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The ravens are on the wing!

My scramasax is red
(stained with the blood of many Mercian warriors),
The ravens are on the wing,
By Offa's decree I am an outlaw,
Branded wolfshead by my own king.
(The orm-garth awaits me, darkly astir with ophidian malice...)

[The Antediluvian Oracle:]
And so it was written, that rage would carry him like a howling wind, leaving only frozen corpses,
Their bones rattling in hollow armour, to tell their tale in his wake.

[The Black Mariner:]
Behold, my blackened, grim and gory axe, the searing glow of trenchant steel.
I'll notch another widow to my haft, and wreak red vengeance 'cross the waves.
Tales of black-sailed argosies, bedeviled by base treachery!

Kor-Avul-Thaa... finest jewel in a crown of a realm of sublime
Glory, greatest city in the Middle Kingdoms, mayhap all the world...
Its splendid walls of shimmering crystal could be seen from a hundred
Leagues distant, kissed by the golden rays of the sun, or caressed by
The ethereal fingers of a midnight moon. it's magnificent spires and
Citadels, built by generations of kings from the resplendent gifts
Hewn from the ancient bosom of the sacred Crystal Mountains, had oft'
Times been the bitter envy of rival emperors, and many were the sieges

[The Chronicler of Antediluvia:]
Long ago, before the Third Great Cataclysm reshaped the face of creation,
one nation rose above all others in the antediluvian world... Atlantis.

[The Atlantean Quorum:]
Hear the call Atlanteans, proud we stand forever,
Mightiest of warriors, we sail across the sea.
Conquering the ancient world, a legacy eternal,

Sorcerers and shamans, weave your spells of war,
Ensure our mighty sword-arms are the strongest and the quickest.
Entwine us with great battle magic 'til we stand knee-deep in gore,
And by all the gods, we'll ride to where the fray rages the thickest!

The war-song of the Wolves of Caylen-Tor,
as heard at the Battle of Blackhelm Vale.

Ruminations from the Six Pyramids of Cydonia:

This red charnel pit of primal horror, howling black ecstasies to the void. Ancient and divine, older than the hidden Icosahedron, now rebirthed beyond the chaosphere. Rise... rise and destroy!
Hatred, carnage, slaughter, havoc, chaos, murder!
I am become the devourer of all life!

Phobos, Deimos! The moons' rays liquified in these blood red pyramids,
In the shrines of abomination, black tongues rapt with blasphemy.

[ZURANTHUS:]
Earthbound, a star falls to my tongue.
Come to me, Hyperion's child... come to me, spawn of Titan.
Condemned Souls of the Brotherhood of Dark Elucidation:
Callisto rising! Glory ascendant!
Hearken Zuranthus, kin of Klatrymadon...
your brethren are free once more!
The rogue godling, your brother Zurra,

The Oracle of Logres:

It was a time of change. The descendants of the Atlantean mages had fallen before
the New Praesidium, and the wolves were baying at the Empire's door. An oppressive
new faith was encroaching from the east, and the sylvan liege had locked tight the
gates of his arboreal realm. And so it was that towards the end of the Age of Mystery,
the last of Albion's great Dragon Lords did gather for what would be their final
battle... The War-song of the Dragon Lords: Dragon-phalanx rend the sky, Albion our

All witches fly to me...

I have torn the veil of dreams, enraptured by (the gleam of) moon-frost's caress,
My heart is held in icy thrall, the horned moon's sweet enchantment,
The Topaz Throne is beckoning, the jewelled sword awaits my grasp,
The dreaming gods now grimly brood in the silence of Atlantean spires.
The sky is black with chaos-fiends, spellcraft rides with witch-storm's wings,
Beneath the vaults of time-lost tombs, sorcerers summon the Shadow-Kings.

Ancient cromlech carved of ice,
Etched against a glimmering sky,
Beneath the pale moonlight, the witch enthralling,
(like the sublime) scent of black lotus,
Ahiling a black sun with ebon rays,
Hailing a black moon as onyx agleam,
The dark horn sounds 'cross the nighted vale,
Shadows call in this bleak winter's dream.

