The Annals of the Ghuls
Aug 22, 2017 13:53:53 GMT -5
Post by Voorqual on Aug 22, 2017 13:53:53 GMT -5
Well, MrZarono suggested I share a story with this forum, and looking around I see that this is definitely a neat place. Discussions of Conan, Lovecraft, mythology, history, badassery, all the stuff that attracted me to Howard's work! My contributions will be meager, but I hope to be a decent participant in this community. I'm especially intrigued by other writers here, whose threads and stories I will eagerly check out.
I am a writer of the classic weird tradition, especially inspired by the exotic and decadent tales of Clark Ashton Smith, but I take influence from many weird authors, including of course REH.
My deviantart account is where I post my stories, of which I have several, but I will only post the ones which I feel have a nice Howardian or Lovecraftian flavor right here on SoREH. Here's my account:
joerb.deviantart.com
And here's the story I wish to share with you fellows:
The Doom of Mulazul
In his dark tower beyond a haunted wasteland, Idluk peered into a crystal eye. Clutched within both hands, it shone in its prismatic pupil all that occurred in Zermagad. The young magician could spy upon his neighbors the savage tribesmen, or the machinations of rival sorcerers, or the activities of the demons of the desert, invisible to mortal eyes but not to the clairvoyance of the crystal eye. It was gifted to him long ago by his infernal masters, for all sorcerers held power over man but were indebted to the children of Lilith, Queen of Impenetrable Night, and Idluk served them especially well.
What he saw within the eye astonished him to no end. Crossing the black desert, beneath the chilling gaze of a bone-white sun, was his greatest enemy: the necromancer Mulazul. More powerful and more feared than any sorcerer, he oppressed the savage tribes and lesser magicians with maladies of his making. Bound to his command were souls claimed by the desert, and mysterious powers from the deepest of Hells. Few dared challenge him, although many coveted his position of power. Idluk, closest to being his equal, was one such peer.
His lair is an opulent palace built from the remains of far older palaces, erected by the nocturnal revenants of their royal inhabitants; such was Mulazul's depraved sense of amusement. Rarely did he leave this palace. More often did he inflict his curses from within its colossal walls. On the rare occasions he sojourned elsewhere, he was always accompanied by a troop of scorpion-men and a caravan of black camels. But now this was not the case. Mulazul traveled alone, riding upon only one of his camels, and bearing with him only a single bag whose contents could not be deciphered.
Idluk watched in amazement at his foe's audacity. How could he travel like this, without even the protection of demon familiars? The necromancer was old, but certainly he could not have lost his senses, at least not to the extent of exposing himself to the spears and incantations of enemies! Idluk tried to discern any madness or intention in his vulturine countenance, but in it found nothing.
Many miles did he travel, never needing to rest, for his camel was not of any earthly matter, seeming more like a sepulchral shadow given substance. He bypassed a village of savage men, who stared on in brutish uncertainty, and traversed the Hills of Sacrifice and the Fields of Bone and Hair, common haunts of the cruelest of demonkind. He did not glance at the marble ruins where aeons past there flourished a green paradise, a favored spot for evoking the elder dead. No matter where he went, the necromancer carried on implacably. Why he would travel so far, however, and ignore the most obvious sorcerous opportunities, Idluk could not guess.
Soon there came black dunes which rolled on and on as the waves of some malevolent sea. The necromancer crossed these, and Idluk's calm wavered at this, for past these dunes were the most feared dwellings in Zermagad. Too wicked for all but the vilest of demons, the village of Urukal festers with abomination. Once it was a village like any other, but its elder shamans grew arrogant in their power, and through a forbidden ritual opened a path to the mysterious Outer Hells, the realm from which the goddess Lilith had descended many aeons ago. Urukal ran rampant with horrors of the primordial night, and hapless villagers fled or else suffered the tortures of body and soul. Thereafter no earthly life tread near the village, for it was home to unfamiliar demons from the Outer Hells, rather than familiar demons from Inner Hells.
Mulazul's camel paused before the dilapidated village, and as soon as the necromancer dismounted, it vanished as though it never were. As Mulazul approached the nearest hut, sinister shapes manifested from its shadows and advanced upon him. They were vague, amorphous phantoms at first, but as they drew nearer they condensed into darker, clearer forms, with strange limbs poised as if to destroy their intruder. Mulazul showed no perturbment at this, but immediately lifted his bag before them. The creatures stopped their advance, retracting their limbs and substituting them with sensory organs like elephant's trunks with a ring of fleshy petals at their tips. With these they seemed to examine the mysterious bag, and as though they recognized its contents and were satisfied with it, all except one of them retreated into the shadows of the hut, fading once more into torpid shapelessness.
