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                                                           Proudly Presents                                                            

                                                     ~ The Fundus of Hell ~
                                                        (by Mark S. Walker)
    If you are drawn to the uncommon tale then this slim, hand-made volume (consisting of over 140 pages, and of the approximate proportions 165mm x 223mm [6½ " x 8¾ "] and embellished with several sepia and full colour prints, bound in leather) might just be the thing for you.

    Touching on such topics as the unstill dead, the wiles of Nartep (be he also called Narlotep, Nyarlathotep, The Nuncio, & Co, & Co), the Galactic Oculus, and The Progeny of G'a Th'ermanath etc. But of Quelron Bathis' brush with Azotot, I would prefer, here, not to speak.

    Buy this book and loose yourself for a while in the meanderings of a mind, addled by dream and the ultimate question of; what if? For cannot "... the fantasy of inner thought be as great as the experience itself?" (Bathis). Perhaps it can; perhaps not. Who can tell but the dreamer himself?

                                                       
                                                                 ~ The Fundus of Hell ~

 





 ~ Title Page ~
                                          







~ Contents Page ~

                                                                                            ~
                                                    
    It seemed I had sat thus, upon this cold, stone slab, for a lifetime or more. Yet had I only just this moment opened my eyes to the hushed, sepulchral scene lain out before me.
    But how to quantify time when, to me, time be a thing of the past, a thing that had not  concerned me for as long as I might recall? What place is this and whence came that summons that had just now roused me? Had I been sleeping, and if so, why do I sit thus, and in such a manner and upon a chill slab of stone?
    As these thoughts continue to bemuse my mind, into the clearing where I crouch, stride two men. Sturdy, upright looking fellows, each with spade and pick, they thread their way between the standing stones that surround me. As they draw closer, looking this way and that, taking time to scan each stony slab by turn, so does my mind quicken and stir. Memories rush at me, and the intrigue of my present circumstance grows somewhat clearer.
    Looking with fresh eyes at the clearing where I dwell, returning recollection tells how these same slabs are the long neglected headstones of them as be dead; dolorous monuments to lives long fled and times long gone.
                                                                                                - Opening paragraphs from the short story, 
                                                                                                                            Impossible Passion
                                              ~ Image from the short tale, Impossible Passion ~
   
                                                                                ~
  And so, and in the fullness of time, did the great-grandchild stand afore the ancestor, and from a barrel sized and rust encrusted horn mounted upon the horrors flank, there did sound forth a voice like cascading gravel (if such a cacophony of clatterings could be either said to be a voice, or to even resemble speech) and the thing did petition its sire, saying; "I would do converse with thee, O' Fabricator of Progeny, O' Reconciler of The Unresolvable. Give forth, or be further blistered by the furnace ye do now sate within."
  Shortly (if Time in that place could be determined as being either short, or indeed long, or for that matter, to even exist at all) it was that G'a Th'ermanath Hiself gave voice, and all-there grew still at hearing the oracle speak, for any response - regardless of the duress or torment brought against Him - was rare. And so, in an equally discordant voice, but from out the thin air, He replied thusly, saying; "It is not meet that I should be summoned thus. It is not meet that I should be petitioned whilst in this detached condition."
  And because G'a Th'ermanath was aware of all that his progeny knew, desired or wished, continued; "Do gat ye," declaimed He, in august tones, "and do fabricate an chrystal and do form an Gate. Do form it .... ," and all details as to its fabrication and development, and how it should differ from the norm, were passed. "Do have it emerge at that world of Eirth, the location of which dost be well known to our forbears, and do encourage it be filled with the clear waters of that same world. 
  "Ifn mine council be followed, then upon the occasion of Hastumexus, full vision of Yuggot, and that devout Somnostodian shall be thine."
                                                                                                                - Excerpt from the short story,  
                                                                                                                              The Fundus of Hell.
 
                                                                                ~

  I burnt something and killed something, and with the mixed blood and ash, outlined the Summons of Sull in the Morgathik Script of Potth upon the limewashed wall afore me.
  I did cant: "Reveal Him to me - showeth His manifold ways to me."
  I did repeat the diamond-shaped multi-glyph of The Sull gesture, midair, before me. 
  I did repeat the rune a third time, but drawn with finger upon my brow.

  First ... waves of nausea. So I did sit, cross-legged upon the floor.
  Second ... I did vomit and be took to my side all curled and huddled with fire in belly and chest. I struggled to maintain the sound of the glyph in my mind, but its image grew blurred and it burnt me as I stared.
  Third ... the matter of the ground opened ... and my mind fell through.

                                                                                                               - Excerpt from the short story, 
                                                                                                      When Phau-Bath, 'had-at' Iiai Potth


                                                              ~ Upon The Grey Expanse ~
                
                                                                                   ~


  But out and above, and having aspect as unto an excised tumour, all suppurative and bruised, and of such proportion as might eclipse our Earthly Moon, Phau-Bath's outer integument bulged and rippled as He moved through the void. A paler, softer region, at the foremost point of His body gaped wide, like a mouth, allowing the growth of psudopidic appendages which continually forged ahead, then drew back in, seemingly dragging the abomination forward. As He moved, the airless space was drawn to Him where it condensed and crystallised about His form, affording His glaciated 'body' a most disconcerting angular appearance. Organs of sight, as we might recognise them, were not in evidence, but to a beast that might have easy vision over the contiguous realms, physical eyes would, to such a-one, prove nought less than a base weakness.
                                                                                                             - Excerpt from the short story,
                                                                                                    When Phau-Bath, 'had-at' Iiai Potth


                                                  ~ The Abomination, Ril Phau-Bath ~




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