The Fall of Anuel

This Weeks Prompt:48. Cities wiped out by supernatural wrath.

The Research:Calamity And Woe

Thul of the Golden Collar moved through the outer districts as a hare moves through the forest in dread. Beyond Anuel’s kingly walls of marble, lined with gold, there was all the ills a city might expect. The brand of high nobility on Thul’s brow gave him a degree of protection form banditry and worse as he moved through the market. But the fire roaring in the distance, the veiled bodies of the diseased glimpsed in boarded up homes, the hungry dogs that barked in the alleys thick with the stench of the dying were not as kind nor as polite as to excuse him.

Spice and sparse food were not what Thul’s purpose this day. Under the smog and smoke, he was looking for something peculiar to his soon-to-be married mistress. She was exacting, and Anuel’s gods were a greedy bunch. They hungered for blood and gold, and Thul had seen those slaves of less pure collars led screaming to be offered before the bloody handed lords of Anuel. But these would not do for princess Shapanat. The princess had deemed that only the sort fit for the highest of gods, made beautiful in the fires and grind of the city. A diamond the glistened in the rough, she said as she sent Thul out.

He had his instruments of his temporary office. A staff topped with miniature hand carved of jade, to be used to point to the fortunate one. A crook to dissuade any of the masses from assailing him. And on his arm, a band like a serpent of silver as a final badge of office. So adorned, Thul set out among those bound in iron and brass, dregs of the city.

He saw while he walked the cities degenerate roads a peculiar sight. A man, dressed in nothing but his vast and unkempt beard. He was standing on a pile of broken boxes, jumping now from one crumbling, cracking bit of wood to another.

“Repent, oh gluttonous Anuel! Repent, for the gods skulk now in the hills and plan your ambush. Repent and they shall pass over you, and your wicked ways! For I have seen great lords of rust and rot, who will make your stones like dust and your irons sand!”

Thul ignored this latest doomsayer. If the gods had any plague for Anuel, it could not reach past the great walls. The gods of Anuel stood there resolute and guarded, pleased with the blood and fire given to them daily. But not far from him did Thul see what his mistress desired. A young child, skin as dark as the night sky, with eyes the color of the moon and day. The prophet protested more, but Thul parted him with the gesturing stick.

“You have been found in copper.” Thul said to the boy, who showed neither fear nor understanding. “You will be wrought into gold.”

They were the words with which to address a sacrifice. Thul found no wailing here, however, that he and others had grown accustomed to. Now crying mothers or threatening siblings. There was s sudden silence spreading from the boy, a ripple out as a hundred eyes stared at Thul as he walked back to the marble walls. They recalled stories of jackals and hyenas waiting in badlands, watching prey pass.

There was hunger in those eyes.

The day of the wedding between Shapanat and Marad was attended with much pomp and circumstance. The fleet of litters were gathered around the long table, with the many slave serving nobles waiting. With hands gloved in velvet and utensils as long as spear, they served the greatest guests, so that the air only barely touched them. Others, the lesser members, made a show of walking about in fantastic array, with masks and feathers and long flowing gowns and capes.

The newly wed royals sat atop their thrones, skin painted bright red and yellow with crowns of emeralds and sapphires. But one thing disturbed the serene surface peace of the court. As the ceremonies and gifts began to approach the greatest height, some of the guests noticed a new member among them. He had a mask of gold, that stretched from ear to ear, leaving only his eyes and forehead apparent. The rest was kept in a playful smile, like a statue carved by the wisest carver. A small whole in the mouth piece allowed him to speak, and what a voice it permitted. It was a soft thing, like a bird song in spring. But his words when he spoke where never soft.

“I have come to reclaim what the houses of Anuel have stolen from the lion, the bull, and the dragon.” He said, when asked of his purpose. “And I shall do so.”

He milled about in silks of silver and white, although some swore they saw a bleeding stain emerging on his side. His steps seemed like a delicate insect carefully crawling on the skin of a great beast, grace without any apparent thought to what he did. The stranger’s stir brought Thul’s attention, as he was sent to inquire of the strange debt collector.

“Lady Shapanat has heard that you believe she owes you some debt, and one great enough to interrupt this high and holy day.” He said, staring into the man’s eyes that seemed, if for a moment, to swirl like a serpents. “She would like to hear what is owed to you, or what you claim is. And if possible, she has given me authority to remedy it this night.”

