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by Asta on 15/04/2019 at 08:33
Posted In: Uncategorized

Masks of Nyarlathotep – Underground

Cairo, Egypt. March 1925 the 20th? 21th?

It was the first spot of light they saw from a while. More a blurry grayish speck, hanging in a far away roof. Narayan reached Hachim with his saber to stop him and laid the unconscious old man he was carrying against the wall of the chamber. His shoulder was aching, but still dry. No blood spilled. good. He squat next to the entrance, his blades ready to slit whatever would came from the tunnels. Hachim drop himself in the middle of the chamber, panting heavily.

Hachim was exhausted. He tried to count their steps, but failed to estimate the distance in theses tunnels. A miles? Two? Time was dilating to the point of madness in the dark. He felt some carving on the wall here and there, surely some hieroglyphs. The stones were old, disjointed here and there. Who knew there was such an network under his hometown? Since they fell through the hole at the mosque’s cave, they haven’t seen a single light. Theses tunnel were man-made, not like the ones earlier, dug by some unknown monster he tried his best to not think about.

Hachim whispered “Narayan, could you check if the oulema has woken up? I’m dying to ask him some questions.”

Narayan bend over to check upon the old men when a ray of light drop from the roof and hit Hachim with a splashing sound. Some kind of luminous moss has suddenly fell from the roof and covered him from head to toes. He straightened up and try to shake it up. The roof was glowing too and they could see each over clearly now.

– “Wha!? Nardin’! What was that!”  

– “Silence!”

Narayan went tense. The screams of Hachim had echoed loudly in the tunnels.

Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

***

Le Caire, Égypte. 20 ou 21 (?) Mars 1925

De la lumière. Pour la première fois depuis leur chute, la monotonie du noir fut rompue par une vague luminescence grisâtre semblant provenir d’un point du plafond plus haut. Narayan toqua Hachim du plat de sa lame pour l’arrêter puis s’employa a déposer confortablement le vieil home qu’il trimbalait contre le mur. Son épaule le faisait souffrir. Il passa rapidement la main dessus. Sec, donc pas de sang. Bien. Il s’accroupit juste a coté de l’entrée, le sabre prêt à réagir a ce qui pourrait arriver près des tunnels. Hachim se laissa bruyamment tomber au beau milieu de la pièce.

Hachim tentait de reprendre son souffle, au bord de l’épuisement. Il avait perdu le compte de ses pas au bout de plusieurs centaines. Quelle distance avaient-ils parcourus dans ces tunnels ? Un miles ? deux ? En absence totale de lumière, la perception du temps était horriblement déformée. Il avait bien senti du bout des doigts plusieurs hiéroglyphes ici et là mais sans parvenir à les traduire. ces pierres disjointes étaient vielles, si vielles… Qui aurait cru l’existence d’un réseau souterrain sous le Caire même ! Ces tunnels étaient clairement construit de main d’homme, pas comme ces trous visqueux par lesquelles ils étaient tombés depuis sous la mosquée. Hachim chassa des pensées de son esprit, il ne souhaitait vraiment pas penser à quels monstres  avaient pu creuser de tels tunnels.

Il se tourna dans la direction où il supposait que se trouvait Narayan et chuchota :

– “Est-ce qu’il est réveillé ? J’ai vraiment besoin de lui poser des questions.”

Narayan se pencha vers l’oulema quand un trait de lumière surgit du plafond et fondit sur Hachim, suivi d’un éclaboussement sonore. Hachim se releva d’un bond, il était maintenant couvert d’une curieuse mousse luminescente qu’il essaya vainement de secouer. Le plafond brillait aussi de la même lueur bleue-verte. Au mois, ils pouvaient enfin se distinguer l’un l’autre.

– “Que !? Nardin’ ! C’était quoi !”  
– “Chut !”

Narayan crispa sa main sur sa lame. Les cris d’Hachim résonnaient fort dans ces tunnels. Trop fort…

Criterium sur carnet A6

└ Tags: Cairo, CallofCthulhu, danger, Darkness, Egypt, masksofnyarlathotep, story, tunnels, Underground

Masks – Relaxation

by Asta on 13/04/2019 at 21:02
Posted In: Art, Masks of Nyarlathotep, RPG, Uncategorized

Cairo, Egypt, March 19, 1925

Mouhammad reluctantly left the room of the Continental Hotel, letting Betty preparing the ritual with the various ornaments he fetched for her. That was a strange set of tools she asked him and he did his best to find them all. Buckler, arrows, arc, an ankh, a tiny sarcophagus… All this esoteric stuff was making him nervous, not that he feared the occult, but returning to the place he once worked was risky. He didn’t exactly leave a notice or any explanation of why he left his receptionist job, and “finding the love of his life” was not among accepted motive.