The Aspirant: Praise the Crystalline Oracle! I am blessed with enlightenment! Hark, Ancient Ones! Hear me in thy ebon vaults beneath the earth, in thy hoary tombs beneath the waves! Hear me in your deathless slumber! Hearken! Soon, that slumber shall cease, and you shall rise, rise as avenging avatars! Your victory shall be absolute, and a new era of human obeisance shall dawn! The universe awaits your glorious ressurrection! Purge the world! Cleanse all creation with your purity! Praise the crawling chaos! The time has come! Reveal the sinistrous power of the Six Keys!

[The Explorer:]
Beneath the ice, the endless ice of Pangaea's now axial
eternally frozen frontier, entombed for countless millions of years... the
lost cities of Antarctica!

Secrets locked within the ice, the endless ice of Antarctica,
'Neath the peak of Erebus the First Ones sleep, Lords of Pangaea,
Cities lost within the night, the frozen night of Antarctica,

The Words of the Forest-King on the Eve of the Nexus:
I am the immortal King of the Deep Woods,
Servitor of the Old Gods of the Forest...
I hear the whispered words of the trees...
Such ancient secrets they sing...

Swaying serpents ring my oak-hewn throne,
Night and shadow are my hunting dogs...

The Testament Of The Winds:
Many thousands of years ago, they ruled the globe
But the pressing fist of great power carried a heavy price
and now their dominion has fallen beyond time and shadow
Look now, to the interior world

The Explorer:
Ah yes, this ancient map (its true origin unknown

Somewhere in the lightless, labyrinthine depths of the Darkenhold forest...

[VOICE OF THE NIGHT:]
Who are you, wanderer?

[WANDERING SPIRIT:]
I can't remember...

I was spawned deep beneath the Pre-Cambrian sea, the scion of a far distant
sun... I have traversed the endless stars, and journeyed to a myriad
galaxies... The dimensional gates of the multiverse are mine to voyage
effortlessly beyond, Cosmic infinity is naught to one such as I... I am as one
with celestial eternity... Clad in gleaming pentlandite armour, on a whim I
may reshape entire worlds, Or extinguish the blazing light of a sun... and I
remain forever enchanted by sylphs...

Seek ye to invoke the Lord of Dreams, to know His divine will via the dreamscape, to have power
over His minions, to unlock the secrets of the deep? Enscribe ye the great seals 'neath the horned
moon, when the black stars of the chaosphere spin in trine, prepare ye a supplicant, and offer up
olibanum, storax, dictamnus, opium and the incense of Zkauba, in the shadow of the sacred trilithon
that overlooks the endless sea...

"O' Thou that lieth dead but ever dreameth... Hear me, Lord of Dreams!
The Deep Ones knoweth Thy secret name, the Hydra knoweth Thy lair...

I hearken to the grisly murmer of nameless fiends,
Black jaws drooling blasphemy,
Beyond the witch-song, darkly sweet,
The wyrm-horn sounds cross Dagon's mere,
Shadow-gate (portal to the Black Pyramid) yawns wide, beckoning...
Spells scrawled in blood and frosty rime,
Squamous god encoils the onyx shrine,
(by the bleeding stone) I am enraptured by ophidian eyes.

Hear me, O' Thou that lieth dead but ever dreameth... Hear me, Lord of Dreams!
The Deep Ones knoweth Thy secret name, the Hydra knoweth Thy lair...
Dagon shall break Thy accursed bonds, and Thy kingdom shall rise once more."

Rise o' spawn of Chaos and elder night,
With these words, I summon thee,
Slumbering serpent, primal and serene,
Great Old One, hearken to me!

The following are excerpts from handwritten notes discovered secreted in a hidden alcove in the west wing of the Phillips-Ervin Museum, London, England. Sealed in a leather canister, the aged script was accompanied by an ornate bronze key of unknown origin. The author of the journal remains unidentified, and the artifact was only chanced upon following the museum's partial destruction during the spring of 1941...

