se pueden aprender mediante un Tomo, un pergamino o la enseñanza de otro humano o alienígena, el tiempo necesario puede ser entre una a seis horas o lo necesario para pasar a la siguiente escena. Gasto en puntos reducirá ese tiempo y una tirada de Estabilidad dif4 hará que nos entre mejor. Lanzar hechizos Hay dos tipos de hechizos, Encantamientos y Rituales Cada hechizo nos explica que necesitas para lanzarlos, sobre todo cuanto tiempo se tardara para ello. Un Encantamiento solo requiere una tirada de Estabilidad. En un ritual, se requiere una confrontación contra la criatura a la que se convoca o el tejido del espacio-tiempo. Estos resisten al ritual empleando una reserva ad hoc de Inercia, descrita en el hechizo ritual. Tirada de estabilidad dificultad x Coste Puntos de la reserva de Estabilidad y de las habilidades que se precisen.El tiempo necesario. Resurrección Este hechizo («Y'ai' ng'ngah, Yog-Sothoth, h'ee-l'Geb, f'ai throdog, uaaah!») resucita a un fallecido cuyo cuerpo se haya convertido, a través de un proceso alquímico, en un polvo de color azul-grisáceo compuesto por sus sales minerales. Existe un hechizo opuesto a este («Ogthrod ai'f, Geb'lee'h, Yog-Sothoth, 'ngah'ng ai'y, zhro!») que vuelve a convertir a un resucitado en polvo.El nigromante debe poseer, al menos, el torso, un brazo y la cabeza de un fallecido para poder transformar sucadáver en una cantidad lo suficiente grande de sales minerales como para poder resucitarlo. Si se tienen menos o solo algunas de esas sales, el resultado será un engendro de la naturaleza.Dicho esto, si su ataúd está intacto y el nigromante recoge todos los fragmentos y el polvo que este contenga, se podrá hacer el hechizo. Convertir un cadáver en el polvo compuesto por sus propias sales minerales requiere que el brujo pase 3 meses trabajando en un laboratorio de alquimista u otro lugar similar, que supere una tirada de Estabilidad de 3 puntos, y que sus puntuaciones de Ciencias ocultas y Química sumen al menos un total de 8.Dificultad de la tirada de Estabilidad: 6 para resucitar un cadáver; 4 para convertirlo de nuevo en polvo.Oposición: Resucitar un cadáver a partir de sus sales minerales es una confrontación contra la Inercia de 6de la muerte; volver a convertir al resucitado en polvo requiere una co...

“Eh-ya-ya-ya-yahaah—e'yayayayaaaa . . . ngh'aaaaa . . . ngh'aaaa . . . h'yuh . . . h'yuh . . . HELP! HELP! . . . ff—ff—ff—FATHER! FATHER! YOG-SOTHOTH! . . .” The Dunwich Horror is read by Dr. Bradley Will and produced by Stephen Schleicher through Major Spoilers Entertainment, LLC. Subscribe via Apple PodcastsSubscribe to the Major Spoilers Podcast Network Master Feed!Join the Major Spoilers Patreon Community at http://patreon.com/MajorSpoilers.Join our Discord server and chat with fellow Spoilerites! (https://discord.gg/jWF9BbF)

“Eh-ya-ya-ya-yahaah—e'yayayayaaaa . . . ngh'aaaaa . . . ngh'aaaa . . . h'yuh . . . h'yuh . . . HELP! HELP! . . . ff—ff—ff—FATHER! FATHER! YOG-SOTHOTH! . . .” The Dunwich Horror is read by Dr. Bradley Will and produced by Stephen Schleicher through Major Spoilers Entertainment, LLC. Subscribe via Apple PodcastsSubscribe to the Major Spoilers Podcast Network Master Feed!Join the Major Spoilers Patreon Community at http://patreon.com/MajorSpoilers.Join our Discord server and chat with fellow Spoilerites! (https://discord.gg/jWF9BbF)

