I am achingly bored. So I stopped by Metody's the other day to see what was going on and found people having a bit of fun with a word game. A word meme, if you will. So I joined in and these were the words he gave regarding me:

Yellow
Whimsy
Bewildering
Hair
Comfort

Now I'm to supply a few thoughts regarding them. Hmmmmm.

Yellow: Oh, this one's easy. Yellow. It's what I am. Orbs, that sounds like some kind of advertising slogan, but it's true. I wasn't so much born as I was extruded from my father's yellow stratum. So, well, Yellow literally is an inextricable part of my being. So it really wouldn't make much sense for me to go round calling myself the King In Forest Green, now, would it?

whimsy: Hmmm. Capricious, unpredictable, playful... I suppose that is me at times, isn't it? I do like to have fun with life.

bewildering: Am I really? Balderdash. You just haven't been paying enough attention. Pay a little more heed and you'll find you aren't quite so lost in the extradimensional subject matters simultaneous to the sidereal gerundities and concurrent to the subtext full of supertext or is that supertext of subtext or possibly the supertext in the R'lyeh Text... what was I talking about again?

hair: ...I was talking about my hair, yes. It is beautiful, no? I'm quite fond of it, myself.

comfort: D'awww. I don't know why you snuggle up to me as much as you do, but a little part of my being is glad for it. Another little part of my being is saying 'raawr, I'm supposed to be terrifying,' and another is saying 'hey, just let folks do what they want.' Aaaand another part says 'zoop dwingle fwoosh.' I don't listen to that bit very often.

And now that's done, everyone who might be reading this, do come along and let me know that you want to know what sort of words or thoughts come to mind when I think of you! I promise to make them follow three-dimensional logic.

Hastur realised why Carter didn't drink the stuff in quantity. He realised it as he very very slowly fell over.

He never felt himself hit the floor of the Sanctuary, his mind awash in visions, dreams, hallucinations... maybe all of these things or none of these things. Clearly this mth was a drug, a potent psychoactive and psi-agonist that pulled the user's memories and psionic resonances of its own place of origin and ambient energy together, blending them together into some kind of half-dreamstate.

And in this quasi-dream, he found himself walking the streets of a gleaming desert city, yet its impossibly graceful towers arced into familiar shapes until they formed the twisted angles of his own palace, and the sand shimmered until it became the Pallid Lake. A wind blew over it, and the scent of sand and trees changed as the wind changed, becoming a familiar musk. A voice, as well-remembered as his own, whispered hungrily to him that this world would die. He would see it die. They would watch it die together and it would fill her and thus him, and that hunger, that ceaseless need would dull in the colours of explosions and death and wouldn't it feel

FANTASTIC, WOULDN'T IT FEEL SO RIGHT AND SO GOOD AND OH, SO PERFECT? IT WAS WHAT SHE WANTED. WHAT SHE NEEDED. JOIN HER. WATCH WITH HER. FEEL WITH HER. YES.

YES.

And he let himself drown in her sensations as the planet died, as its inhabitants fled or died with it.

He remembered, now.

Hastur awoke in his own home, in his own form, pulse pounding, breath harsh, nearly doubled over with a terrible, clawing hunger. He fled through the Nexus and out of it entirely. When he would return, once again drenched in the effluvia of consumed minds, is unknown, but when he did, he would return angrier, or perhaps sadder.

Hastur, the King In Yellow, shambles home wearing a form he never thought he'd end up wearing. Ever.

He shambles home as a Nug-Soth.

His memories of the only other Nug-Soth in existence, Randolph Carter--himself a Nug-Soth who is not--are mostly angry ones, some resentful, and a few embarrassingly fearful. As a human he'd been afraid of him, yes. Flavius had been afraid.

Any memory of their having had something that'd teetered on the brink of a friendship is gone, now.

Instead, Hastur resents this form he's ended up in, and retreats to his Nexus home to brood.

Unfortunately for him, being in this physical of a form--and miserable on top of that--means he's all the easier to find in here.

In The Unspeakable Garden

Trifoil Wingtrap (name is a translation of something truly unpronouncable)--Semisentient insectivorous perennial from Ss'hlrgh!e. Its sole purpose appears to be that it has been bred to protect the thgh'fl'rg'a.

thgh'fl'rg'a--flowering plant from Ss'hlrgh!e. The entirety of the plant--leaves, roots, stems, flowers, and seeds, are distilled and otherwise processed through a painstaking half-chemistry half-alchemy, to produce a kind of restorative draught, reported to have a restorative effect on just about every warm-blooded being it has been administered to.

kzaat'saa--bush from Izuzeq Prime. Its leaves can be distilled into a tea or a tisane, its roots made into an incense or a smokeable substance. Both the tea and the smokeable have a calming and vasodilating effect on most beings. Though Izuzeq Prime was a subtropical/tropical world, many beings find it useful for treatment of hypothermia, or prevention of incipient hypothermia. Lower doses have also proven a natural anxiolytic.

mth trees--Those Trees. From That Planet. More or less planted just so Carter would stop being such an Emobug about them. At least that's what he'll say if you ask him.

These are all plants from dead/destroyed worlds, cultivated more or less as part of an attempt at some kind of bizarre, left-handed community service. A newly-formed human aspect, combined with the frankly maddeningly inscrutable ideas that only Yog-Sothoth can come up with results in things like this.


Other Noneuclidean Notes

... Any questions? Seriously. Ask away, anyone who might be reading this.

"Tame?"

"Tame?"

I have never in my life been so insulted. Never.

This is all Carter's fault.

Those who are sensitive to these things will feel/hear/sense it. Those who know him will, as well.

In a dimension over there, there's a sharp flare of yellow energy. Another over there. Something frenetically burns brightly, then dies, implodes, pulls in on itself and leaves less than nothing where it once flared, a smoky rhodopsin-hole. Something is drawn.

Out.Slowly. slowly.

silken tendrils of thought still cling as it is consumed.

Neurone firings squeeze. Tingle. Dance along perception of quasi-taste, piquant and almost painfully sweet, swallowed into a self dimmed/starved/weakened for too long. Thin, long tendrils of memory draw that exquisite chill along the edges of sensation--knife edge, tightening, shuddering; achingly long until the layer breaks, the emotions flood. The interior is wavering heat, almost unbearably liquid-bittersweet-intense; rolled about on perception, tasted, and finally devoured. Deeply, utterly devoured, until nothing at all remains but a shiver and a moment of completeness and satiation. A moment that doesn't last nearly long enough.

Twin suns burn the eyes of another. The same happens. Again.

AND ANOTHER. Again.

every time, a random dimension. a random place. a random person.

SOMETIMES IT HAPPENS SUDDENLY. SOMETIMES IT HAPPENS AFTER YEARS OF SEDUCTION. TIME MATTERS NOT.

The only question that can be answered, the only thing that can be understood, perhaps the only one that matters, is:

did he visit your WORLD?

Hastur has been missing for about a week, now. Ever since the Deadly Sins fiasco or, more specifically, ever since about a day or so later, when Jeff and Soze were released from the Clinics.

His sideroom home near the Sanctuary is abandoned--even the meeble is gone and the curtains are drawn over the extradimensional window. There is no trace of him anywhere in the Nexus--unless one is capable of following the faint trails of his mind.

He has returned to Carcosa, it seems. To hide or to recover, no-one knows, but that is where he is, now, immersed in the heavy, empty, still silence of his home and his prison.

It is true that no mortal being can travel to Carcosa and return sane.

However, that does not mean he cannot be contacted.

Last one. Isn't THNM fun?

And another one. Sorry, f-list people.

Placeholder post--more Dreamlands fun