Fragmentary entry I:
I have come into possession of a certain ancient book, a collection of arcane scrawlings reputed to have been derived from an even earlier transcription, allegedly lost during the great fire of 1666. The Chthonic Chronicles! I cannot disclose here the precise and rather unsavoury means by which I acquired this weather-worn tome, but I immediately recognized the veracity of the fevered inscriptions contained within. Apparently derived from an incomplete Latin translation of the original source material, the text sporadically lapses into an indecipherable tongue which the transcription cryptically notes as being Old High Atlantean. Glyphs, sigils, occult pictograms, six score and ten oblations to some malign entity of colossal evil...some diabolical avatar of the Z'xulth. Khthon! I must delve further into the foreboding depths of this great black book...

Terrifying axioms, shadow-haunted lexicon,
Clandestine cults, ancient spells, cryptic rites, the summoning!
Lore from time immemorial, acolytes, diabolists,

From the journal of Professor Caleb Blackthorne III, continued...
12 October: 1893
I must commit this to the pages of my journal, while it is still vivid in my recollection... not that such a macabre vision could possibly soon be blissfully forgotten. Just before dawn, I awoke from a fantastic and somewhat horrifying dream in which I traversed a great black cyclopean cityscape, its towering stygian walls inscribed with some form of outlandish glyphs which seemed to writhe squamously and alter their shape even as I gazed at them. A sibilant whispering which seemed at once familiar and yet intrusively alien compelled me to walk to the edge of a particularly sinister looking edifice and peer out over its precipitous perimeter. When I did so, I beheld this world of ours, recognizing vaguely the apparent shapes of the five continents, yet the entire vista seemed so distant that the whole appeared in its entirety no larger than a sphere which I could fit snugly into the palm of my hand. When I turned again to behold the looming obelisks, I found I could then easily read the previously untranslatable ciphers in the black stone. They were the words of a great thaumaturgist who had seemingly discovered a repository of aeons-old lore detailing the sidereal web of the cosmos, with arcane diagrams pinpointing certain astral portals and places of empyreal potency, a sort of pangalactic ley-line chart, if you will. Indeed, these Star-Maps Of The Ancient Cosmographersseemed to take a not insignificant toll on the author’s sanity, as evidenced by the tone of his inscriptions, which seem to suggest that in discovering this Pandora’s Box of dark elucidation, his fate was to be inexorably dogged by some nameless and implacable gloom;
The Thaumaturgist:
The Great Eye of the Universe opens! Through this astral art the secrets of the cosmos are mine to know... for the stars are my dominion!
The Last Cosmographer:
Vector-alpha, heed this warning... Lexicon, the threshold calls...
Vortex open, in Omega... Sentinels!

Spears agleam in the dying sun,
The blood is spilled, the battle's won,
From the icy throne of God-King shall rule,
When nine stars kiss the moon o'er Ultima Thule.

[Old Northlander war-song, found in the ancient scrolls of Volmyr]

The Final Part of Voryn Helmsmiter's Journey to the Ice Realm: Blood

With but a gesture of my incorporeal hand I illumine the heart of a new-born sun,
Reveling as its searing stellar radiance engulfs my ersatz form.
Gazing out across the limitless, stygian cosmos,

I hear the whispered voice of destiny echoing within the solar winds...
No small task, to awaken a universe from slumber.

[The Imperator of the Night (Hearken to the Attestation of the Sinistrous):]
For it is the iniquity of man which compels him to these tenebrous gates,
seeking opiate dreams and the alluring embrace of oblivion...
Know that I have cavorted beneath the horned moon with repellent fiends, and
liberated virgins from the burden of their maidenhood.
(Supping deep of that sweet ichor and revelling in the sanguineous megrims my
ophidian tongue has wrought.)
Tyrannic I am where the Serpent dwells, the lissome embrace of the succubi,