Shub-Niggurath La gran diosa exterior, la madre de Todo, la Cabra negra del bosque con un millar de Retoños. Es una enorme masa nubosa de fecundidad que se hincha y hierve a causa de los seres que nacen de ella. Es un principio cósmico, no del orden, sino de la creación y del instinto de existir, de diferenciarse en algo de la sopa de hidrógeno de la que procede todo. Por esa necesidad de crearse da su amorfismo, ya que lo crea todo a la vez, como su propia consciencia, consecuencia de su elección de existir. Con aspecto de retorcidas vides o ramas negras de las cuales pueden salir pezuñas para desplazarse, dientes para alimentarse, o cualquier apéndice que la diosa necesite. Es la única Primigenia nativa de la Tierra, mató y absorbió a todos sus oponentes antes de la llegada de Cthulhu y sus semilla. Es un ser hermafrodita adorada por tribus en la Tierra como por alienígenas, todos buscando aprobación para sus experimentos genéticos o cualquier cosa relacionada con la vida. Enemiga de los primigenios asociados con el fuego y el aire, es la encarnación de la Tierra. Magna Mater, novia de Hastur, se le adora como la diosa de la fertilidad y el dolor, se puede presentar frente a ellos como una mujer encapuchada y sus cultos permanecen activos en áreas de tradición druídica. Es, en términos mágicos y rituales, quien designa al cruce entre las especies existentes y los primigenios. Su saber no es nada más que la manipulación genética alienígena. Yog-Sothoth El todo en uno, la llave y el guardián de la puerta, pasado, presente y futuro. Mora entre los diferentes planos que componen el universo. se manifiesta como un conglomerado de globos iridiscentes y cambiantes, que fluyen hacia otros mientras se rompen. Posee el poder de viajar y transportar a viajeros entre los planos del universo, hasta alcanzar cualquier época o mundo existente, coexistiendo con el tiempo y el espacio. De su propia superficie puede extraerse y crear una bola de cristal, de la que podrá verse otros planos u otros mundos, aunque cualquier hechicero que lo haga convertirá sus corneas en superficie de Yog-Sothoth. Prisionero donde el Tiempo y el espacio se cruzan, contenido por las inconcebibles fuerzas que allí convergen, es el punto de fuga de la existencia. Puede moverse por uno u otro pero no por los dos a la vez, aunque en ciertos momentos puede hacerlo con tal rapidez que no se notaría. En esos momentos busca magos y devotos que le ayuden a materializarse y poder tener una existencia lineal y romper esas barreras que le limitan. El que acecha en el Umbral, la oscuridad sin forma oculta tras una máscara de globos. Fue incluido en el sistema de magia de Aleister Crowley como Choronzon. Los nigromantes lo invocan para resucitar a los muertos o convertir a estos en polvo, aparte de conseguir poder y otras razones más oscuras. Es la consciencia de la energía del punto cero y busca alterar los equilibrios de energía de la realidad, liberando a los primigenios aprisionados. Es el padre de Cthulhu, Hastur y Vulthoom, aparte engendró a Nug y a Yeb con Shu-Niggurath. Es el dios que despierta donde está despierto, conectó el universo al crearse a sí mismo. Da la bienvenida a quienes le pueden percibir, pues le permite aumentar su propia complejidad y juntar partes de sí mismo en la esfera, destruyendo o dejando universos por los que había existido.

"It's hard to shoot your best friend"The heroes of Carrion Hill join forces with the retired paranormal investigator Berkley to take down Critchfield and the Spawn of Yog-Sothoth.        Album Art: https://i.imgur.com/1pOni4J.jpgArtwork by @shaunmakesAudio Production by Astronomic AudioFeaturing:Shaun as The GMDan as Willen DappenJanette as BimpkinShubert as Knib-KnubTrevor as TheobaldSupport the Show:Patreon | EtsyContact Us:Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Discord | Email | hobcast.comMusic by:Mike, DM of the Tales From The Glass Guarded World Podcast tftggw.comLicensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

