The Curse From Beyond

I've managed to contain the infection using the bracer of Inragos and the Voorish Chant but I fear it is only a temporary solution.
 "from the notebooks of Dr. Eugene Kantorius"

Necronomicon Manuscript

Daughters of the Black Goat

Clad only in witchfire I have seen the daughters of the Black Goat dancing in hidden glades beneath the full moon! That very moon which is the eye of their Dark Mother! And the shapes that come from the woods to dance with them, things cast in a mold not of this world or of any world where sanity and light prevail!
 (Except from a sermon given by Rev. Alton Bowers at the Church of the Holy Light in Arkham, Massachusetts in 1906)

Hierophant of the Black Tower

A black tower stands in the center of the city of Lal-Khra'tum and men say it is older that the city, so old that it stood there when the jungles covered the plains instead of desert sands. In all the history of Lal-Khra'tum it has been noted that robed and hooded priests go from that tower to do business with merchants, buying food and wine with their ancient gold, and on occasion slaves that are never seen again. I had long wondered what god was served there and so on a moonless night I climbed that tower and gazed through the barred windows to glimpse the hierophant who dwelt in the uppermost chambers of the tower.
(From the Scrolls of Vecra Tutthoon)

The Scrolls of Druuna Cosaan

"And the great King Khossus looked into the glass from Leng, and therein beheld strange stars and further to strange worlds where life took shape only glimpsed in the nightmares of men. Thus did Nyarlathotep touch the mind of Khossus as he gazed upon the things beyond, and ruin came unto the land of Sohure."
(from the Scrolls of Druuna-Cosaan)

The Rituals of Hali

The members of the cult of the Yellow King groveled before a roaring bonfire. The cult leader, an enigmatic old man named Prynn, chanted aloud an incantation from The Rituals of Hali, an ancient book written in a tongue that only a handful of scholars across the world could read. That book revealed the path to eternal life in the mortal shell and the awful price to be paid .
Blood ran freely from the runes Prynn had carved into his chest. The wounds that would scar not just his flesh but his very soul and forever mark him as a servant of the Yellow King.
 Prynn completed the incantation and the old wizard grinned as the avatar of the Yellow King emerged from the flames. It's shape was hazy and indistinct, Prynn had the impression of great height, ragged yellow robes, and an ivory mask covering the face. The creature bent close to whisper something into Prynn's ear. Without hesitation Prynn sank to his knees before the entity and presented his wrists. A blade flashed from somewhere within the Yellow King's tattered robes to slice across the outstretched wrists and more of Prynn's blood splattered the ground. The cult leader lifted a quill with numbing fingers and signed his name in blood on the outstretched palm of the hideous thing. His name was but one of many, most of them in languages forgotten before the first stones were laid in Sumeria. Prynn fell to the ground, fainting from blood loss.

The Yellow King turned to face the grovelling cultists and their ecstasy turned to horror as he assumed his true shape to begin the feast. The screams lasted long into the night.

 Prynn awoke the next morning amid the butchered remains of what had been twenty foolish humans. I didn't matter, he had been reborn as a servant of the Lord of Hali and granted one hundred years of life until the stars wheeled around and the time came to renew his pact with the Yellow King. So would it be forever until he failed to pay the tribute of blood and souls his terrible master required. Prynn hid the Rituals of Hali, the book must be preserved for he knew his name would not be the last written on the hand of the Yellow King.

Daughter of Set

 

 

 

 

 

"But he could see only the god-like face, the finely molded head which swayed curiously from side to side. The full lips opened and spoke a single word, in a rich vibrant tone that was like the golden chimes that ring in the jungle-lost temples of Khitai. It was an unknown tongue, forgotten before the kingdoms of man arose, but Conan knew that it meant, “Come!”

(Robert E. Howard, The God in the Bowl)

The Black Lotus Rituals

   Abdul Alhazrad was pleased with the spot he had chosen to perform the Black Lotus Ritual. It was a one room hut on the edge of the wastelands. Once the home of a madman who wandered the hills talking to shadows and oddly formed rocks, that hermit had disappeared one night during a sandstorm and the place had been shunned since. The hut had a single window facing south and that too was a good omen; for as a boy Alhazrad had glimpsed an ice bound mountain in the grip a fever dream and had known it was in the southern most reaches of earth. Perhaps the visions that the Black Lotus granted would allow him to see that mountain again or even the things that slumbered beneath it.

 

    Alhazrad seated himself in the midst of a complex series of circles and mystic symbols drawn in white chalk on the floor. He chanted the Dho-Na formulae as he lit the brazier. The dried Black Lotus began to smolder and lazily the blue smoke rose, tendrils coiling and twisting like serpents. As the smoke drew near his face, Alhazrad inhaled deeply.

