The Primal Vampire

    Istvan Hunyadi was a desperate man; in the spring of 1520 the church had ordered the bold Hungarian knight to destroy the vampires who plagued the countryside. To this end Hunyadi gathered a group of brave men, each of unwavering faith. But the effort was a disaster, the vampires tore his men apart like rag dolls and seemed to have none of the weaknesses the priests had claimed for they did not cower or weaken when presented with the either the Cross or doused with Holy Water.

    Hunyadi sought out a heretic named Prynn, a man reputed to have knowledge of ancient lore concerning vampires and other things even more blasphemous . Istvan used his influence to get Prynn access to the libraries of the church and there, locked away and untouched for centuries they discovered a moldering scroll written in a strange language. The knight was repulsed by the horrid runes, feeling as though merely looking upon them was a sin. He became even more horrified when Prynn read the glyphs, revealing the terrible rituals that could give power to equal the vampires and the location of the monstrous thing that even the undead feared.

  The knight and his sinister companion left the following day, vaguely hinting that they would travel into the Carpathian Mountains on some pilgrimage.

   Hunyadi returned from the journey alone, never speaking of what they found or of the fate of Prynn. But the knight brought back a darkly stained wooden stake, vowing that it was the key to destroying the vampires.  He quickly proved the value of his mysterious weapon by killing a dozen of the undead over the course of a fortnight, more vampires than had been slain over the previous century. Rumor spread that Hunyadi drank the blood of the vampires he killed and chanted in strange tongues, causing his own warriors to draw back in fear of his battle madness. But the men who started these tales disappeared and no more was spoken of the matter.

Priests whispered about the origins of Hunyadi’s stake and the nature of its power; some suggested it was a splinter from the Ark of Noah, others thought it to be a limb pruned from the Tree of Life, some even speculated it was fragment from the Holy Cross itself. Hunyadi remained silent, occasionally mumbling that it was a gift from his god if one of the priests pressed him on the matter.

   The elder vampires came into the land, things so old they had fed upon the slaves who built the pyramids of Egypt, and they also whispered into the ears of the church leaders, revealing the true origins of Hunyadi's weapon. It was a splinter from the stake that impaled the heart of the first Vampire, holding that primal monster in its tomb. Hunyadi prayed to the father of the undead each time he slew its grandchildren and it became stronger with each sacrifice. Soon it would be strong enough to tear the stake from its heart and rise to consume all the living and the undead.

   The church leaders acted swiftly, Hunyadi was charged with witchcraft and sentenced to death by fire. As he burned Istvan Hunyadi screamed for his undead master to save him. But to no avail, he was burnt to ashes. That night the elder vampires gathered the ashes of the fallen knight, they mixed them with salt and scattered them across the land that no necromancy might ever raise Istvan Hunyadi.

   In a crypt hidden in the Carpathian Mountains the primal vampire listened to the death cries of his servant but paid little heed, the loss was a small thing for it could not die and eventually another would come to free it. The monster returned to its eons long death sleep, dreaming of revenge on its children and the ocean of blood waiting to be drank.

The Dhole Rituals

   In primal times the men of Lemuria served the outer goddess Shub-Niggurath, she who is called the Dark Mother of a thousand young.  A great temple was built to honor the goddess and her jade altars were stained red with the blood of human sacrifice. The terrible first born Children of Shub Niggurath came to dwell in the forests of Lemuria and these places were made sacred to them, these things spawning abominations with beasts and even upon the daughters of the lemurians. For their veneration of the outer god the Lemurians were rewarded with lush harvests and became wealthy beyond all other tribes of men.

  Then the Picts came to Lemuria in their long ships decorated with skulls of men and  beasts. The Picts were mighty warriors who acknowledged no deity save the war-god Cruuach, who had decreed that the world belonged to those with the will and strength to take it. In the field of battle they slaughtered the Lemurians and even the abominations of the Dark Mother fell to their spears, for in those days Pictish wizards had knowledge of the Seal of Koth which made iron as poison to those things from outside.