The Great Old Ones may sit outside of reality, Horizon, or merely our front doors but how do we use the Cthulhu Mythos in our games? Bryce and Terry talk space gods and investigation systems from Trail of Cthulhu. Things mentioned! Bubblegumshoe - Teen Detective game Night's Black Agents - Jason Bourne vs Dracula Cthulhu City - Gumshoe game where you're stuck in a Mythos-riddled city Cthulhu Confidential - A one on one gumshoe game Esoterrorists - A game of modern supernatural horror Guide to the Traditions - Adversarial backgrounds! ST Joshi and Robert Price - Lovecraft scholars Common Mythos features - Pelgrane Article KARTAS make your own entity - The origin of Qotha Nhur'rin Red Sign book - Introduces the King in Yellow formally to WoD Last Exit by Max Gladstone Prior episode on Lovecraft Michael Shea - Lovecraft author Dark Day Radio - Linktree --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/mage-the-podcast/message

Email: audioofftheshelf@gmail.com. Instagram: @audioofftheshelf Twitter: @AOTS204 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/audioofftheshelf Dayglo Abortions. “The Spawn of Yog Sothoth.” Here Today, Guano Tomorrow. Fringe Product, 1988. CD. LP. Mr. Bungle. “Egg.” Mr. Bungle. Warner Bros, 1991. CD. LP. Green Day. “Knowledge.” 1,039 Smoothed Out Slappy Hours. Lookout Records, 1991. CD. LP. Choking Victim. “Hate Yer State.” No Gods, No Managers. Hellcat, 1999. CD. LP. Moranis, Rick & Thomas, Dave. “Black Holes.” The Great White North Album, Anthem 1981. Vinyl. LP. Radiohead. “Like Spinning Plates.” Amnesiac. Parolophone / Capitol, 2001. CD. LP. Copyright Disclaimer under Section 107 of the copyright act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use.

#Vampire #sciencefiction #Illinois CONVERSATIONS WITH CALVIN WE THE SPECIES NEW: LIFE BLOOD TWO; (EVEN More Vampire Tales); A Panel: Vampire Lore, Fiction, Horror; Classic Horror movies; and Non-Fiction (Horror); with authors Gary Hill, RC Mulhare, Mike Korn. ** LIFE BLOOD TWO; (EVEN More Vampire Tales); A Panel: Vampire Lore, Fiction, Horror; Classic Horror movies; and Non-Fiction (Horror); with authors Gary Hill, RC Mulhare and Mike Korn. YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4zWVn6KmBg&t=464s GARY HILL: has been publishing Music Street Journal (musicstreetjournal.com) since 1998. Since 2018 Hill has published MSJ simultaneously on-line and in book form. He also published all the archives in book form. In 2019 Hill began a series of books under the Music Street Journal banner focused on the Rockford, Illinois music scene titled, "Music Street Journal Local: Rockford Area Music Makers." In August of 2006 his first book The Strange Sound of Cthulhu: Music Inspired by the Writings of H.P. Lovecraft was published. Since then, several other books have been released including the book length space-opera Wizard Song and the horror novella The Homestead. Hill has also written for cable television (Cops 2.0 on G4), All Music Guide, Demand Media Studios and more. He launched Tales of Wonder and Dread Publishing to release science fiction and horror books in 2018, but published a collection of those types of stories in 2017 titled "Dark Dreams and Worlds." Under the Tales of Wonder and Dread nameplate, Hill has published more than two dozen books. Hill launched Spooky Ventures in 2019 and has been doing video interviews, Spooky News segments and more for the Spooky Ventures YouTube Channel since then. Contact: GaryHillAuthor.com MusicStreetJournal.com SpookyVentures.com ** RC MULHARE: "R.C. Mulhare once successfully defended her day-job workplace from zombies, through some judicious use of clearance-rack garden tools, and has survived a fight with Yog-Sothoth cultists in a hallway of a hotel in Providence; she's also picked up some extra work editing posts for the product blog of Umbrella Corporation... In actuality, R.C. Mulhare was born in Lowell, Massachusetts and grew up in one of the surrounding towns, in a hundred year old house up the street from an old cemetery. Her interest in the dark and mysterious started when she was quite young, when her mother read the faery tales of the Brothers Grimm and quoted the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe to her, while her Irish storyteller father infused her with a fondness for strange characters and quirky situations. When she isn't writing, she moonlights in grocery retail. She's also fond of hiking in the woods of the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and browsing the antiques shops one finds all over New England. CONTACT: @rcmulhare | Linktree * MIKE KORN: I was lucky enough to grow up in the rural countryside of Northern Illinois, where I roamed the forests and fields as a child and imagined all sorts of adventures. At the age of 4, I saw the mythic wonders of “Jason and the Argonauts” and became a fan of fantasy and creatures for the rest of my life. I grew up on a steady diet of comic books, monster movies, pro wrestling and cartoons and haven't really moved on from that much at all. I was bit by the writing bug at an early age, but it wasn't until the 1990