 

   The lotus fumes struck his brain like thunder, he had brief but terrible sensation of falling down an endless tunnel, then he was standing, staring at his still chanting body, Alhazrad's astral form had been freed from the cage of flesh. He turned toward the window and could see countless paths leading from it. Alhazrad stepped through and began to travel.

 

   He flew through nearer astral realms and beheld spirits of the dead, some lost in  false bliss and others lost in equally false torment. Those realms could not hold him and he probed beyond the nearer realms and glimpsed the maelstrom of time itself. Lean and hungry Hounds of Tindalos stalked the edge of the maelstrom, he spoke to those things, telling them the time and place to slay his earthly enemies. That vague scent was enough for the tindalosi, they leaped into the vortex to find their prey.

    Alhazrad guided his spirit sideways into the lands of dream. There he marveled at great shantaks on the wing and was briefly entertained by the antics of playful zoogs. Then he watched as the zoogs devoured a lone traveler and his amusement became revulsion.

    He left the dreamlands and returned to the plane of earth. He sent his spirit to the very bottom of the sea where he stood with Mother Hydra and her daughters before the sunken tomb of Great Cthulhu. He felt a call from the sepulchre and he entered within, his spirit passing through the stone like mist. There he beheld the corpse of Great Cthulhu, a mountain of alien flesh that was dead but still dreaming. That dreaming essence of Cthulhu flowed out to touch him and something attached itself to Alhazrad, pain ripped through both his astral and corporeal forms.

     The agony shattered the spell and sent the sorcerer's soul crashing back to his body. Alhazrad  came to his senses with the morning light, the black lotus had long since burnt out, the sigils and diagrams on the floor were smudged from the convulsions that had wracked his body through the night. But something had changed in Alhazrad, as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes, he perceived certain angles were corridors leading to other worlds where other things gazed hatefully upon mankind. The were also changes in his physical form, but Alhazrad decided it would be best to hide those from curious eyes and bound himself with rags as though he were a leper. For those new parts of himself fought for control and they were so very hungry.

 

The Vile One

"And in those places where men delight in vice is the presence of Y'Golonac known, and he draws to him those most wicked, that they may be devoured by him, their flesh made sweeter by their sins."
 from the The Hagan Apocrypha

Spawn of the Windwalker

 
I am the howling wind of fear.
I am the frost that brings starvation.
Who calls me with the words older than mankind?
Ia IT-AH-Qwa
Ia Shatukk ng'liu
Ia Ki-Nah-uk
Ia IT-AH-Qwa
Who calls me with an offering of flesh?
I am the Wind-Walker.
The frozen dead follow in my footsteps. They come to devour the living.

(Inscription from a menhir discovered on Ellesmere Island, translated from the Aklo by Professor Ben Crawford)

Necronomicon pages referencing human sacrifices made to the Spawn of the Windwalker by primitive tribes

Windwalker cult artifact in Miskatonic collection

The Temple of the Worm

"Out of the temple the monstrous dweller in the darkness had come, and I, who had expected a horror yet cast in some terrestrial mould, looked on the spawn of nightmare. From what subterranean hell it crawled in the long ago I know not, nor what black age it represented. But it was not a beast, as humanity knows beasts. I call it a worm for lack of a better term. There is no earthly language that has a name for it."
 The Valley of the Worm by Robert E. Howard

The Arkham Witch Box

In the spring of 1692 a woman named Keziah Mason was tried for witchcraft in Arkham, Massachusetts. The old woman was accused of being in league with the devil and many strange artifacts were found in her home and submitted as proof of her crime. Mason confessed freely to witchcraft and declared the various artifacts to be gifts from her infernal mentor, a being she referred to as "Nyarlathotep" or "The Dark Man".
 Several witnesses swore to have seen corpses walking in the forests near Mason's home and when questioned about this necromancy Mason claimed the Dark Man had given her a magical formulae that allowed her to trap the souls of dead men into a box and raise their rotting corpses to be her servants. The transcript of her trial even states that audible moans, wails, and hoarse whispers were heard to issue from the witch box.
Based on the overwhelming evidence and Mason's own confession, she was convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to death. However the convicted woman somehow escaped on the eve of her execution, that same night the witch box and her other possessions also disappeared from a locked room in the local church.
 The story might have ended there had not the witch box been recovered in 1939 during the demolition of a long abandoned farmhouse near Arkham. The item was found in the cellar of the old house near a pit containing the remains of twenty four human beings, some of these cadavers were in a skeletal state and dressed in 17th century clothing while others appeared to be much more recent. The disinterred corpses were assumed to be the work of a grave robbing cult, and since none of the remains could be identified the case was quickly closed by the local authorities and the bodies reburied. The witch box was placed in the care of Miskatonic University and has remained there since.