H. P. Lovecraft was obsessed with the other, the threatening, the gradually corrupting influences of knowledge. His stories were informed by his own inner darkness, splashed outward around him to create phantasms which have captured the imaginations of generations of people, and which lurk in the depths of a thousand stories waiting to rise. It is rare that a person is able to create a world so much larger than his life, one which lives on long after he expires.
Lovecraft's Wake is an event celebrating the echoes of Lovecraft in the world, from the Stygian Darkness to the Eldrich Horrors of knowing too much.
I was walking in the Dreamlands of the Earth, traveling to Ulthar to visit the Scarlet Huntress who resided there, when I found the cutest baby Zoog in an
Atomic Faery glen. It took some doing to enter and leave Ulthar with my adorable new Kt'tharitak - given all the cats - but once I had consulted wise Atal about things it is best you never ask about, my Zoog and I were able to return from whence we came, wiser and perhaps a little more insane. It was lucky I did wear the tidy and sturdy gown from
Facade Noir that carried me through so many forests and past so many chittering Zoog. It's a Wednesday Adams inspired button down dress with a suit-inspired v-neck and wonderful pockets. I love how it manages to both be formal and just slightly goofy, and it's texture changed via a HUD which allows you to change the dress, underskirt, buttons, and lining
(lapels and pockets) separately. It was the color changing aspect which really caught the Zoog's attention, and it was within one of those pockets that my darling Kt'tharitak was hidden while I consulted Atal and his many books. The rigging of this dress, like the skeletons of the Old Gods, is quite solid and well done, though in a few wider leg stances the underskirt bleeds through the coat level much like the horror of a thousand screams coming up from the depths of the waters to greet you; one of those expected things of an imperfect world. I wouldn't let it bother you.
I know eventually, in the back of some book tucked solidly below the cobbles of a road worn by the scared feet of the Voormi, the tentacles of
Chaos, Panic, & Disorder will come for me, but unlike the weak of the world I don't fear the shadows which exist in the wake of the Nameless Mists. I feel them drag at me, drifting from the pearls I found under a rotten floorboard in an old farmhouse, chasing the legends of the Tsathoggua and finding only the remnants of Voormi - barely worth the trip past rain-swollen rivers. They cling to me oddly sometimes, catching the light and holding it secret within their dark depths - a full set of gems, hanging wetly against my skin and dripping now and then from my wrists. Once there was a whisper in the darkness, my candle snuffed out by the obligatory breath of wind, and my strappy heels slipped and gripped again the cobblestones, the rivets reflecting moonlight as it draped through tattered clouds; the buckles holding them in place no matter how quickly I ran. Water still drips from them, leaving ragged marks on this old wooden floor, and I can hear the croaking - I can hear the echoes, and the nails, the scrape and scrap and the breath it comes... It comes... It is coming for me...
Dear Kt'tharitak, don't let them know where we are...
