All posts by CthulhuBob Lovely

The Dreaming Blanket

We weren’t going to get the tire fixed before the next day, but this nice, elderly couple took us in. Name of Jeremy and Rebecca if I remember right.

When I got out of a much-needed hot shower, Rebecca greeted me with a quilt and a pillow. I wrapped myself up on the couch, and lay my head on the pillow. The quilt wasn’t very colorful, like many are, just a checkerboard of pink and grey, but it was warm and comfortable. I felt like I just gave myself to it.

I found myself back where I came up, I know I was thirteen, because my ma’s funeral had just been a week ago. As usual, I was runnin’ from my pa, not that he ever deserved to be called that. As always, he was shit-faced drunk.

I was high tailin’ for the woods, I could sometimes lose him in there. All of sudden, right at the wood line, there was this huge tree stump I’d never seen before. It must have been three feet across.

Just like that, the thing melted into slime, black with streaks of dark green, and rose up way over my head. A huge mouth split side to side, drooling more of that gunk, and a huge eye opened up right above that.

I panicked. I turned back. There, right up close to me, was that mean, ol’ bastard. He was dead, but standing, with his skin all melting. Flies were swarming his exposed muscles, and maggots were eatin’ his eyes.

‘Bout three in the morning, I woke up screaming. 

The old couple’s bedroom door opened, and Jeremy walked out, real casual. He asked if I was okay, and offered me a glass of water.

Still, just before that, I swear I thought I heard the two of them laughing, real soft.

–Lt. Colonel Bennet Blake, USAF (RET.), drunk, at a bar in Waxahachie, Texas.
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Jasmine, Avatar of Isis

She was beautiful, unbelievable, dark brown skin and long, long, flowing back hair. Her every move wafted the sweetness of jasmine flowers. She wore long, flowing, silk skirts and blouse, all hand-dyed in brilliant colors. They swirled at her slightest turn, dancing with her hair. Her eyes were a deep brown, and when she fixed them onto you, she called you, silently, into some ancient and wondrous place.

–Jonathon Oliver: weary, desperate, and half-mad defender of Humanity.

As an avatar of the Elder god Isis, Jasmine occasionally appears to investigators of the Cthulhu Mythos and provides them a small degree of support and comfort.

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The Looking Glass

I wasn’t sure what I expected when we got the proximity alarm, best not to, anyway. Guy was human in appearance, though, so that was promising. Ticking through my scope options, he showed a normal heat signature. Wearing a suit, damned expensive and tailored at that–not what I’ve seen before on someone trying to break into an Above Top Secret facility–one of our places that don’t exist.
It wasn’t Abe, but his was the card the gate had declined. He’d been dark 24 hours, so all his protocols were suspended. Not sure how this asshole got in. Then I noticed the glint of glass in the light. He was holding  some kind of big glass jug. What the hell?
He moved like Abe, kind of, walked a little the same. He passed right around the spot on the asphalt that would trip you if you weren’t careful, had that weird little OCD thing Abe did with his left hand.
Then he deviated course, just a bit, toward the supervisory area. Abe wouldn’t go that way, none of us grunts ever would.
He knelt, set down the glass jug, took off the lid, and removed a pair of sunglasses I hadn’t noticed before. The fucking jar was full of eyeballs–over a dozen–floating in a liquid. The guy in the fancy suit tilted back his head, reached up, and plucked out one of his eyes, just like a god-damned contact lens. He dropped it in the jug, and started fishing out another.
No more of that shit. I fed the eyeball soup two, quick, whisper kisses from my weapon, I think at least one went through the bastard’s hand. The jar exploded and the guy froze. Then I dropped him with a round through the head. Just for good measure, I put another six in him, just ‘cause. Damn, this job is fucked up.

–Cpl. Grant Rice, Facility Security, Location CC-Z-29.
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The Weaver: a Mi-Go Device

We finally got to what we assumed was the mi-go lab. We were all half nuts by now, just seeing the damn things. Frickin’ wasp, lobster, crab, whatever the hell. Getting electrocuted and half frozen to death by their weaponry didn’t help much either. 
We’d already lost the Professor, and our team Wizard. The rest of us were pretty beat up too. 
Getting in was easy enough. A door just slid open, silently, as we walked up. The thing didn’t look like much at first: a big, black, metal cylinder with some sort of rollers, supported by braces attached to the sides. They had varying amounts of some sort of fabric on them, like rolled carpet. The place smelled bad, like chemicals and ham. 
On top of the thing was a brain in a glass jar, typical. 
The cylinder had metal beds attached all around, covered with glass domes. They looked kind of like escape pods, or cryo-crypts. 
Then I got close to one. Inside, there was a woman, nude, floating in some sort of pink-tinged solution. She had a mask over her face, like a scuba mask. It had a tube, and a bunch of wires running into the cylinder. But that wasn’t the bad part. 
Extending from the cylinder into the tank, was a little mechanical arm, with a tiny tip that could rotate in any direction. 
The arm was running that tip all over her body, damn fast, pulling off her skin in strands, like yarn, which was being drawn into the cylinder. Most of her muscle tissue was exposed, and completely intact. She didn’t react at all, and I think that was the worst part of it. 
I snapped, I know what that feels like. I leveled Suzy up and started firing. One already under the hammer, five more in the chamber. The stuff sure wasn’t glass, at first I didn’t even scratch it. Twelve gauge at point blank range. 
Then, I got some chips, then little cracks. On my last round the thing blew open. The fluid was slick, I fell when it got under my feet. She started convulsing, the mask pulled off, the breathing tube drew out of her throat, a bunch of wires jerked out of her skull, and she landed right on me. 
She was screaming, screaming like I never heard anyone do before, and still thrashing around like hell. I tried to get hold of her, keep her from hurting herself, but the damn pink stuff was so slick, and it got all over me as well. It tasted salty. 
She finally calmed down. Her head drooped onto my shoulder, and my gaze fixed on her dead eyes.