“Ah, send a serf instead of facing the messenger yourself.” the man said smiling. “She has stolen the nations of the bull, the lives of the lion, and the might of the dragon. They have thus laid siege to her, from outside the walls with all their battery. Now, they have seen she has stolen something even more beloved. A boy they blessed for great things. Return him, and they shall abate.”

Thul did not have to return to his mistress to know her will in this matter. Delight was written across her face when she beheld the boy. Her wrath would be in equal measure, and would fall upon his back as soon as this impudent foreigner was ripped to shreds by eager hands.

“That is not acceptable.” Thul said simply. “We may compensate whoever it is that you represent, with a value in gold or jade that is equal to him in weight.”

“The gods deal in more than you, little man.”

As they spoke, the boy in question was lead atop the great circular sacrificial stone. Three bent gargoyles, with the heads of crocodiles and the bodies of leopards, held up the altar that was carved in the image of a hungering god. There was silence, as the sacrifices were, one by one, lead up to the altar. They were covered in oils, with feathers from their hair and prayers carved on their face. Twenty three were brought up before the boy, each pushed to their knees, and their throats slit so that their blood spilled into the mouth of the grim god of Anuel.

But when the boy was lead, with the horns of a bull on his head and chains of sparking silver around his arms, the crowd grew more silent yet, inhaling in awe the little sound there had been. For he looked the part of a small god, to be sacrificed to their anthrophagian lord. And some even wept, when he was slain on his knees like the others.

The weeping was prelude. Many touched their faces to find tears of blood, and some even swore the great crocodiles wept bleeding tears as well. But this was for a moment. In the next, the earth shook violently, rising and falling as if a herd of cattle ran under the surface, their backs pushing against the rocky ceiling of the cave. There was a sudden roar of thunder, but not a sight of lighting or a cloud in the sky. The altar cracked, the jaw of the god of Anuel forever open and broken by the rage of the unseen. And out poured a cloud of dust and smoke, a pillar of darkness rising into the sky.

The smoke hung over the noble quarter like a funeral shroud. Thul wondered at it as he stood on the balcony. He ought be overseeing the iron bound winemakers, or the copper servants taking food for his mistresses feast. But Thul of the Golden Collar felt no such compulsion to duty anymore. The other servants had fled or hid, as the storm and smoke settled.

In the distance beyond the wall, the fire raged. The child’s sacrifice and the omens hence had been magnified with time, echoing out and growing in power as they reached the edges of Anuel. People saw ghostly lions and specters with bloody hands roaming the streets,crying out for the boy.

The people were rioting. They were clawing like hungry wolves at the walls. They were pelting it with stones, hammering with iron tools that quarried mountains and fields. Thul had seen them on his walks with his mistress, watching the tide of glittering iron and flesh smash against the walls. They hadn’t broken through yet. But the walls couldn’t hold forever.

His mistress had fallen ill in this rain. It was sickly green or grey at times, and where it fell, all the crawling things of the world crawled forth. The cats of the house were often hard at work crushing and hunting the scorpions and ants and beetles and centipedes that were encroaching on the noble gardens. Such sights weaken her already failing constitution.

Thul watched and waited for the final sigh. He watched and waited for the hammering at the walls. As mighty as the marble was, lined with gold, it would bend and it would break. Already it’s varnish was rotting away, revealing gravel beneath the sheets of marble.

In his soul, Thul prayed that the gods so offended would come swiftly upon him. A crack, as the marble walls at last broke, seemed to promise just that.

****

I’m not the entirely happy with this piece. The writing outline was well made, but it deserves another pass or two. It occurred to me that the extended timeline would have worked better with a distraction from the Gods wrath. Some drama or nonsense that would occupy the time of the nobility (And the audience) as the tragedy mounted beside them. However, I couldn’t work one in that felt natural, so I dropped it in favor of what is here. If I come back to this, which I might, that will be among the first additions.

This was our second anniversary, although we did little with it. Next week, however, will be our clearest reference to some rather intriguing Lovecraftian lore: The demon sultan himself will be there for all to see.

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Calamity And Woe

This Week’s Prompt: 48. Cities wiped out by supernatural wrath.

Resulting Story: The Fall of Anuel
This weeks topic is very similar to a number of earlier topics. We have of course, the tale of Irem from not that long ago. We have the hubris end-of-times discussion earlier. We have the stories of Atlantis. But lets see if there is more to discuss here, before going into what shape our plot might form.