Betty told him not to look. She told him to return in a few hours. She said she will invoke the Spirit of Nets the Huntress to beg her for rest and protection.

He couldn’t resist and swiftly turned back. Using his pass on the door, he cautiously went back in the hotel room. He heard the words of Betty speaking softly some kind of prayer, in an unknown language. As he tried to hide behind the plants, he was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to sleep. He briefly saw a feline shadows, heard a strange metallic noise and fell to the ground unconscious. 

And now he’s here. They all are here.

There is no time here. No past. No future. Only an eternal present. The grass is everywhere, taller than them. A gentle and warm wind is blowing. They feel presences out of their sight around them, furtive noises in the bushes of predators, but no fear. They feel protected, relaxed. Mouhammad see Betty, alongside her sister. Betty is pregnant, and all signs of worry has disappear from her face. She is expecting, radiant, a true goddess. He fell in love again and sat with her. Keeva is slowly stroking the dog. John is alert, but calm and peaceful.

There is no pain, no worries, no anxiety, not even the slightest discomfort. For the first time since ages, they can relax themselves and forget for a while the tasks at hands, the horrible fraternity of the black Pharaoh and the impending return of Nitocris.

This is bliss thought Mouhammad. He could stay here for ever. Betty lean on him and say:

– I want to hunt small critters. To run after they little tails. I want to sleep in the sun and to be petted. This is a dream, I know that. Not The Dreamlands, ‘though… This is the dream of a cat.

Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbookExcerpt from an ongoing run of the “Mask of Nyarlathotep” campaign for the Chaosium “Call of Cthulhu” RPG

└ Tags: cat, characters, Nyarlathotep, rpg

( No Title )

by Asta on 13/04/2019 at 11:30
Posted In: Uncategorized


Hunting Horror

“And hoary Nodens raised a howl of triumph when Nyarlathotep, close on his quarry, stopped baffled by a glare that seared his formless hunting-horrors to grey dust. ”
– HPL , Dream-Quest Of Unknown Kadath

“And in the air about him were great viperine creatures, which had curiously distorted heads, and grotesquely great clawed appendages, supporting themselves with ease by the aid of black rubbery wings of singularly monstrous dimensions.”
– August Derleth, The Lurker at the Threshold

Ink on A6 sketchbook from my Great Old Ones & Their Kin series

└ Tags: call of cthulhu, creature, Cthulhu, hor, Hunting Horror, monster, tentacle, wings

( No Title )

by Asta on 12/04/2019 at 11:30
Posted In: Uncategorized


Vlad III Basarad

The voïvode Vlad III Basarad, Son of Dragon, posing among the coat of arms of Walachia.

A portrait done to celebrate the departure of a colleague sharing with me the admiration for this mysterious historical figure that spun quite the legend, spanning from centuries, feeding on folklore and powering up with each iteration.

I couldn’t resist to add this terrible pun found on tumblr about the ottomen. that is so irrespective and yet terribly funny to me.

Ink nib on A5 paper

***

Le voïvode Vlad III Basarad, Fils du Dragon, posant dans toute sa splendeur parmi les armes de Valachie.
Ce portrait est un cadeau de départ pour une collègue de travail qui partage mon admiration pour cette mystérieuse figure historique, source de tant de légendes à travers les siècles dont la puissance évocatrice ne se dément pas avec l’age et s’accroît à chaque itération. C’est pas Netflix qui viendrait me prouver le contraire.

Je n’ai pu résister à l’ajout de ce terrible jeu de mot hélas difficilement traduisible et pourtant délicieusement croustillant..

Plume et encre sur feuille volante A5

└ Tags: Basarad, Dracula, Historical, Legend, Ottopan, portrait, pun, Tepes, Vampire, Vlad, Walachia

( No Title )

by Asta on 11/04/2019 at 11:30
Posted In: Uncategorized


Consequences

…that’s why you should bother with consequences.

Follow-up from https://www.deviantart.com/astanael/art/Leap-of-faith-793192526

Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

└ Tags: cliff, Consequences, damage, fall, follow-up, jump, Leap of faith, ouch, ouchie, rebonding
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