Astanael

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  • Masks of Nayarlathotep – Harold’s madness

    London, Hitchcock’s manor. 1925.February the 21th
    Soundtrack : Layers of Fear OST, main theme

    Awnya words were kind, but the news was too heavy for Harold’s sensible artistic mind.

    James is dead.
    He
    is no more. Departed. Gone. Not with us anymore.The reality of the
    situation hit him hard. He wanted to face it, to revolt against the
    entire world, to howl and scream, but his body wouldn’t respond. He
    struggled to keep some coherency in his mind, but his thoughts has gone
    numb. As he felt into slumber, he saw a trace of guilt in Awnya’s
    beautiful face and understand the strange taste in the infusion she made
    earlier… Awnya gazed for while at Harold’s
    face, slowly stroking his long hair. At least he would rest, and maybe
    the narcotic will dilute the pain. She knew how important James was to
    him, maybe she should lay down with him, and ease him into consciousness
    in the morning. Yes, it would be a good way to…

    Harold’s eyes opens suddenly.

    She
    gasped. Franticly, she searched for her words, surprised by this sudden
    awakening. As she mumbled a quick excuse, she realized something was
    off. The face of Harold was blank, as if its mind was too. He stood up
    brusquely, made a few steps and stood still, staring at the painting of
    Aleister on the mantle chimney. Awnya tried to talk to him but he didn’t
    respond to her. After a few attempts to attract his attention, he
    started walking again, and goes to the stairs. As she followed him, she
    noticed his usual sluggishness was gone. He climbed up to his room,
    stared at his luggages, and with swift and precise movements, started to
    unpack his painting tools.

    Awnya lay
    herself on his bed and watched him dressing the easel. She saw him paint
    before, slow gentle touch of color. This was different, the strokes
    were quick and violent, spaying drops of paint everywhere. The silence
    were oppressing, heavy, tense. She had to break it. Without knowing if
    Harold could hear her, she started to tell everything. What happened in
    New-york, the Bloody tongue cults, the escape to London, and the
    Damocles sword upon James. The possession, Silas’ shadow, the arrival to
    the manor and the ritual, The Dreamlands, the cats of Ulthar, The
    Nightgaunts, Nodens… Her sister’s taking away.

    One
    by one, everything she told to Harold was painted, Soon the canvas was
    filled by a giant juxtaposition of scenes and portraits, and then the
    walls and furnitures around too were sprayed too with drops of colors,
    suggestively arranged. Hours by hours, this giant mandala grew larger
    and larger, but she still couldn’t see what he draw in the center. What
    was the nexus, the central piece that liked all the others.

    Her raging curiosity was devouring her, but she had to finish her story first.
    It has to be told. To be painted.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

    Excerpt from an ongoing run of Call of Cthulhu Campaign : The Masks of Nyarlathotep (London arc)

  • Masks of Nayarlathotep – Harold’s madness

    London, Hitchcock’s manor. 1925.February the 21th
    Soundtrack : Layers of Fear OST, main theme

    Awnya words were kind, but the news was too heavy for Harold’s sensible artistic mind.

    James is dead.
    He
    is no more. Departed. Gone. Not with us anymore.The reality of the
    situation hit him hard. He wanted to face it, to revolt against the
    entire world, to howl and scream, but his body wouldn’t respond. He
    struggled to keep some coherency in his mind, but his thoughts has gone
    numb. As he felt into slumber, he saw a trace of guilt in Awnya’s
    beautiful face and understand the strange taste in the infusion she made
    earlier… Awnya gazed for while at Harold’s
    face, slowly stroking his long hair. At least he would rest, and maybe
    the narcotic will dilute the pain. She knew how important James was to
    him, maybe she should lay down with him, and ease him into consciousness
    in the morning. Yes, it would be a good way to…

    Harold’s eyes opens suddenly.

    She
    gasped. Franticly, she searched for her words, surprised by this sudden
    awakening. As she mumbled a quick excuse, she realized something was
    off. The face of Harold was blank, as if its mind was too. He stood up
    brusquely, made a few steps and stood still, staring at the painting of
    Aleister on the mantle chimney. Awnya tried to talk to him but he didn’t
    respond to her. After a few attempts to attract his attention, he
    started walking again, and goes to the stairs. As she followed him, she
    noticed his usual sluggishness was gone. He climbed up to his room,
    stared at his luggages, and with swift and precise movements, started to
    unpack his painting tools.

    Awnya lay
    herself on his bed and watched him dressing the easel. She saw him paint
    before, slow gentle touch of color. This was different, the strokes
    were quick and violent, spaying drops of paint everywhere. The silence
    were oppressing, heavy, tense. She had to break it. Without knowing if
    Harold could hear her, she started to tell everything. What happened in
    New-york, the Bloody tongue cults, the escape to London, and the
    Damocles sword upon James. The possession, Silas’ shadow, the arrival to
    the manor and the ritual, The Dreamlands, the cats of Ulthar, The
    Nightgaunts, Nodens… Her sister’s taking away.