Hosts: Jim, Jon & GregoryGuest: Eden Royce In this episode we create a vision of a hell in which daemons try to live better lives, but are plagued by crime and corruption. And of course the occasional kidnapping by humans from another world.00:00 Tomfoolery00:12 Megalopolis00:21 Mr. Snuffleupagus00:37 Barghest / Darth Vader / Black Dog / Geist00:52 The Hound of the Baskervilles / Baskerville01:06 Intro02:47 Listener Feedback03:10 Happy Jack's RPG Podcast03:37 Creative Commons04:12 Determining Basics04:38 Atlas / Atlas Shrugged05:04 Demon / Devil / Hell06:11 Hellevator08:27 Fedora08:57 Film Noir / Hardboiled Fiction09:14 Faustian Bargain09:37 "This is my boomstick!"10:53 Drug Fiend11:58 Drug Mule12:09 Mephistopheles13:37 Art Deco / Succubus / Femme Fatale14:03 Determining Physical Properties14:13 Dark City14:59 Superman / Kryptonians15:55 Discussing Social Aspects16:16 No One Can Eat Just One17:07 Discussing Supernatural Rules18:47 Discussing Inhabitants & Society20:43 Discussing Powers22:29 Prohibition / Speakeasy / Eliot Ness23:34 Devil in a Blue Dress24:24 Imp / Incubus25:10 Discussing Wild Life25:38 Terrarium25:56 Arthropod / Arachnid / Crustacean26:35 Discussing Environment27:24 Futurama / New New York27:51 Zeppelin / Steampunk29:15 Industrial Revolution29:43 Sulfur Dioxide / Acid Rain32:14 Discussing History32:50 Elder Things33:23 Yog-Sothoth / Elder Gods / Great Old Ones37:12 Egalitarianism38:58 Discussing Religion39:33 Lovecraftian / Hastur40:13 Humanism / The King in Yellow40:30 Gothic Architecture41:41 Gaslighting42:14 Drinking the Kool Aid / Heaven's Gate42:20 Discussing Crime43:09 Discussing Souls44:31 Scarab45:05 Discussing Government & Organizations45:43 Fidel Castro47:01 Byakhee48:03 Arkham / Mikatonic University49:03 Wall Street49:17 Coney Island / Renaissance Faire50:20 Naming Beings, Titles & Organizations50:33 Daemon52:20 Body Politic / Constabulary / Constable53:27 Clot54:02 Humours / Bile55:25 Naming Places55:59 Furlong56:25 Naming Deities57:28 Naming More Groups & Movements58:17 Walker, Texas Ranger59:37 Naming More Places61:08 Naming the City62:04 Naming the Setting63:23 www.EdenRoyce.com63:39 LudusNovus.net63:45 Conclusion & OutroDOWNLOAD EPISODE 11 - Hell Noir