We do have the lost cities of Lovecraft, including Ib and Sarnath. The people of Sarnath slaughtered the creatures of Ib, and the god of Ib in return destroyed Sarnath in it’s entirety. The Doom that Came To Sarnath records that after their victory over Ib, the people of Sarnath reigned for one thousand years. On the anniversary of the destruction of Ib, Bokurg, god of Ib, visits doom upon them.

In Hindu myth, there are the Tripura, who were destroyed after their dominion over the world by Lord Shiva. The Asura who raise the city were once devout followers, and practiced many devotions to earn the blessing of Brahma and raise a great and impregnable fortress. The fortress could only be overcome if a single arrow overthrew it, a feat that only Lord Shiva could accomplish. Being devoted to him in their entirety, the Asura thought themselves safe. They went forth, and conquered the worlds. In time, however, they forgot their piety and were overturned.

Atlantis’s allegorical myth bears repeating here as well. Founded by sons of Poseidon, the Atlanteans conquered the world. They were turned back by Athens. Unlike other, popular versions of the story, Atlantis’s original cause of destruction is not explicitly said, although they lost the favor of the gods certainly. Given our prior with Tripura, Sodom, and Babel, I would suggest they to grew proud.

The hubris of man and his empires is certainly the running theme of divinely destroyed lands. This makes a degree of sense. Empires are mighty, all encompassing powers that often boast divine backing if not divine nature. Such boasts of power are almost asking to be undone and disproven by gods that do not endorse the nation in question. The arc of empire, often made analogous to the arc of comets, is one of tremendous rising force and stupendous, alarming collapse.

Which brings us to our plot to be examined: the fall of a city by the wrath of some supernatural force. The wrath of the gods is a varied lot. While there are traditional shows of force, such as shaking the earth or sending forth plagues, there are some that are more unique or disturbing. The flood caused by the gods of the Maya had the cooking implements of the people turn on them. A rain of frogs appears in the Old Testament assault on Egypt. The Curse of Cain is that of wandering with no hospitality. The gods of Olympus regularly transformed those who raised their ire, from Arachne to Niobe. There is , in general, a large degree of imagination in imagery when the gods deign to unleash their terror on the world.

But what our plot might have that separates it from the other resurrected corpses is that our story of fallen hubris doesn’t take place in the narrative past but the narrative future. This would bring it in closer connection with the Prophecy of Tammuz. A story of an impending, doomed collapse. The final, waning days of an empire before the gods level their wrath upon it.

In fact, I suggest we split our story up into three temporal parts, five hundred or so words each. The decay will be apparent in the in-between times, as omens are made apparent and ignroed, as prophets call out warning but are ignored, as sins are damned and the victims cry out, apparently ignored. The wrath of the Gods is often kind enough to send some warning ahead of it. We will then have on display all the ugliness and vice of a city that will be destroyed.

Our first scene then, would establish the empire as it is. What is it’s glory? Grandeur? Not yet decadent, to the view of the audience, but rather a vast and glorious thing that only occasionally hints at the suffering cities of hubris are built on. The second scene would refocus on these, bringing the decadence to the for. We might here introduce more overt omens of doom, that the audience is aware of but the characters are dismissive of. Prophets, perhaps, or strange figures in the sky. Black stars or ghosts of lions. Omens are a fun bunch.

The third act would not be the doom itself. No, it would be when the characters themselves are aware of their doom. Whatever act caused their doom, whatever the hubris was, is now made apparent. The gods wrath has begun, if it is a plague or similar slow acting misery. But the finale, the final act of judgment has been proclaimed but not carried out. So we end our story, with our characters alone and frightened, acutely aware they are going to die soon, that they have no recourse to escape, and no one else to blame but their own deeds. The end of a tragedy.

I would focus our story on those most likely to be the most decadent members of society. A story of hubris loses some of it’s veneer if we view it from the downtrodden and suffering. And while such people have their own horror, that of an fate they did not ask for and do not deserve, such story seems more difficult to preform in a short span of fifteen hundred words. I might toy with the notion of contrasting characters, however. A prince and pauper perspective might add some depth and contrast to the apocalypse. And it might help add some shades to the typical moral against hubris.

If we do get such a perspective on the city in question, the cause of wrath I feel should be more than just hubris. Building the Tower of Babel is fine for a work of myth, but we work in smaller symbolism. We will need butchers, slavers, exploiters of everything under the sun, monsters of men that are themselves proof against the city’s right to exist.