    The Lemurian priests begged Shub-Niggurath for aid. In a single fortnight they sacrificed a thousand virgins in the garden of the great temple, the ground become as red mud, soaked with blood that nourished the strange and unwholesome plants that grew there. At last the Dark Mother appeared to them, she came in a form so exquisite the young acolytes gouged their eyes from the sockets, wishing her beauty be their last sight. The Dark Mother spoke, "From across the void I have watched these foul men defile my land and slay the children of my own blood. It shall end now. I shall give to thee formulae to rouse the Dholes from their sleep in the deep earth, let those devouring worms feast and cleanse the land". The Dark Mother laid her hand upon the head of the groveling archpriest, words older than the stars flowed into his mind. He fell to the ground numb with knowledge.

   The archpriest was alone when he awoke; Shub-Niggurath had taken the other clergy and acolytes as tribute. The high priest took hammer and chisel to carve the alien words that gnawed at his mind, setting them forever into the temple walls. Then he traveled to the edge of the pictish camp as his god had instructed. He could hear the useless cries for mercy from his countrymen as the Picts cast them alive into flaming pyres, hatred overcame fear in the archpriest and he at last spoke aloud the formulae that would call up the terrible Dholes.

      It was so; the titan worms rose and swallowed the screaming Picts. But their hunger was not satisfied, they consumed all the men and beasts of that ancient land, till nothing of flesh lived in Lemuria. Only at the oceans did the Devourers stop, for the mystery of water is beyond the mind of the Dhole. The Devourers turned away, burrowing through space, time, and dreams, back to their home deep beneath the Crypts of N'kai.

 For eons the land was empty of living things but in time men returned to the Lemurian continent and inhabited the ruins of the previous race. Wisely they sealed the Temple of Shub-Niggurath and when that land sank beneath the waves the Dhole formulae was lost in that forgotten temple on the ocean's floor.

Demoness of the Wastelands

Abdul Alhazrad was dying of thirst, he had wandered into the great desert searching for a nameless city of antediluvian kings and swiftly became lost in that endless waste. His supplies and camel had disappeared in a sandstorm nearly four days gone and now it seemed his doom was upon him, but a whisper carried on the hot winds led him forward;
Come to me, wanderer.
Would you dare gaze upon me?
Come to me,
burn in the fire of knowledge and beauty.

     After a long nightmare of sun, sand, and misery, Alhazrad stumbled inside the gates of a ruined city. The ancient demoness Ereshkigal greeted him and restored his strength with words of healing and honeyed wine of no mortal vineyard. In return she bade Alhazrad to remove the hundred binding runes that the Elder Gods had written upon her flawless body. The glyphs held her to the dead place, punishment for the abominations she had led her worshippers to perform in primal ages. Fearing the wrath of the Elder Gods even more than the seductive demoness, Abdul refused . 

 Ereshkigal offered to trade him knowledge of many unspeakable demons for her freedom. The mad arab's lust for arcane secrets overcame his fear. He agreed and bade her speak.

 
   For two days and nights Ereshkigal sang to him. Her songs were older than mankind, they told tales of the Great Old Ones; Tsathoggua, black toad of the abyss; Yig, father of serpents; Ahruman, who is called the lord of corruption and Pazuzon who breathes the black wind that kills men and beasts; even whispering of Yog-Sothoth, who is the gate and the key; of all these and many others she sang .

  By the third day Abdul could bear no more as his brain seethed with things no mortal should know, he begged the demoness to be silent.

   

   Then Ereshkigal demanded her payment, she gave Alhazrad ink and quill that he should mark through the runes that held her to a dead and forgotten place. But he betrayed the demoness, inscribing yet another binding to her perfect skin and then fleeing for the city gates. Ereshkigal's voice turned to a roar of curses and she prophesied that the knowledge she gave Abdul would lead to his terrible demise. Alhazrad stole a single glance over his shoulder at the horror the Ereshkigal had transformed into. Then he ran harder, praying his heart would burst and save him from the memory of what he had witnessed.