The Carrion Crusaders come face to face with the Spawn of Yog-Sothoth. Can they take down this creature from another world or will it be too much for them to handle?   Cast: Gary Eoff - Game Master Gary Garcia - Xo'bere Emogen Phillip De Leon - Genoeva Natacia Ursula de Cascabel aka "Genny" Keith Thomason - Kabal John Blizzard - Diego Dominus     Music:   Into the Valley of Shadows from Monsters of Legend by Midnight Syndicate (https://www.midnightsyndicate.com/product/monsters-of-legend/)   Dark Discovery from Gates of Delirium by Midnight Syndicate (https://www.midnightsyndicate.com/product/gates-of-delirium/)   Procession of the Damned from Gates of Delirium by Midnight Syndicate (https://www.midnightsyndicate.com/product/gates-of-delirium/)   Black Woods from Monsters of Legend by Midnight Syndicate (https://www.midnightsyndicate.com/product/monsters-of-legend/)   Ambiance: Sword Coast Soundscapes (http://www.youtube.com/swordcoastsoundscapes)

After the sudden death of his father, Tobias Lenzner, his family, and brother- and father-in-law move into the old man's townhouse. The house sits atop his father's Clock shop. But things don't go quite smoothly for the Lenzner's as they would have hoped. Little do they know, it only gets weirder from here. Please enjoy the final series of the Tales from the Orne Library! Music Credits: "Welcome to Arkham," "Yog-Sothoth," and "Under the Nameless City" by Graham Plowman "Spooky Spooks" by the Victor Military Band Theme by Noah Yardley "Ich hab die Nacht Geträumet" arr. Noah Yardley

Life and times of Daniel Boone. Scientists on Mars, word of the month: denizen, Yog-Sothoth, and more. Questions and comments can be directed to mark@lovecraftpod.com. Recorded live on Facebook, March 24, 2021. Hosted by David Guffy, Richard Wilson, & Mark Griffin. In association with www.lovecraftpod.com and the Logan County Speculative Fiction Group, with help from the Logan County Public Library, the Lovecraft Eternal Facebook Page, and the H. P. Lovecraft Literary Podcast with assistance by Joshua Dukes. Edited by Katie Tyson. Theme is Minimal by Xylo-Ziko

We're obviously quite thankful for the written catalogue of H.P. Lovecraft, so it was only a matter of time until we got around to the very first credited adaptation of his work, Roger Corman's The Haunted Castle! Sure, the notorious master of low budget filmmaking had to result to subterfuge to get American International Pictures to release it in the midst of their Poe cycle - the titular poem is Lovecraft adjacent at best - but we're sure glad that Corman and screenwriter Charles Beaumont revealed Cthulhu, Yog-Sothoth, and the Necronomicon to the world. This adaptation of "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward" may not be the most faithful, but this gothic horror tale is gorgeously shot, marvelously acted, and arguably even bleaker in its conclusion than even Lovecraft's source. The late writer may have cared as little for his novel as he did for the Republican party, but without it, we would have never gotten Vincent Price declaring "I'll not have my fill of revenge until this village is a graveyard!" Happy Thanksgiving from The Cast of Cthuhu! Stay safe, wear a mask, and stay at home! When it is safe to travel again, we highly recommend trekking to Providence and taking part in the H.P. Lovecraft Walking Tour.

We finish shOctober this Saturday in grand style, with 1963's "The Haunted Palace." Do you like H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Vincent Price, Lon Chaney Jr. and Roger Corman? Well, this movie has all of them. It's a loose adaptation of Lovecraft's "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward," and is the first cinematic mention of Lovecraft's "Necronomicon," as well as Cthulhu and Yog Sothoth. And what better beer to have with this collaboration than a collaboration between Mikkeller and Anchorage Brewing, Mikkeller "AK Alive," an Alaskan wild ale. It's an interesting beer for an interesting movie. Join us.

Listen to the song. [A small apology, but for some reason only one mic worked during recording. That's why Bob sounds like he's imitating a ghost. Don't worry, it's still worth a listen.] Lucky 13 brings Yog Sothoth to the proceedings.It's a special holiday episode of PGTFSG! There's probably a curse word. Contact: pgtfsg@gmail.com. The Annotated Fall lies here: http://annotatedfall.doomby.com/