—Charles McPherson, Captain, United States Marine Corps (Ret.), Security and Combat Specialist for the Manchester Foundation.
The Weaver  (Art by Rob Carlos)
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The Repairer

It was a shoggoth alright. Not the biggest, but huge. Weird colors for one, tan, brown, plus the typical green. Eyes, mouths, other organs, the standard crap. It was in this giant aquarium, really thick glass, I don’t know why it didn’t just crawl out.
The bugs were there, just like we expected. Just the dumb ones thank God, workers. There were a pile of naked human bodies. They put one of them on a conveyer belt, which took it up and fed it into the shoggoth. Didn’t make any sense, so we waited and watched.
After about half an hour, the guy surfaced on the other side of the tank, I swear to God, dry as a bone. He didn’t have a drop of shoggoth on him. One of the worker MiGo helped him out, and down to the floor.
He went in shot to shit and dead as a doornail. Now, there he stood, smiling and looking down at himself, not a scratch.
We had Jim with us, Jim’s body I mean. We had Jim, and he was dead. Jim was dead.

Agent of Project Star: Name, Rank, and Specialty redacted.
The Repairer (Art by Rob Carlos)
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Spouters

We’d nabbed the wizard, Zemblob the Magnificent, or whatever the hell he calls himself. Real Tier 3 asshole. Our wizard, Jim the Saves my Ass, had him in some kind of trance.
Now we had to hunt down his pet, the slimy, squirt gun thing. We’d been briefed, but never encountered one. We were in for a real treat.
As soon as I opened this door, we knew it was there. That nasty, burning chemical odor. Smelled like sulfuric acid.
We got lucky, lucky-ish, this was one of the stupider ones: talking to itself, softly, like a stage whisper. I swear to God, it sounded like it was announcing a baseball game. Unfortunately, the damned thing heard us too.
Ninety degree turn to the left, classic ambush for these things. Still, we had our orders. Sarge stepped around the corner and got it right in the face, a few drops splashed onto the side of mine, and my neck. He dropped, gurgling a scream through blood and vapor.
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back to Jim, and The Unnamed Doctor, shouting; ‘Get him back, all of you, get back. Fire in the hole!’
Grabbing the Willy P from Sarge’s belt, I got right against the corner, pulled the pin, let the spoon fly, prayed for half a second, then flung the thing down the hall as hard as I could. Tink, tink, tank, tink. I rolled back. Pop! Dozens of little, flaming bits of white phosphorus zipped by, hitting the wall to our right.
Three or four voices screamed, and there were a hell of a lot of wet, then crunchy, sounds.
We put on our gas masks and hustled back out the door. After three minutes, I went in to see if our objective was a success. Sure enough, through smoke and residual flame, it lay still. Down at a sooty dead end, it looked like a gigantic burnt marshmallow.

–Corporal David Knight, Charlie Squad, Project Star
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The Lovecraft Tapes

These pod people are awesome. Their play style is one I can virtually never tolerate in a horror game. They constantly interject humor, and make boatloads of out of game, character, genre, and period, comments: aaaaaaand they’re wonderful.

The GM’ing (Keeping), and play is great, they are genius, their timing is impeccable, their humor is gut-busting–they’ve made me laugh so hard I stopped breathing–and the production value is fantastic.

In addition to live play, they suggest games, movies, bands, etc., and present advertising for the most hilarious faux products, or perhaps they are real . . . Dum dum dum!

It’s very much like listening to The Firesign Theater play Call of Cthulhu.

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Gaming: Reasons PCs Leave

Sometimes a player, for one reason or another, leaves the game group or has agreed with the GM to play a new character. Where does the PC go? Unsatisfactory possibilities abound: they inexplicably wander off; become a lifeless, two-dimensional NPC; are arbitrarily hit by a truck and killed, or any number of options that detract from the mood of the game.

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Madness: Why Do Exposure to Mythos Entities and Truths Make You Insane?

The protagonists in most Mythos stories are, or become, insane. This is because they see things, learn information, etc. beyond the capacity of the human mind to cope with and/or understand. Why does this result in madness?

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Musings on Cthulhu as High Priest and R’lyeh as a City

Cthulhu is described as the ruler and high priest of his kind, and able to garner and maintain human followers through dream projection while asleep/comatose in his city of R’lyeh, immersed beneath the Pacific Ocean.

Cthulhu is a member of a group of beings, all immortal and extremely powerful, referred to as the Great Old Ones. The two other primary classes of entities in this mythology are the Elder Gods, and the Outer Gods, however the nature of these two groups is largely not within the scope of this essay. The same is true of the rest of the Great Old Ones.

More recently, these distinctions have been viewed as unnecessary.

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