Archive for the ‘Cthulhu, Inc.’ Category

Chapter 3 (or so)

Posted: May 1, 2013 in Cthulhu, Inc.

July 5th, 1908

Nearby the Northern Karelinski Village

Arkady’s eyes opened slowly. A gray sky hung over his head and he lay there, staring at it, marveling at its normalcy, trying to forget what had been burned into his memory. It was no use of course. No man could erase the horror of what he had witnessed from their mind and memory so easily.

With a start and a groan, Arkady rolled onto his side and looked for his stone. It had never left his side – would never leave his side. He wondered how long he had been unconscious, and decided that such wonderings were a waste of time with only the sun to mark the passing of the day. Besides, the aches in his body told him everything that he needed to know – he had been out for far too long and his family would certainly be worried by now.

Nothing surrounded him except the quiet desolation of the recent destruction. He rolled the rest of the way up to sitting, took his handkerchief, picked up the stone with it, and placed the fist-sized pockmarked rubble into his pack. Shakily bringing himself to one knee, he braced himself on it, waited a breath, and then lifted himself slowly to his feet and stood there, swaying with weakness. It must have been longer then he had thought. He searched his bag for hardtack and found nothing. Whatever animals had survived the blast, must have managed to eat what had been left of his food. He grew angry at himself for being so careless. With such a long trek ahead of him, and nothing to forage in the adjacent blight, he would not make it home. He grew angrier.

A blackness crept into his vision, trickled – small and snakelike – whisps inching into his sight. He didn’t notice. The weakness that he had felt was gone. In its place was a hole – a dark red hole not unlike the gaping cosmic maw that he had recently been baptized in. Anger filled every inch of his being until he felt like he would explode. Why had he blacked out? How had he been so stupid as to let animals…Animals!…take the last of his provisions?! Did these animals not know who he was!?! The stars shuddered when he passed, and these creatures…Vermin!…had the craven tenacity to steal from him?!! No being will defy me so…!!!

Arkady looked round for something to hit, and finding nothing, slammed his fist into the ground.

THOOM!

The shockwave from his fist blew a circle 10 meters in diameter entirely clear of debris. Bits and pieces of the shattered forest ran down on Arkady’s head and shoulders. Once the dust had settled, Arkady looked over his shoulder – towards home. Rage at his sloppy, foolishness propelled him – sending him in great arcing strides – bounding, until he reached the edge of a game trail near his village, where he promptly passed out.

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Prologue

Posted: April 29, 2013 in Cthulhu, Inc.

June 30th, 1908

Northern Karelinski Village

The man was out gathering mushrooms when the sky was split open by a burning, blue column of fire. It blinded him at first, bright as it was. He turned away, blue specks floating behind his eyelids as he regained his vision.

When the man was able to see again, he evaluated this unnatural sky-body, as he would any other new item or occurrence that he came across. It looked for all the world like a flaming blue cylinder, stretching vertically up, across the horizon, and as bright as the sun. He wondered what it was, and where it had come from. He looked as much as he could, his eyes drinking in the details of the phenomenon like a thirsty horse at a river – but he couldn’t look at it for too long before his eyes began to water and burn. It was too bright.

The man figured that the village would be worked up, the women screaming and pointing to the sky – yelling that the end of the world had come – and the children bawling their eyes out in that confused but sympathetic way that young children have. He decided to head home. The mushrooms could wait for another day less interesting than this one.

The man made it back to the trail that would lead him to his village when the artillery began. At least that it was he thought it was. Booms as loud as the long guns that he had seen in Moscow as a boy rang out over the trees, sending birds in crazy circles – much as he imagined the people in his village must be moving right now. He quickened his pace.

The blue cylinder was gone now, replaced by a column of smoke, rising up from the trees over the horizon behind him. The artillery continued. Presently, the ground began to shake. He could feel the path beneath him quiver and shudder, as if the earth itself trembled at the epic display that it had just been witness to. The man began to run as the booming and trembling continued. And just like that, it was over.

When the man reached home, his wife was finally calming down. Tracks, tracing the memories of her tears down the dusty creases of her face, apparent before him. He held her close.

The village had survived with little damage. A few windows had been blown out by the vibrations, and Ivanetch – in his usual drunken stupor – had knocked himself part-ways sober trying to get out of bed too fast when the booming started. Other than that, all was well, and they would have stories to tell for the next few days. The man knew that this was all for the good – tragedy, no matter how trivially it impacted, always worked to draw the village together.