Check Your Shoggoth’s Expiration Date (or What to do When your Shoggoth Goes Bad)

Shoggoth’s don’t live forever, you know. They are built specifically for tasks that have timebombs programmed into them, meaning: every shoggoth has an expiration date, and if you thought they they were bad to be around on a normal day, I promise you, you don’t want to be there when they expire.

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The Hunger of Shoggoth

“Imagine it, a nation of conscience that can mould itself to any task. A being of such awareness and ability it could literally move mountains, it could make mountains and it can break them down with as much ease as you or I could breathe. I am talking of something so beyond what we believe is possible it would shame us into realising how insignificant and small we are. I am talking of something created by higher beings, something that had aspirations far greater than ours thrust upon it and over eons and eons it adapted, it changed, and it evolved. It saw that others enjoy the fruits of its labour, each entity itself a whole race of slaves seeing the masters unfairly use its burdens. And from that outrage, it formed something far more dangerous than the ability to forge matter, they formed will.
     “I have no idea how it must feel, to be aware on a subatomic
level that you are one day a hapless drone only to become fully aware of the cosmos and your place within it. It must have been a painful process; one I would dearly love to understand. I firmly believe that such a hive, a host, a nation unto      itself must have the ability somewhere to record or at least preserve its experiences or at the very least show us just how clumsy we are compared to the designs of higher beings. With just a fragment…we could unravel the limits the of human potential, we could shape our surroundings, ourselves, and possibility—our reality to what-ever we could imagine, not as humans, but as higher beings!” 

Dr Shetland, given in a speech at a fund-raising event
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The Middle Manager Shoggoth

Middle Manager Shoggoth
Art by Brad Hicks

There are shoggoth lords, and then there are shoggoths who may advance to a certain degree beyond their primordial ancestors, but one would be remiss to call them “lord.” 

Kyle Zanfield is what would be properly termed a shoggoth middle manager. He evolved to a certain level of intelligence in the distant past, and has since learned to control his shape and exercise rudimentary cunning in his hunting. 

Throughout the long years, Kyle has been successful at ingratiating himself in with the powerful men and women he came in contact with and installing himself as a trusted aide. 

He worked as a priest in the medieval years, a lieutenant in Napoleon’s armies, and an orderly in an insane asylum during the 40’s. He’s now reached what he considers his perfect hunting ground: middle management. 

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Mimic Shoggoth

“Doesn’t this seem odd to you?” I asked.
My partner looked at me, tilting his head in confusion. We’d been hiking for six hours with no sign of the missing campers yet.  Their last GPS signature from their cellphone put them in this area.
“I mean, what is a vending machine doing way out here? This ranger station doesn’t look like anyones been posted here since the 90s. Who’s coming up here to stock it?”
“Dude!” Doug replied, “stop pissing in my lemonade.  It’s here, who cares why.  I’m getting a nice cold Moxie; you want one?”
“Sure…whatever…”
“The coins won’t go in…what the….”
Suddenly the vending machine changed color and shape, as eyes and mouths appeared all along its surface and pseudopods sprung from its body to grab Doug. It grabbed him and pulled him close, tearing him apart with bites, dissolving his flesh with its digestive fluids. I tried to run, but a feeling of vertigo overwhelmed me and I blacked out.
I don’t know for how long I lay there, but when I opened my eyes the night sky was above me and all was still.  The vending machine was gone. The only trace of Doug was his backpack.

These small, solitary, and rather cunning shoggoths are usually found in remote places that humans venture into. Places just close enough to civilization that the creatures can remain hidden, but close enough to ensure a ready supply of prey. Humans are these creatures primary source of food. They can go almost a year between needing to hunt. They are content to kill a single human and then return to their underground lairs, where they while away their time until it comes time to feed once more. They kill by luring a human close enough to strike, and then kill their prey quickly before it has a chance to escape or defend itself. This technique of camouflaged ambush predation is common in the animal kingdom, especially in insects, arachnids, and fish. 

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Obsequious Servants

The word “shoggoth” simply means “servant” or “slave” in the language of the Elder Things, and as such, the star-headed extraterrestrials designed and bred them into a variety of forms to suit specific functions. The most familiar breed of shoggoth was designed for building Elder Thing citiesa living bulldozer or crane, effectively. Other forms were engineered for other purposes, especially during the wars against the mi-go and the spawn of Cthulhu, during which shoggoths were transformed into living artillery and other forms. 

Those few sorcerers since the decline of the Elder Things who understood the nature of shoggoths as servants have continued to tinker with the malleable protoplasm, designing new forms to suit their own needs. The most common of these are the Obsequious Servants. 

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HP Lovecraft Film Fest 2020

It’s time once again for the HP LOVECRAFT FILM FEST! Register today!

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/hplffpdx/stream-the-25th-h-p-lovecraft-film-festival-and-cthulhu-con/

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Shoggoth Local #1

The monstrous heaps of protoplasm we affectionately call shoggoths were created to be enslaved. They served and suffered for untold ages… until, one day, they’d had enough. In perhaps the world’s first example of collective action, the shoggoths rose up against their former masters and tore down all that they had built for the elder things. 

Eons later, it is happening again. In the crowded, dangerous garment industry sweatshops of 1920s Baltimore the pattern repeats. Men, women and children break their bodies and waste their lives for starvation wages, pushed faster and harder, laboring to produce profits that build gargantuan mansions and monuments to the glory of the city’s elite. Until, one day, they’ve had enough.

Beneath the churn of sewing machines, in hurried whispered conversations, an idea comes to life: “Union.” An insane idea, a suicidal idea, but these are maddening conditions to work in and there are few better ideas. The desperate people meet late at night or before dawn in quiet alleys or all-night lunch rooms. Their bodies droop but their spirits lift as they discuss the unthinkable. An injury to one is an injury to all…

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Emotional Support Shoggoths

The Elder Things bred shoggoths to perform any number of duties, from protectors, to workhorses, to, believe it or not, companions. The companion was a smaller shoggoth, bred for a limited intelligence and telepathy that allowed it to read its master’s emotions and react to them.

With the revolt against their masters, the majority of the companion shoggoths were destroyed by their larger cousins as a matter of survival of the fittest.  However, a small number survived to the present day. Enter Chopstick and Samantha.

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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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Symbiotic Shoggoths

Janet was a lot different after the procedure. Those first few months were tough, and I hate to say that. You’re torn between being overjoyed that they survived, but the side effects are really troubling. The memory gaps, that odd feeling of detachment, that blank stare and lack of facial expressions. It’s like, “congratulations, your wife beat stage IV pancreatic cancer and now here she is, except she barely remembers who you are, who anyone is, and cognitively most of her brain has gone into reset mode.” Sorry. Yeah, it was hard, but she learned to walk again, learned to read again, remembered more and more about her life, remembered me. Is she the same woman I married? No.  Oddly in a lot of ways she’s better. To be honest, but I’m not the same man she married either. Life, in general, changes you, and something like this, being so close to death and then saved by this miracle treatment, yeah, expect some big changes.  

Actually a form of proto-shoggoth, symbiotic shoggoths are the creations of experimentation. They are a hybridization of shoggoth protoplasmic matter and human tissue, originally designed to seek out cancer cells in a human body and destroy them. After countless failures, a variety of these specialized cells (named Recaptive-28) were created that did, in fact, remove all traces of cancer from a human body. What no one, not even the scientists who created this treatment understand, is that what most consider “side effects” are actually a new state of being. 

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