   Alhazrad was found days later by a caravan, screaming at shadows and frothing like a mad dog. When he recovered his sanity, Abdul put to paper all he had learned from Ereshkigal. Secrets that would eventually reward him only with madness and pain.

The Glass from Leng

Abdul Alhazrad sat cross-legged on the rapidly cooling desert sands. Night had fallen and he awaited the rise of the moon. Beside him petals of Black Lotus smoldered in a bronze brazier crafted in sunken Lemuria. The mad poet forced his brain to ignore the monstrous shapes formed by the lotus smoke. His attention was focused on a chunk of glass held in his hands.
    He had obtained the glass from an eyeless beggar on the outskirts of Damascus who claimed it to have been created in the fabled land of Leng and that it gave a man visions of things beyond imagining even a glimpse of the abyss beyond space and time wherein dwells the daemon sultan Azathoth. The old man had fallen on hard times and in the end had traded the glass shard and ancient scrolls written in the high Aklo tongue for a few crusts of moldy bread and a skin of sour wine.
Abdul had spent a week studying the scrolls and waiting for a full moon, now he was ready to look through the veil of time and space.
   The moon rose and the blue light streamed through the glass into Alhazrad's left eye, then deeper into his mind. Within the glass Alhazrad beheld wonders of primal ages, glorious cities and kingdoms so ancient no scholar could remember their names. Further back he saw the first men, shaggy brutes who sacrificed their children to winged things in exchange for knowledge of fire and primitive magic. He saw the ancient Serpent Men hissing incantations and mixing vile potions. He beheld the continent of Rl'yeh in its colossal glory, hurriedly looking away when Great Cthulhu turned to meet his gaze.  
    Then the poet cast his vision far out into the silent void, past Yuggoth and Xoktli, past Hali with its slimy churning lake, to the very rim of space and time to the place where dwells Azathoth. The great eye of Azathoth opened to stare back at him. With that vision Alhazrad hurled the glass from Leng away and ran screaming into the blue-litten dunes for the eye of Azathoth held no ultimate wisdom only idiocy and cosmic madness.
  

Pnakotic Fragments

   Beyond the worlds we know, beyond Yuggoth at the rim, beyond Almuric where savages battle endlessly and beyond Nh'ule of the black towers, there rolls in a strange orbit the world god Gauru-Yoth . The world thing circles seven stars, three are red and old, four are dim and older still. The seven stars hold Gauru-Yoth in check. But even the stars die and one of the seven shall someday go cold then shall Gauru-Yoth be free to roam among the stars and devour all life. Azathoth has power to bind the world thing, but Azathoth is mad.

   By certain formula a skilled wizard may open the gate to Gauru-Yoth and if the Guardian of the Gate deems the traveler worthy he may go forth onto the surface of that sentient world. There he will be watched by countless eyes and will hear the screams of countless mouths, all beings that have been consumed by the world god in ages past. Some of those voices will speak and the adept may learn powerful formulae and lore of elder times. Some of the voices are simply mad and will plead for release from Gauru-Yoth or plead for the mercy of death. But their is no release and there is no escape in death, for all that Gauru-Yoth consumes lives on in his substance.

  When the adept prepares to return to his world the Guardian of the Gate will bid him to feast upon the flesh of Gauru-Yoth, and thus will the adept become one with the world god and carry the essence with him. Over time the body of a man will take on the cast of Gauru-Yoth and become an unspeakable thing, taking on the appetites of Gauru-Yoth, ravenously consuming man and beast alike. After much carnage this thing will grow to a great size and the world god will call him back, there it will sink into the mass of Gauru-Yoth and live on eternally.