The one creature which remained approached Mulazul, its shape becoming even more complex, and its size increasing to colossal heights. Idluk gasped at the sight of this being. There was no doubt that it was a denizen of those forbidden Outer Hells, where heretical gods like Lilith once dwelt, and where universal monstrosity spawned itself out of oblivion. The creature seemed to him a mad chaos of organic shapes, changing constantly or materializing out of nothing with each movement. Idluk's vision could hardly bear this sight; surely Mulazul would have fainted from its presence! But the necromancer did not.
He offered his bag to the hideous devil, which it gripped with an irregular limb completely detached from its chaotic mass. After thoroughly inspecting the bag, the creature responded most ungraciously. It gripped Mulazul by the head with its flowering trunk and tore it off his shoulders. Idluk watched in horror as the body of his once great foe slumped forward and pathetically fell unto the sand. But even then, his disembodied head remained placid. The creature then carried both pieces of the necromancer into the shadows of its hut.
Idluk paused long after this, staring into the crystal eye as though he could not believe what had come to pass. Within the vision of the eye there stood only a lonely hut in the middle of a desert; no body or monster to confirm what he had seen was reality, and not some remarkable dream. Could it truly be that his foe, the greatest and most feared of all sorcerers, had been slain so swiftly, so unceremoniously, before his very eyes? Could it truly be that Mulazul, who commanded the souls of the desert and the dreadful powers of the deepest Hells, could have perished so foolishly from his own madness or oversight?
Whatever the case may be, Idluk knew that now was his chance to invade the deceased necromancer's palace, to raid its many chambers of their secrets for his own ambitions. On the corpse of a camel, reanimated by his own will, Idluk rode from his dark tower and crossed the haunted wasteland. Soon he reached the necromancer's palace, marveling at its pillars and spires and minarets and domes of ancient resplendence, and its dozen terraced gardens of plants conjured from the Inner Hells, floral flames irradiated with living colors. Normally he was unable to approach this palace without exciting the archery of Mulazul's scorpion-men, whose venom-tipped arrows never missed their mark. But now that Mulazul had been slain, such sentries had no reason to remain, and so Idluk passed unharmed.
Idluk dismounted when he reached the demon-carven gate of the palace, and with a simple Incantation it opened before him. The crystal eye could not penetrate this gate, nor any of the outer walls, but Idluk had visited this palace before, when Mulazul summoned him to see for himself the newest and youngest sorcerer in Zermagad. Beyond this gate was a dreary, grey hall of immense pillars, where dwelt countless imprisoned souls. Any being who crossed this hall uninvited would normally be gripped and torn asunder by unseen hands, but with Mulazul's death, such sentries had no reason to guard his hall, and so Idluk passed unharmed.
He opened the looming door at the end of the hall, expecting on the other side a circular room with a monolithic throne lacking an occupant. To his shock however, the throne was not empty. To his utter horror, seated upon it was none other than the headless corpse of Mulazul. Idluk, with eyes widened and mouth agape, stared at the body, feeling from it a malevolent power, although it remained motionless as any cadaver would.
"Idluk!" boomed a familiar voice in his head: the commanding voice of Mulazul. "I've been expecting you!"
The young sorcerer trembled at this. All confidence he brought into the palace had been utterly scattered by that terrible tone. "But... How? How can you be alive? And here?!"
"Idluk," the voice answered. "you are young, but even so you are a fool to assume that a mere decapitation could spell my doom! I, who command the dead as though they were worthless slaves, I, who lesser demons fear and greater demons acknowledge, cannot be destroyed through such primitive means!"
The young sorcerer wished desperately to flee, but whether he was paralyzed by fear or pinned by an invisible weight, he could not move. All he could do was watch the seated corpse and listen to the malevolent voice.
"Look at you, cowering before a ghost! Cowering, when you so boldly invaded my palace! You are no different from the rest of my enemies. No matter how much power you all crave, you will never have the strength to overcome your petty, human fears. You will never reach beyond the heavens, beyond the Inner Hells, beyond the world of normalcy. I had plunged into the darkest depths to explore that which you shirk from! I had traveled to the village of Urukal, bearing with me only a simple offering, and was favored by the ranks of the Outer Hells!"
Soon an unearthly glow emanated from the stump of the corpse's neck. It flared brighter and brighter until a raging inferno spewed from within it. The voice continued, louder and more scornful than before.
"The Outer Demons had taken from me a piece of humanity, and replaced it with something far greater. I am now beyond human, and possess faculties and senses you cannot possibly imagine! The moment I was reborn I knew you were watching me. I was with you on your journey to my palace, even as my corpse was waiting here on my rightful throne!"
The corpse slowly rose from its seat, the plume of hellfire erupting wildly from its stump. Idluk nearly collapsed in fright, for he knew that only inescapable doom would follow.