This will take some meditating. Such horrific crimes aren’t often revealed in myths of hubris and devastation. Just that they were there, and the group in question was deserving in it’s annulment. I will think on what sorts of crimes could warrant such devastation. One of my favorite sources is Chariot, a tabletop game I’ve never played but I commend for it’s writing and world building.

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The City In Silver Sands

This Week’s Prompt: 47. From Arabia Encyc. Britan. II—255. Prehistoric fabulous tribes of Ad in the south, Thamood in the north, and Tasm and Jadis in the centre of the peninsula. “Very gorgeous are the descriptions given of Irem, the City of Pillars (as the Koran styles it) supposed to have been erected by Shedad, the latest despot of Ad, in the regions of Hadramaut, and which yet, after the annihilation of its tenants, remains entire, so Arabs say, invisible to ordinary eyes, but occasionally and at rare intervals, revealed to some heaven-favoured traveller.” // Rock excavations in N.W. Hejaz ascribed to Thamood tribe.

The Research: Pillars Lost In Shifting Sands

 

I recently came in the possession of a curiosity that has defied expectation. A set of papers, written in a slow long hand, coated in silver sand. The box of them was sold to me by an antiquarian by the docks, and the shopkeeper there informed me that he had purchased them from an Arab traveller, who had found them among the sands of Arabia. It records…well, I have reproduced the legible portions here. Needless to say, I belive it is of the upmost intreast to our society, and the common brotherhood of mankind, that this knowledge be considered and carefully revealed at the appropriate time.

I have long searched for Irem, City of Pillars, Atlantis of the Sands. A city of the primeval age, if the Mohammedan is to be believed, and thus host to secrets beyond imaging. The wonders of Alexandria, the prosperity of ancient kings of Egypt, the wonders that were ascribed to Daedulus and Zoaraster, the majesty of Ethiopia and the rest of the East African coast, all this can be traced to Irem. It sits at the center, like the nucleus of a great pulsing cell of life. From it emanates wisidom and prestige, the first birth place of mankind.

Recently, my search has come to an end. I have tracked down a guide to the deserts, who several trusted sources have verified can lead me to Irem. I made sure to consult sources that are beyond mortal keen, my crystal nearly cracking from over consultation and interrogation. The trusted guide has hence lead me out near the volcanic fields of the south, and told me that there, when the moon is full and the wind rides over the bubbling fields and makes a howling flute sound,the city of Irem appears for any to enter.

Overjoyed, I offered him the opportunity to join me, but he said it was not the place of living men to disturb Irem. Perhaps the superstitious fear to venture into the unknown, but I had already seen the terrible ruins of Sarnath in far Mnar, had often read of the dread plateau of Leng, and seen the distant black stars of Hali. I fear no place haunted by strange sounds and the flickering ghosts of the past. So I waited in the desert by a burning fire, with the gathered herbs to help see beyond the veil of the mortal world.

As the night went on, and the moon grew bright, I started to lose faith. The worm doubt was wrapped around my heart. But at last, I saw them. Men and women walking, as if fighting some great unseen wind, their bodies bright but without distinction. Like figures of smoke or made of cracked glass, they tumbled forward along desert slopes. I raced towards them, and saw rising behind them the lost mountains and towers of Irem.

The text here becomes somewhat illegible. However, it is clear that our traveler, by some means, managed to enter Irem, and records some of the wonders he saw as such.

…of marble, and towering edifices of basalt. I wondered the wide avenues for a brief time, and saw great giants, robed and with faces covered by veils. From each a singluar silver light shown through the veil. Some it seemed from an eye, others from their mouths, or perhaps they were built strangely. The whole place was covered in dark fog, and lighting crackled in the strange, dark sky. It was of every hue and, despite the apparent closeness of the arcs, there was no sound. The light was brilliant but faded fast. In an effort to avoid the gaze of the giants, for I could not discern their motives as they shuffled among their mountain dwellings, I hid by the wall of a great stone hall.

And there, as I got my bearings, I beheld a sight both wondrous and terrible. What I had thought were men and women fleeing the city were in fact the city’s outer wall. A mass, rising higher then I could see, of silver statues. Each was interlocked carefully, arranged to be impenetrable but striving forever away from the giant’s keep. A monument to those who it seemed had failed in their efforts to leave the city of pillars.

And I saw, in the dimly lit room I as in, that a multitude of others hid in carvings and outcoves along the great doors, like rats in the halls of terrible kings. Here I spent sometime, as I found a few who knew my languages. They were a frightful of the giants, and said that strange birds would drag them away in the night if caught on the street. At day, however, all was safe. The presence of the birds was their only means of discerning time, however, and it was by their terrible -illegible- where they detected before hand.

