Archive for February, 2011
by Alex CF on February 3rd, 2011
Status – For sale
Measures – 18 inches in dome
Email – alex.cf (at) hotmail.co.uk for purchasing enquiry
Invocations of alien deities is something Merrylin enjoyed. Before and after his encounter with the Leng Cthulhu cult, he would frequent stigeon black pits in Hebridean mountain caves, or the inlets of forgotten land masses, seeking out fish eyed locals or the crawling residents whose existence seemed almost impossible – creatures who may or may not have once been human, whose entire lives, every drop of inbred blood, every stinking molecule of sweat upon their briny brow is in servitude to this or that deity – and it was Merrylin who would hire goons, men whose morals are laid down for a quick buck – and seek out these communities and ransack them. Charred artifacts, relics of worship, staffs guilt in gold, dredged from the ocean floor by women whose necks are gouged with gills.
On one such pillaging, Merrylin climbed out of his carriage, quickly followed by two large cap wearing thugs. The tiny frame of Merrylin, dressed in a dapper suit, holding his pocket watch askew in the little light that rose on this particular forgotten town. He had heard that the locals would swarm around an abhorrent gnarled statue that stood outside a dilapidated church. A smug smile rose upon his face when he noticed the crucifix that had once stood proud atop the buildings spire. It hung twisted, the centre staff bent down and the arms bent upwards, almost as though to mimic the indellible image of satan. But Merrylin knew better.
This was no devil cult. Satan was a myth, Satan was the bastardization of Poseidon, of the pagan faun. No, these worshippers – now flooding from shadowed doorways, legs stiff and unyielding, as though a great pressure fell upon all – these worshippers followed another horned abomination.
He flipped a coin. Any number of rancid god kin could claim this town. He felt nostalgic as the thoughts of that time when he had coaxed a Yig worshipper into summoning the great serpent mass, only to strip it of its spacial warping abilities. The huge corpse now sat in a pickling jar the size of a water tower in the bowels of Merrylin house.
The coin landed upon his hand, and he glanced at it. He wasn’t surprised. He had noticed that all the women who now crept in agony towards the repellent effigy were all heavily pregnant, swollen and cold, their flesh pallid with torpor.
She, the fertility goddess of bile smelling lakes of amniotic vomit, the writhing, seething all mother, tended to hover over towns such as these. Merrylin had the pleasure of meeting this particularly nasty goat bitch on a number of occasions, his short lived career with the exo biology department of Miskatonic university had favored deities such as these due to their likelihood of spawning some ill gotten cub which could be caught and studied. And this very day, Merrylin planned to do just that.
He calmed the thugs and explained what was likely to happen, and sure enough, as the crowd formed concentric circles around the shunned altar, swaying in unison, chanting words humans were usually incapable of saying – time stopped. energy forgot to travel from the sun and into the life that coated the ground. Instead it fed like fecund strands towards the space above the townspeople, a pulsating orb of black began to breach, sickly fibrous tendrils slicing the weave of existence, chitinous legs slick with black repulsion, and finally – her horns, two huge curling wreaths that split the very air and made it weep. She, the black goat, hovered above them all, unthinking and completely unreasonable, she stuck her cloven hooves into the mouths of the women, forcing down, cutting throats down to the thorax, opening up her servant wombs and exposing the foetal tragedy within – like newborn deer, her progeny were quick to escape their oily prisons, taking great gobbets of flesh in their skeletal mouths as they hobbled out on ricket ridden legs. chattering to one another in hideous tones. The townspeople remained silent as their loved ones became nothing more than piles of strips bones. Merrylin placed a handkerchief over his mouth and pointed at the nearest horned child thing. “That one will do. Don’t worry, it won’t harm you. It just ate”
Presented here in a fine victorian display dome is the hellspawn of Shub niggurath. The body of a cat-goat, the head of a human child with goat horns. What can I say. horrific alien gods have really ugly kids.