"I am now a god among men, Idluk, and as a god I shall grant you eternal damnation of the soul!" The flames burst from the corpse's neck, consuming the entire room. The hapless sorcerer screamed in unfathomable agony as the voice of necromancer cackled with the crackling fire. When the screaming died, when the laughter waned, when fire turned to ash, all that was left was a silent room, and the flame of Mulazul.
I am a writer of the classic weird tradition, especially inspired by the exotic and decadent tales of Clark Ashton Smith, but I take influence from many weird authors, including of course REH.
My deviantart account is where I post my stories, of which I have several, but I will only post the ones which I feel have a nice Howardian or Lovecraftian flavor right here on SoREH. Here's my account:
joerb.deviantart.com
And here's the story I wish to share with you fellows:
The Doom of Mulazul
In his dark tower beyond a haunted wasteland, Idluk peered into a crystal eye. Clutched within both hands, it shone in its prismatic pupil all that occurred in Zermagad. The young magician could spy upon his neighbors the savage tribesmen, or the machinations of rival sorcerers, or the activities of the demons of the desert, invisible to mortal eyes but not to the clairvoyance of the crystal eye. It was gifted to him long ago by his infernal masters, for all sorcerers held power over man but were indebted to the children of Lilith, Queen of Impenetrable Night, and Idluk served them especially well.
What he saw within the eye astonished him to no end. Crossing the black desert, beneath the chilling gaze of a bone-white sun, was his greatest enemy: the necromancer Mulazul. More powerful and more feared than any sorcerer, he oppressed the savage tribes and lesser magicians with maladies of his making. Bound to his command were souls claimed by the desert, and mysterious powers from the deepest of Hells. Few dared challenge him, although many coveted his position of power. Idluk, closest to being his equal, was one such peer.
His lair is an opulent palace built from the remains of far older palaces, erected by the nocturnal revenants of their royal inhabitants; such was Mulazul's depraved sense of amusement. Rarely did he leave this palace. More often did he inflict his curses from within its colossal walls. On the rare occasions he sojourned elsewhere, he was always accompanied by a troop of scorpion-men and a caravan of black camels. But now this was not the case. Mulazul traveled alone, riding upon only one of his camels, and bearing with him only a single bag whose contents could not be deciphered.
Idluk watched in amazement at his foe's audacity. How could he travel like this, without even the protection of demon familiars? The necromancer was old, but certainly he could not have lost his senses, at least not to the extent of exposing himself to the spears and incantations of enemies! Idluk tried to discern any madness or intention in his vulturine countenance, but in it found nothing.
Many miles did he travel, never needing to rest, for his camel was not of any earthly matter, seeming more like a sepulchral shadow given substance. He bypassed a village of savage men, who stared on in brutish uncertainty, and traversed the Hills of Sacrifice and the Fields of Bone and Hair, common haunts of the cruelest of demonkind. He did not glance at the marble ruins where aeons past there flourished a green paradise, a favored spot for evoking the elder dead. No matter where he went, the necromancer carried on implacably. Why he would travel so far, however, and ignore the most obvious sorcerous opportunities, Idluk could not guess.
Soon there came black dunes which rolled on and on as the waves of some malevolent sea. The necromancer crossed these, and Idluk's calm wavered at this, for past these dunes were the most feared dwellings in Zermagad. Too wicked for all but the vilest of demons, the village of Urukal festers with abomination. Once it was a village like any other, but its elder shamans grew arrogant in their power, and through a forbidden ritual opened a path to the mysterious Outer Hells, the realm from which the goddess Lilith had descended many aeons ago. Urukal ran rampant with horrors of the primordial night, and hapless villagers fled or else suffered the tortures of body and soul. Thereafter no earthly life tread near the village, for it was home to unfamiliar demons from the Outer Hells, rather than familiar demons from Inner Hells.
Mulazul's camel paused before the dilapidated village, and as soon as the necromancer dismounted, it vanished as though it never were. As Mulazul approached the nearest hut, sinister shapes manifested from its shadows and advanced upon him. They were vague, amorphous phantoms at first, but as they drew nearer they condensed into darker, clearer forms, with strange limbs poised as if to destroy their intruder. Mulazul showed no perturbment at this, but immediately lifted his bag before them. The creatures stopped their advance, retracting their limbs and substituting them with sensory organs like elephant's trunks with a ring of fleshy petals at their tips. With these they seemed to examine the mysterious bag, and as though they recognized its contents and were satisfied with it, all except one of them retreated into the shadows of the hut, fading once more into torpid shapelessness.
The one creature which remained approached Mulazul, its shape becoming even more complex, and its size increasing to colossal heights. Idluk gasped at the sight of this being. There was no doubt that it was a denizen of those forbidden Outer Hells, where heretical gods like Lilith once dwelt, and where universal monstrosity spawned itself out of oblivion. The creature seemed to him a mad chaos of organic shapes, changing constantly or materializing out of nothing with each movement. Idluk's vision could hardly bear this sight; surely Mulazul would have fainted from its presence! But the necromancer did not.