The people here are aware of the wall. If one tries to scale it or flee out the gate, at the wrong time, then they are trapped as ardent statues. However, the giants have some means of moving through the gate. They have seen strange figures coming through or venturing out the gate, and some believe that if one is cautious and quick they can sneak out with the procession. Such have never returned, but to those born in these warrens, wearing the scraps of silk left by great giants, why would they?

They have given my shelter and offered to show me the ways to find the giants hidden lore among their places of worship and laboratories in the depths of the city, where….lies sl….in abundance and ….

At this point the entire text again becomes illegible. By the various diagrams that were found amongst the texts, it appears that our entrepreneurial traveler had some skill as an artist. He has diagrammed and noted that the people had the features of many tribes of the earth, but their skin tone possessed an ashen, silver coloration. A few fragmentary pieces remain. I have arranged them in chronological order, roughly.

…within which a body might be preserved without regard for its…,something that even the best botanist might find astounding, especially with how functional the survivors told me their senses were. The sensation was akin to joy, pleasurable but now repulsive to the…. Who found it difficult to discuss. The production of such boxes and glass however is…..

…. expedition, I located a large, dark obelisk carved with ….like the skull of some lost bovine. The eyes appeared to have some awareness, and flashed various colors in response to lighting over head. I suspect it provides the dregs and…. with directions of some sort. Why such a monument would be necessary, I can’t say.

The silver gaze …incredibly painful. Needles through out the ligaments and bones, freezing in pain, matched only by….Hideous disposition. Luckily the creature did not notice me, distracted by Fernda’s more obvious form. She whimpered as it reached down and scooped her up with barely a worry in a single hand. Like an insect.

I know the face of one of the silver filled ones. …. her blood with …., replaced her mind …. sand, but I know her face. I saw her in a portrait in…. How long has he been here? And why is the sand so vibrant. I must…

…reflects some of their devices, making lines and patterns when near them. Enough of it, and one could move objects remotely by adjusting the machines nearby. They could even…. or perhaps communicate distant messages. What effects on the body must such irritations have? The impulses must be minute, if they are undetected…

And so ends the majority of the fragments. I have removed any of the small, one sentence or garbled letters that have no clear meaning. Sadly, either the shopkeeper or the Arabic tradesmen, failed to preserved the middle text. However, to what I am sure is our benefit, the ending of the story is preserved.

…the entrance to the great laboratories. I have bought myself time, after seeing the engines of the lords of this city. I have bought time with blood of others, and now, if my calculations are right, the moon shines again over the Arabian desert. I’ll send everything I’ve written out into the world, out where it can perhaps serve as a warning.

The mechanisms beneath the city are horrors of horrors. They are in possession of more than I dreamed of. Great crackling engines are down in that darkness, and I saw the bodies of even vaster titans. From these they directed dregs under the every watchful Anzu birds to carve more silver and iron. I have learned, that the engines send messages to others. Sleeping near them, I feel them shifting my dreams as I hid. I shudder at what they do when turned, focused onto the enemies of Irem. What power they hold over the mind, even here in their hidden city.

They speak in a buzzing tongue in their laboratories, and walk without veils. They speak with invisible whistling wind spirits, and strange demons, and send them out into the world to find precious…. That they might persist in their experiments. What ever work they do, it bodes poorly for the world, and that it is hidden makes their …like the roots of a twisted tree.

The possibility of such influence, unseen, among the people of our guarded nation must be investigated, I am sure you will agree. The nature of the influence itself would be of utmost interest of the society, I am sure. In these waning days of the world, we should be certain that no unseen hand pulls at our hearts or minds, nor any unguided or foreign pulse beat in our countryman’s minds.

 

---

 

This story I believe holds not only some promise for future visitations, but some genuine unnerving ideas with the interrupted narrative that is recovered. Next week, we again visit calamitous cities, but these now in their prime.

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Pillars Lost In Shifting Sands

This Week’s Prompt: 47. From Arabia Encyc. Britan. II—255. Prehistoric fabulous tribes of Ad in the south, Thamood in the north, and Tasm and Jadis in the centre of the peninsula. “Very gorgeous are the descriptions given of Irem, the City of Pillars (as the Koran styles it) supposed to have been erected by Shedad, the latest despot of Ad, in the regions of Hadramaut, and which yet, after the annihilation of its tenants, remains entire, so Arabs say, invisible to ordinary eyes, but occasionally and at rare intervals, revealed to some heaven-favoured traveller.” // Rock excavations in N.W. Hejaz ascribed to Thamood tribe.