From the journal of Professor Caleb Blackthorne III, continued…

17 October: 1893
Such grim musings as have been occupying my mind of late unfortunately seem to suggest a possible link to the fate of my learned friend and colleague Doctor Ignatius Stone. That brilliant researcher was last seen in command of all his faculties whilst on an expedition to the ruins of the Sumerian city of Ur, an undertaking which preceded my own work there by some eighteen months. Stone was a gifted archaeologist who also dabbled, perhaps unwisely, in certain areas of the occult, particularly involving the various grotesqueries once worshipped as Chthonic deities by the ancient denizens of Ur. Some mysterious discovery he made whilst on an expedition to Egypt’s imperious pyramids allegedly compelled him to seek the ruins of Sumeria (see: “Unfettering The Hoary Sentinels Of Karnak”), and mere days before he ventured into the ziggurats of that foreboding, mystery-haunted site, he had dispatched a letter to me claiming that he was on the verge of a truly staggering arcane discovery at Ur which would simultaneously prove the cyclical nature of human civilisation as well as immediately render redundant all previous theories on the origin of man. Whatever misfortune befell him within those aeons-old tombs robbed him irrevocably of his sanity, for when his attendants finally managed to prise open the stone door of the vast central catacomb, which had, I’m told, inexplicably shut fast behind his three-man torch-bearing party, they found two of the regularly stalwart men had seemingly expired of pure fright, while Stone was slumped against the north wall, staring vacantly into the gloom, gibbering about visitations by beings so terrible that the very contemplation of their existence would sunder a man’s tenuous hold on the reins of sanity.
When I later visited him at the sanatorium in England, I found him to be a tragic shell of the man I once knew, a man beset by imagined terrors and ever wary of the immemorial horrors which he claimed lurked at the periphery of humanity’s perceptions. Indeed, I was glad I had taken a journal into which I could transcribe his delusional rants, for he had a great deal to tell me about The Dreamer In The Catacombs Of Ur:

Doctor Ignatius Stone: It was like some dark, dark dream. We had not heeded the warnings of the ancients, and now we would pay the price… here, within the catacombs of Ur.
Lost within the lightless catacombs of Ur… Entombed within the ziggurats!

So cold are the spaces between the stars...
For blackened suns are the only legacy of worlds long dead.

The key word of Transcendence!
The key word of Transference!
I shall liberate the rightful owners of the Lexicon...
The true rulers of the cosmos!

(23 September, 1893)
Upon extensive examination of the nefarious arcane codex known as The Epsilon
Exordium, I believe my search may at last be drawing to a close.
Indeed, I feel that perhaps the great discovery which has eluded me for so long may
Finally be within my grasp.
And yet I must be cautious, for twice more have I seen the figures in the night, watching me in silence from the confines of the darkness.
I cannot discern their features, only that they are vaguely human in shape, save for their arms which seem abnormally long and oddly jointed.
My native guides are becoming increasingly agitated and skittish, babbling incoherently about the guardians of the tombs... citing legends from their ancestral past which speak of mysterious travelers who reputedly came down from the stars in great silvern chariots drawn by steeds of flame.

Sinistrous legendry fulgurates from me
My name is a word of power on the lips of my followers
You can't escape me, I'm inside your mind
Beware the Grand Arbiter of Temporal Jurisprudence
For when it comes at last, terrible shall be thy punishment
In the ceaseless shadow at the centre of infinity, the spheres have aligned
After the day, comes the night. My time has come

They possess power unparalleled...
Ageless, remorseless. Without pity or conscience.
Manipulators of evolution on countless worlds.
Gods of the stars... the Celestial Host!

Zenn-la! (My homeworld, denied me by the whims of Galan of Taa!
I vow that another world shall not be taken from me while I live!)
I beseech thee, great ones... spare this insignificant planet... this earth.

From a fragmentary transcription of the sixth Latin edition of the Chthonic Chronicles, believed lost during the great fire of London in 1666:



"O', great and luminous one, who came from beyond the stars to slumber serene beneath the earth of the third sphere, hearken to me! Hear me, o' mighty one, o' great Khthon! Awaken and hear my adulation, o' divine and glorious god of gods! From thy hoary tomb thou shalt ascend, and the earth shall be enraptured by thy majesty!"

"Khthon! To the ancient Lemurians, you assumed the guise of a beautiful azure-skinned woman with great black wings, to the Atlanteans you manifested as a brilliant fiery sphere of searing radiant energy, to the peoples of Ultima Thule and Hyperborea you took the form of a titanic crystalline dragon. Yet your true form is beyond the ken of men, darker than the blackest heart of deepest night, more terrifying than the very essence of fear itself... thou art terror incarnate! From the timeless void you came, son of the Z'xulth! Falling like a burning star from the black heavens! Praise the Dwellers In Eternal Shadow! Glory to They-Who-Lurk-And Breed-In-Limbo!

