Byron Craft

In league with those of Yuggoth a few of the Atlanteans achieved a form of immortality by having their brains housed in mechanical bodies. However the Yuggothian sense of aesthetics and utility differed greatly from human standards and the results were quite bizarre.

The doctors in this place tell me that my dreams of Groth-golka are not memories, just products of old age and delusion. They are fools bound by the dogmatic beliefs of greater fools. What do they know of the wonders and terrors of the primal world? I have read the name Groth-golka in the books of Alhazred and von Junzt, and even today that name is whispered over piles of smoking skulls in strange rituals. My dream memories have shown me the very face of Groth-golka and the grim battle I fought with that demon god. I know not if the thing I faced was Groth-golka himself or some monstrous hybrid. His claws raked my flesh and his terrible beak was drenched in my blood before my axe dashed out his brains on the temple walls. And I rejoiced at the screams of his worshippers as I toppled the burning altar upon them. That was long ago, in a land buried under the weight of oceans and time. Still, even in this drab place of doctors and pale light that comes from no sun, I sometimes hear the name of Groth-golka floating faintly on the night wind and catch glimpses of distant fires burning at midnight. I stir restlessly, and my hands are still strong.

Among the men of the Younger Earth stole the frightful monsters of the Elder Planet, safeguarded by their horrid wisdom and mysticisms, taking all forms and shapes, doing deeds of horror secretly. No man knew who was true man and who false. No man could trust any man. Yet by means of their own craft they formed ways by which the false might be known from the true. Men took for a sign and a standard the figure of the flying dragon, the winged dinosaur, a monster of past ages, which was the greatest foe of the serpent. Robert E. Howard, The Shadow Kingdom

Those Old Ones were gone now, inside the earth and under the sea; but their dead bodies had told their secrets in dreams to the first men, who formed a cult which had never died. This was that cult, and the prisoners said it had always existed and always would exist, hidden in distant wastes and dark places all over the world until the time when the great priest Cthulhu, from his dark house in the mighty city of R’lyeh under the waters, should rise and bring the earth again beneath his sway. Some day he would call, when the stars were ready, and the secret cult would always be waiting to liberate him. H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

"Keep off!" screamed Tsotha like a blood-mad jackal. "I'll blast the flesh from your bones! You can not conquer me—if you hack me in pieces, the bits of flesh and bone will reunite and haunt you to your doom! Robert E. Howard, The Scarlet Citadel

A Sorceress of Mu