He offered his bag to the hideous devil, which it gripped with an irregular limb completely detached from its chaotic mass. After thoroughly inspecting the bag, the creature responded most ungraciously. It gripped Mulazul by the head with its flowering trunk and tore it off his shoulders. Idluk watched in horror as the body of his once great foe slumped forward and pathetically fell unto the sand. But even then, his disembodied head remained placid. The creature then carried both pieces of the necromancer into the shadows of its hut.
Idluk paused long after this, staring into the crystal eye as though he could not believe what had come to pass. Within the vision of the eye there stood only a lonely hut in the middle of a desert; no body or monster to confirm what he had seen was reality, and not some remarkable dream. Could it truly be that his foe, the greatest and most feared of all sorcerers, had been slain so swiftly, so unceremoniously, before his very eyes? Could it truly be that Mulazul, who commanded the souls of the desert and the dreadful powers of the deepest Hells, could have perished so foolishly from his own madness or oversight?
Whatever the case may be, Idluk knew that now was his chance to invade the deceased necromancer's palace, to raid its many chambers of their secrets for his own ambitions. On the corpse of a camel, reanimated by his own will, Idluk rode from his dark tower and crossed the haunted wasteland. Soon he reached the necromancer's palace, marveling at its pillars and spires and minarets and domes of ancient resplendence, and its dozen terraced gardens of plants conjured from the Inner Hells, floral flames irradiated with living colors. Normally he was unable to approach this palace without exciting the archery of Mulazul's scorpion-men, whose venom-tipped arrows never missed their mark. But now that Mulazul had been slain, such sentries had no reason to remain, and so Idluk passed unharmed.
Idluk dismounted when he reached the demon-carven gate of the palace, and with a simple Incantation it opened before him. The crystal eye could not penetrate this gate, nor any of the outer walls, but Idluk had visited this palace before, when Mulazul summoned him to see for himself the newest and youngest sorcerer in Zermagad. Beyond this gate was a dreary, grey hall of immense pillars, where dwelt countless imprisoned souls. Any being who crossed this hall uninvited would normally be gripped and torn asunder by unseen hands, but with Mulazul's death, such sentries had no reason to guard his hall, and so Idluk passed unharmed.
He opened the looming door at the end of the hall, expecting on the other side a circular room with a monolithic throne lacking an occupant. To his shock however, the throne was not empty. To his utter horror, seated upon it was none other than the headless corpse of Mulazul. Idluk, with eyes widened and mouth agape, stared at the body, feeling from it a malevolent power, although it remained motionless as any cadaver would.
"Idluk!" boomed a familiar voice in his head: the commanding voice of Mulazul. "I've been expecting you!"
The young sorcerer trembled at this. All confidence he brought into the palace had been utterly scattered by that terrible tone. "But... How? How can you be alive? And here?!"
"Idluk," the voice answered. "you are young, but even so you are a fool to assume that a mere decapitation could spell my doom! I, who command the dead as though they were worthless slaves, I, who lesser demons fear and greater demons acknowledge, cannot be destroyed through such primitive means!"
The young sorcerer wished desperately to flee, but whether he was paralyzed by fear or pinned by an invisible weight, he could not move. All he could do was watch the seated corpse and listen to the malevolent voice.
"Look at you, cowering before a ghost! Cowering, when you so boldly invaded my palace! You are no different from the rest of my enemies. No matter how much power you all crave, you will never have the strength to overcome your petty, human fears. You will never reach beyond the heavens, beyond the Inner Hells, beyond the world of normalcy. I had plunged into the darkest depths to explore that which you shirk from! I had traveled to the village of Urukal, bearing with me only a simple offering, and was favored by the ranks of the Outer Hells!"
Soon an unearthly glow emanated from the stump of the corpse's neck. It flared brighter and brighter until a raging inferno spewed from within it. The voice continued, louder and more scornful than before.
"The Outer Demons had taken from me a piece of humanity, and replaced it with something far greater. I am now beyond human, and possess faculties and senses you cannot possibly imagine! The moment I was reborn I knew you were watching me. I was with you on your journey to my palace, even as my corpse was waiting here on my rightful throne!"
The corpse slowly rose from its seat, the plume of hellfire erupting wildly from its stump. Idluk nearly collapsed in fright, for he knew that only inescapable doom would follow.
"I am now a god among men, Idluk, and as a god I shall grant you eternal damnation of the soul!" The flames burst from the corpse's neck, consuming the entire room. The hapless sorcerer screamed in unfathomable agony as the voice of necromancer cackled with the crackling fire. When the screaming died, when the laughter waned, when fire turned to ash, all that was left was a silent room, and the flame of Mulazul.