    One
    by one, everything she told to Harold was painted, Soon the canvas was
    filled by a giant juxtaposition of scenes and portraits, and then the
    walls and furnitures around too were sprayed too with drops of colors,
    suggestively arranged. Hours by hours, this giant mandala grew larger
    and larger, but she still couldn’t see what he draw in the center. What
    was the nexus, the central piece that liked all the others.

    Her raging curiosity was devouring her, but she had to finish her story first.
    It has to be told. To be painted.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

    Excerpt from an ongoing run of Call of Cthulhu Campaign : The Masks of Nyarlathotep (London arc)

  • Our Lord and Savior the Great Cthulhu

    I tried to draw something different, starting with simples lines.

    And then.. tentacles !

    Pencil doodle for A6 sketchbook

  • Mean Request

    Sometimes i receive mean requests.I don’t understand those who are mean just for the sake of it.
    So here my twist on a “cultist eating a grilled pony with an apple in its mouth” request. Prepare to be stampeded !

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • Blowing out some steam

    Had a medical exam a few days ago.
    Stress built up. The diet i had to follow before was atrocious.This is what It felt like once all was over.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • shiny-sugar-art:

    For @asta-daily

    Awwww… cute !

  • shiny-sugar-art:

    For @asta-daily

    Awwww… cute !

  • Melted

    Oh my! I’m glad you came by. You know, I have the strangest and
    weirdest issue right now: My furnitures are melting! Strange, isn’t it?
    Look at my drawers ! I cannot open them anymore… I really hope the
    silvery is not affected. Oh what a drag!

    What ? is there something on my face ?

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • elodieunderglass:

    So I had the strangest dream this weekend and nobody understands me so I need to share it with you because you might. Press J to skip this post if you can’t deal, I will accept this.

    In my dream I was standing on the back deck of a rural cabin that overlooked a beautiful Vermont/Scottish Highlands landscape of unspoiled wilderness. It was a crisp, perfect autumn morning. I held a cup of cooling coffee in my hands as I leaned against the railing and scanned the perfect rolling hills in the midground, behind which the great patterned mountains with their snowcaps marched on until they blended with the horizon: #aesthetic

    As I gazed at a distant meadow clearing in the trees, a pair of brightly coloured humanoid creatures emerged from the woods and began to dance for each other. It was an esoteric, beautiful mating dance, a strange combination of instinct and choreography. I felt awe washing over me. I marvelled. I felt a deep sense of wonder and peace as I observed this vanishingly rare encounter that I had never thought to observe in person. These animals were instantly recognisable but had never been studied in the wild. I felt incredibly humbled and privileged to witness this behaviour – I knew that I was the first human witness to observe this behaviour – and I reached for my phone, wondering if I should film it, so it could join the scholarly record, where it NEEDED to be. This could change everything. But then I held back – something told me “no,” to let the creatures have their privacy.

    Ok, I can’t go any further without telling you that they were Teletubbies.

    A red one and a yellow one. I know. I know. Stay with me here.

    The cryptids melted back into the woods. My subconscious drew a discreet veil over the rest of their mating ritual, but I knew instinctively that this had been a dance of courtship. I was busy pondering the implications, because they were critical. You see, although the creatures were instantly recognisable as Teletubbies, as I had studied them, even at a distance, I had an incredible realisation.

    They were adult Teletubbies.

    This realisation dawned on me and in my dream I understood it fully. The ones that we know of – the captive ones that we have seen on television – are juveniles. In fact, they are the equivalent of toddlers. When you see the adults this becomes obvious. The garbled speech and silly movements of the four captive Teletubbies we know are the babbles of babyhood, a private primal toddler-language brewed up between sentient beings who have never encountered an adult of their own kind.

    The adult Teletubbies have more branching, complex antlers and shaggy coats. They are less brightly coloured. They are terrifyingly large. Their strangely human faces, emerging from the thick fur, are unquestionably adult; remote, serene, reproachful. Their television screens are glitchy, esoteric and unknowable. They are cryptids whose public exploitation has undermined their rarity and their strange, alien dignity.

    In my dream my feelings of awe and peace turned to great sadness at the fate of the captive toddler Teletubbies. I realised that I had to be the scientist who brought this discovery to the world and raised awareness of their plight. And I also questioned: are Teletubbies like axolotls? Do they exhibit neoteny? (Axolotls, the cute aquarium pets with flaring gills, are actually juveniles of an amphibious species – if given the right conditions they’ll grow up into land-dwelling black newts. But they can breed in their aquatic juvenile form, and most spend their whole lives in this form. Deprived of their wild potential, will the Teletubbies ever mature? Or are they merely experiencing a long childhood, natural for a species that is unimaginably long-lived?)