ALTARUS: Gaze deep into the mists with your spirit-eyes, Xerxes... look far, and tell me what you see.
XERXES: I see a land far to the north... a vast empire of dark endless moors and snow-crowned mountains... a land of brooding citadels and warrior-kings who hail to grim gods.
ALTARUS: Look well, Xerxes, for enlightenment hides within the fog-swathed vales of Hyperborea...

Chapter 1: The King's Dream:

By the onyx sceptre of my forefathers, the air is churning with auguries of dethronement... Impending dread thus prophesized!
In a dream I was bade ride the argent-eyed unicorn to the Ring of Stones...

[ZURRA:]
The Callisto shard denied me!
I have been cast across the myriad intersecting tendrils
of the great web of space and time...
And now, I gaze once more upon the orb azure!
I have given proud Atlantis to the sea,
shattered ancient Lemuria beneath my fist,
and razed the arrogant spires of Ys to gleaming rubble...

Words gleaned from the Crystal of Memory:
Travelling Ones, some call us... others know us simply as the Kl'aa. Our true name has been lost beyond the veil of eternity for more years than even we can fathom. Voyagers are we by nature, traversing the endless realms of the multiverse and bearing witness to acts of sublime creation, and deeds of cataclysmic destruction. Not long ago by the reckoning of the temporal flow, we recorded the birth of humanity, a curious species engineered at the whim of those ersatz Merans with whom we share the dominion of the myriad galaxies. Our foes are many, not least of which are the dire Z’xulth, imprisoned within the dreaded Black Galaxy, but ever scheming to liberate themselves and honour their black mandate, unleashing wanton obliteration upon the universe and enslaving the lesser races of the cosmos. Aye, we are ancient, and have forseen the time of our own passing from the annals of creation. From a time beyond time, we come. We, who once crested the waves of the great astral sea... and who now must strive again for the domination of the stars...

Entreaty of the Fourth Moon’s Keymaster:
Awaken... awaken! Tellurian sphere!
Awaken! Beckon the moon... Tellurian!
Resurgent... beneath the moon... Ephemeral... Dreaming forever...
The crystalline core has been activated once again, after countless aeons of dormancy! The safeguards are active! The Empyreal Lexicon is beckoning! And He who slumbers with thee, the Hound of Z'xulth, has heard its incessant call! Zurra has awakened!

Fragmentary delusional recollections from within the confines of Grimm's Hold Sanitarium:
When Blackthorne returns from his expedition to Tiahuanaco and the Peruvian jungle I shall duly tell him of the catalyst which compelled me to those cursed black vaults in ancient Ur, should Hildebrandt allow me another visit
Yes, Giza, Karnak, Thebes
I see them now once more! In the grip of a waking dream, I walk those restless sands again
Egypt, here my journey began, and here I took the first steps towards destiny
And damnation
(The events recounted here take place before "The Dreamer In The Catacombs Of Ur")

Dover, England: September 1594 (the recollections of a war-weary mariner)

Hearken boy; for I would tell thee a tale before we set sail for the Bay of Biscay on the morrow. I was not always called by this name, you know... To you, I am Caleb Blackthorne, battle-scarred master of an English galleon, survivor of a score of sea-fights, cheater of the notched blades of many an over ambitious Spanish pirate... the Scourge of Medina Sedonia! But to many others over the countless centuries since my first birth, I have been known by a host of other names... so many that even I begin to forget all but the ones distinguished by the most vivid deeds... for I hide a wondrous secret, boy... a secret some would call a blessing, but which others would deem a grim curse. Aye, it all began a very long time ago...

Memories of death and life...

For countless thousands of years I have walked the earth...
I have seen endless battle, and untold centuries of slaughter.

Silvern skull, sable shroud, ebon tower, onyx crown.
Witchfire, black citadel, frost-shrouded steel, moon-veiled spell.

The skyqueen of the dead rides forth, black storm-borne steeds,
(their flanks anointed by) immortal blood,
Hark to the striking of the winds, the moon burns black as slaughter reigns.
Witch-Storm!