The Resulting Story: The City in Silver Sands

After a dirth of short, brief prompts, Mr. Lovecraft has graced us with a longer and more elaborate notion! Excellent. And one with a good deal of information as well! Let us begin then with the nature of the tribes and the city they supposedly hail from, according ot the texts at hand.

A cliff dwelling attributed to the Thamud

Thamud, Jadis, Tasm, and Ad are all members of the a group of tribes referred to as ‘Perishing Arabs’. All four are extinct populations according to the Koran: Jadis and Tasm by genocide, Ad and Thamud were destroyed for their lack of faith. Iram of the Pillars is a city of Ad, and was destroyed in some versions by a storm, in others by volcanic activity. Iram was sent a prophet, to bring monotheism to the region, but did not listen. Likewise, Thamud was sent a prophet and by accounts from the Koran shared some relation to Ad. Thamud was destroyed by earthquake after rejecting the prophet. Thamud seems to have constructed homes from within mountains, or inside of them, an architectural feature I suggest we continue in our own story.

Now, of course, civilizations that have fallen from hubris are not new. We’ve covered some before, but we might call to mind Atlantis and Babel, also punished for their arrogance. Sodom and Gomorrah likewise for their crime of inhospitably were laid low by YHWH. However, what is notable about Irem is not only it’s location (a desert, as opposed to at sea), but also it’s nature as still existent. Sodom and Gomorrah are traditionally not available for human eyes to behold, and Atlantis is buried in the sea. No, Irem is still in the desert, where some occasionally find it.

Artist Interpertation found on Wikipedia

The invisibility of Irem to all but holy eyes also bears resemblance to hidden kingdoms of djinn, which occupy a different spatial relation then those of mortal men. We might also consider hidden kingdoms and cities such as beyuls of Tibetian mysticism or the fairie lands of Celtic myth.

Celtic myth, particularly Irish, adds an interesting element: the phantom Island. Brasil (not the nation) is and island that emerges and disappears at certain times throughout the year. In Slavic myth, there is Buyan, the island that holds the immortal Korschie’s heart. Both islands are near impossible to reach, but not as otherworldly as lost Atlantis is. Our story, from these traditions, should probably be about the cross over into such an otherworldly place, which is more than mortal but less than magical entirely.

The mythical island of Brasil

An odd, if depressing, version also found in Russia is the Kingdom of Opona. Opona is an earthly paradise for serfs, that lies on the edge of the world. There are no nobles, no gentry at all here. Only peasents and their ruler, the wise and just White Tsar. It is an odd place, that many peasants wandered forever searching for. I don’t know exactly what to make of it, except as a note of interest.

I would even suggest borrowing some of the most common themes of those strange places that are just out of sight, namely the warping of time upon entrance. We might find in our mysterious city a plethora of lost souls, still wandering from eras long past or only just recently present. This could perhaps create a colorful visual, if not cast to draw from. The associations with these hidden locals and the dead should also, in all likliehood, be preserved in our text.

Before continuing, I will pause here to note that Mr. Lovecraft does appear to have used this prompt for his own work, The Nameless City. The work in that case focuses on an archaelogical expedition, and in some ways is similar to At the Mountains of Madness which also featured archaelogical uncovering of an alien city, filled with hieroglyphs and markings.

For our own story, I would begin with the city alive instead of dead. A city that is only briefly and occasionally aligned with our own, allowing travel only at very specific intervals of time and space. Partially because this will be an easy seperation from Lovecraft’s own work, but partly because it also allows us to play with the notions of apparent destruction. It would also allow us to include other characters who are perhaps a tad more otherworldly then our lead.

As to their own identity, I would shy away from an actual man of science or a professional in matters of reality. We won’t be using our belabored Ottoman bureaucrat or a census man. No, I think a better character might be one who is interested in such ruins, who has sought them out at the time they appear, and made the journey at no small expense out of an obsession. I think it will be an obsession on matters occult more than scientific, determined to plunge the depths of reality for some lost secret or another, or believing that the hidden city of Irem actually contains. I imagine then our narrator is an eccentric of some sort at the least. I have an idea for his means of communication, but that would perhaps be giving too much away.

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