    So in my dream my husband came out onto the back deck and I began to share these discoveries with him and before I could even bring up the axolotls he just said “what the fucking fuck” and went away again.

    I woke up disgruntled and unable to capture the feeling of peace and sadness. I then tried to explain this to my husband in the waking world, and he said “what the fucking fuck” and walked away before I even got to the explanation of the Teletubbies being toddlers, which just goes to show that you never know someone as well as you think you do.

    Anyway I’m sure you guys will join me in this knowledge. And also I’ve googled it and apparently the Teletubbies reboot features infant Teletubbies, so clearly they are getting more from somewhere and the time to question this is NOW

    image

    That is a wonderful dream. So weird, so poetic. Thank for sharing it! You inspired me this dreadful yet strangely sensual doodle.

  • elodieunderglass:

    So I had the strangest dream this weekend and nobody understands me so I need to share it with you because you might. Press J to skip this post if you can’t deal, I will accept this.

    In my dream I was standing on the back deck of a rural cabin that overlooked a beautiful Vermont/Scottish Highlands landscape of unspoiled wilderness. It was a crisp, perfect autumn morning. I held a cup of cooling coffee in my hands as I leaned against the railing and scanned the perfect rolling hills in the midground, behind which the great patterned mountains with their snowcaps marched on until they blended with the horizon: #aesthetic

    As I gazed at a distant meadow clearing in the trees, a pair of brightly coloured humanoid creatures emerged from the woods and began to dance for each other. It was an esoteric, beautiful mating dance, a strange combination of instinct and choreography. I felt awe washing over me. I marvelled. I felt a deep sense of wonder and peace as I observed this vanishingly rare encounter that I had never thought to observe in person. These animals were instantly recognisable but had never been studied in the wild. I felt incredibly humbled and privileged to witness this behaviour – I knew that I was the first human witness to observe this behaviour – and I reached for my phone, wondering if I should film it, so it could join the scholarly record, where it NEEDED to be. This could change everything. But then I held back – something told me “no,” to let the creatures have their privacy.

    Ok, I can’t go any further without telling you that they were Teletubbies.

    A red one and a yellow one. I know. I know. Stay with me here.

    The cryptids melted back into the woods. My subconscious drew a discreet veil over the rest of their mating ritual, but I knew instinctively that this had been a dance of courtship. I was busy pondering the implications, because they were critical. You see, although the creatures were instantly recognisable as Teletubbies, as I had studied them, even at a distance, I had an incredible realisation.

    They were adult Teletubbies.

    This realisation dawned on me and in my dream I understood it fully. The ones that we know of – the captive ones that we have seen on television – are juveniles. In fact, they are the equivalent of toddlers. When you see the adults this becomes obvious. The garbled speech and silly movements of the four captive Teletubbies we know are the babbles of babyhood, a private primal toddler-language brewed up between sentient beings who have never encountered an adult of their own kind.

    The adult Teletubbies have more branching, complex antlers and shaggy coats. They are less brightly coloured. They are terrifyingly large. Their strangely human faces, emerging from the thick fur, are unquestionably adult; remote, serene, reproachful. Their television screens are glitchy, esoteric and unknowable. They are cryptids whose public exploitation has undermined their rarity and their strange, alien dignity.

    In my dream my feelings of awe and peace turned to great sadness at the fate of the captive toddler Teletubbies. I realised that I had to be the scientist who brought this discovery to the world and raised awareness of their plight. And I also questioned: are Teletubbies like axolotls? Do they exhibit neoteny? (Axolotls, the cute aquarium pets with flaring gills, are actually juveniles of an amphibious species – if given the right conditions they’ll grow up into land-dwelling black newts. But they can breed in their aquatic juvenile form, and most spend their whole lives in this form. Deprived of their wild potential, will the Teletubbies ever mature? Or are they merely experiencing a long childhood, natural for a species that is unimaginably long-lived?)

    So in my dream my husband came out onto the back deck and I began to share these discoveries with him and before I could even bring up the axolotls he just said “what the fucking fuck” and went away again.

    I woke up disgruntled and unable to capture the feeling of peace and sadness. I then tried to explain this to my husband in the waking world, and he said “what the fucking fuck” and walked away before I even got to the explanation of the Teletubbies being toddlers, which just goes to show that you never know someone as well as you think you do.

    Anyway I’m sure you guys will join me in this knowledge. And also I’ve googled it and apparently the Teletubbies reboot features infant Teletubbies, so clearly they are getting more from somewhere and the time to question this is NOW

    image

    That is a wonderful dream. So weird, so poetic. Thank for sharing it! You inspired me this dreadful yet strangely sensual doodle.