 ( from the Book of Veiled Gods, author unknown)

The Sarnath Texts

 Two men groped through the ancient catacombs beneath the glorious city of Sarnath lighting their way with torches that barely penetrated the gloom. One man was very old and frail, and he was far older even than his appearance suggested. He was Ysra the Hyperborean and he was a great wizard. The other man was young and large, his name was Malak and he was one of Ysra's apprentices, although he was reckoned by many to have neither the talent nor intelligence to make a wizard.
    In the streets above them the men of Sarnath celebrated the three hundred year anniversary of the destruction of Ib, a neighboring city that had been populated by odd creatures considered repulsive and inferior to men. Malak had wished to join in the celebration, but Ysra had no interest in such foolishness, he had witnessed the destruction of Ib and he knew eventually Sarnath would pay a dire price for the transgression. They traveled ever deeper into the earth until the sounds of the city and it's riotous festival ceased to echo the tunnels.
   Ysra stopped at the entrance to the deepest section of the catacombs, runes carved in the rock caught the old wizard's attention and he read them for a bit. He spoke, "Douse your torch, good Malak, fire is no friend to those who dwell beyond this portal. We shall instead view this realm with the second sight granted by this potion." He produced a flask and they each took a sip. For a moment all was black, then a pale green glow began to illume the tunnel and the men could see easily as well as in the torchlight.  Malak was amazed by his master's craft, his father had been wise to pay Ysra the tremendous sum required for acceptance as the old man's apprentice.
Peering about with his new vision Malak was disturbed by the number and size of the spiders crawling the walls, he sought to crush one under his foot that crawled near but Ysra pulled him back with surprising strength. The wizard hissed, "Fool! Would you enter a great kingdom and kill it's people?" Bewildered by the comment Malak made no reply.
    The pair came to a gigantic cavern, massive pillars carved with ancient runes of power stretched up a hundred feet to the ceiling and the floor was like a living carpet of spiders. The arachnids were all sizes and colors, some no bigger than a coin and jet black, others large enough to kill a house cat and covered in wild hues of yellow and purple, the largest were pale white spiders that had never seen the light of day clinging to the walls and seemingly watching them with their clusters of black eyes.
 The spiders parted and cleared a path as the men approached a dais made of human skulls and webbing.  Malak shook with terror as he looked up for resting atop it was the supreme horror of this subterranean realm, a great thing like a spider but as big as a horse and with a face similar to that of a man. The spider thing spoke with a harsh rasping voice, "Greetings, Ysra of the Crimson Circle, hast thou come to gain more of my knowledge?" The old wizard replied, "Indeed Great Son of Atlach, I would know of the Swarm of Nebros and how they devour a man when summoned and yet that man lives on in their swarm. I would know of the depths under this realm and the foul dwellers below, and I would know of the dimension of Lord Kour-Gath and to what gods he sacrifices endlessly. I have brought this gift according to our ancient bargain." 
    Suddenly the dim-witted Malak realized his fate and turned to flee. Ysra was faster, he struck Malak in the neck with his left hand. One of his rings had a tiny needle dipped in black lotus extract and it pierced Malak's skin, the apprentice dropped to stone floor.  Malak was awake but his limbs were paralyzed by the lotus extract, he could not even scream as the great white spiders carried him high up the wall and cocooned him in webbing. He hung there for many days, listening to the Great Son of Atlach whisper arcane secrets to Ysra, while the wizard carefully wrote down all that the monster spoke.

Necronomicon Tales 3

    Of all the curses known to the sorcerers of elder lore, the curse of Mgnalah is the most vile. First the magus must obtain some part of the victim, a lock of hair or even a drop of spittle will serve as a link. Then a deep cave is found for Mgnalah will not enter where the light of the sun has touched the earth. Next is is drawn the seal of Mgnalah upon the earth and the link placed atop it. Then the incantations are recited in a whisper, for Mgnalah hears whenever his name is spoken and there is no need to shout.

    Seeping down from between the spaces we know will come Mgnalah, searching for his prey. The old one will take root within his host and begin to grow, consuming flesh and mind both. In time the wretched remains will resemble nothing of this earth and mumble only of strange and terrible visions. In the end nothing human will remain, only a fragment of Mgnalah that will crawl away in search of new flesh to devour that it might grow into a greater abomination.

(From the Necronomicon of Abdul Alhazrad)