The Foe Gallery
Unidentified Past Monsters Mathew has Battled!
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This is kind of a long story.
You may recall that Mathew and I came across the brooding hulk of an abandoned and ruined mansion on the outskirts of Portland. Over the course of several weeks, we had a number of adventures there, including a twisted riddle-conversation with a fungus-headed man, an encounter with an ingenious but deadly automaton, a battle with a horn-headed demon in a courtyard of bones, a run in with a giant, unbreakable sculpture of Cthulhu, an attack by a swarm of octopus-like spiders and a mammoth midnight showdown with three dragon-worm-beasts that was nearly Mathew's undoing. Recovering from that encounter and hoping to arm ourselves with knowledge, we visited the local hall of records and discovered that the registered owner of the mansion was a woman named Abbey Carfax, who purchased the property in 1924. Her last known address was in Kennesaw, Georgia and there were no records of her death. Hoping to attack the evil at its source, we boarded a plane and headed south.
Once in Georgia, we discovered that the address listed for our quarry was another hulking old mansion. The wooded grounds of the house were vast and overgrown. Attempting to get a closer view of the mansion, we climbed a crumbling stone wall as soon as it was dark. Following the sinister sounds of deep-throated chanting, we stumbled across a strange ceremony being performed in front of a Cthulhu sculpture nearly identical to the one from Portland. Concerned by the number of potential foes writhing and flailing in their obscene ritual, we hung back, observing from the concealment of the trees as the night darkened. Then the horned and brightly-clad cultists lit a roaring green fire before the statue and abased themselves to it.
As the ceremony progressed, strange, shadow-men began to materialize out of the darkness that danced before the flames. As each one arrived, it fastened itself to a cultist, draining him of his life until the shadows stood solid and the hapless sacrificial victims were desiccated husks. There were at least five of the shadow-men, and they began to chant the name, "Nyarlathotep." At this, the remaining cultists joined in, some frothing at the mouth in transports of twisted joy. I knew we must prevent the manifestation of such a terrible, ancient evil, but I confess that I was at a loss for what to do. That was when Mathew created a diversion by tossing a brick of firecrackers into the green flames. It was an idiotic move, but it so disrupted the ceremony that the shadow men vanished with an audible pop, sucking many of the cultists out of our plane of existence as they went. The survivors ran, shrieking, back into the mansion.
Having staved off evil by the skin of our teeth and Mathew's juvenile sense of humor, we resolved to return the following night to ensure that there was no second attempt to summon Nyarlathotep. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, we found a new ritual already in progress. As we were trying to decide whether to attack the surviving cult members with Mathew's flaming sword, there was a rippling in the fabric of reality and a hideous, armored being stepped from a black tear in the green flames.
I urged Mathew to attack while the Summoned One was still recovering from its transition into our world. Mathew attempted to slay the beast in combat, using his flaming sword, but it seemed completely impervious to his attacks. Over and over, he rained blows upon it, but each bounced harmlessly off its shimmering armor. While Mathew fought furiously, I noticed that the chanting of the cultists appeared to be sustaining the beast. We could not break away from our engagement with the Summoned One to disrupt the cultists, and the foul fiend began to gain the upper hand. Mathew dropped his guard for a moment and the beast backhanded him so ferociously that it would have broken his neck had I not been shielding him with all of my abilities. After that, we chose the better part of valor and retreated. Almost, we escaped, but Mathew slipped and fell into a gully on the property where the beast cornered him, laughing maniacally. It looked like we were done for...
But then, dogs! A pack of dogs saved Mathew's skin. Not wolves or even wild dogs, but house pets! The Summoned One was choking Mathew with one hand and about to tear his heart out with the other when a great howling and baying went up. The cultists hesitated for an instant, wondering at the sound, and the fiend faltered. Not knowing what was happening at first, Mathew and I assumed the worst, but even as Mathew's heart quailed, a crazy assortment of canines burst from the woods! The cultists scattered under the onslaught of Rottweilers, Golden Retrievers, Black Labradors, German Shepherds, countless mutts and one vicious Toy Poodle.
Perhaps the local dogs had sensed the danger to our reality, perhaps they were ancient foes of the cult, but they attacked ferociously, tearing at the cultists with tooth and nail. Once the cultists' chanting was disrupted, the Summoned One staggered! It dropped Mathew. Then, following the advice of kind friends, Mathew rushed the foul fiend and gave it a mighty kick in the bollocks.
The beast fell, clutching its privates, and with that, Mathew hewed off its foul head with one mighty swipe of the blade Brisngr. There was a roaring sound and the fiend seemed to collapse in upon itself until naught was left but a black tear in the air. Even that finally closed with a keening wail.
Perhaps we should have pressed our advantage and followed the cultists back to the mansion, but Mathew was sore injured from his encounter and I thought it best we return to our quarters so that I might heal him. Back at the hotel, while Mathew ordered room service and watched pay-per-view, we resolved to make one final assault on the manse and discover whatever dark secrets it might hold. I spent the rest of that night and most of the next day weaving every magic I knew to strengthen and bolster Mathew's abilities. I increased his metabolism. I improved his reflexes. I increased his constitution, his tolerance for pain and the efficiency of his muscles. Alas, I knew the two things I could not improve were actually the most important - his flabby mental processes and his weak moral character.
So it was that, the following night (Thursday), we returned again to the mansion, our hearts heavy with foreboding. It was our intention to break in and find the owner, but when we arrived, we were harried by various shadowy forms that drove us always toward the front of the house. There, at last, we came face to face with the owner of the house.
As I mentioned, our research showed that the owner was a female by the name of Abbey Carfax, and from the records we had found about her, we were expecting a woman of at least ninety, and quite possibly, well over one hundred. Instead, we were greeted by HER.
For all appearances, miss Carfax seemed to be a child of six or seven, although her pallid skin, shimmering hair and garments, and faintly luminous eyes made it clear she was no ordinary girl. She was waiting for us with her minions of darkness, and it was clear that she had herded us to this point.
Abbey welcomed us by name in a syrupy-sweet and petulant voice that raised gooseflesh on Mathew's arms. She scolded us for having caused her some minor difficulties over the past several weeks, including the destruction of several of her, "pets". Then she told us that her "master" was angry and we would have to be punished.
When Mathew inquired of her master, she waved her servants to her side. They came bearing an ancient and ornate reliquary, carven of greenish soapstone and bound with straps of lead. Miss Carfax opened the container and I was immediately struck by a wave of the foulest evil I have experienced in years. Mathew physically staggered back, and the child laughed in her high, clear voice.
"What troubles thee?" she cooed as she lifted a carven and bejeweled object from the red-velvet-lined interior. "Art thou frightened to face thy punishment? And I had thought thee a man." The object was a human skull. As she took it from the case, its interior suddenly began to smolder so that wisps of smoke or steam escaped from its eyes, nose and mouth. Then, as we watched in horror, the dark sockets of the eyes lit with a baleful bluish light and the teeth began to grind and clack. There was a burst of blue energy, and the skull addressed us.
"Welcome, Valhalladrim," it hissed, its voice like a tongue in the ear and as dry as sand eroding stone. "Long have I awaited your arrival. For the last four years have I plotted and schemed to lead you down the twisting path to this very moment of your undoing. Even now, I have bound and weakened the magic of your pathetic Helm and the will of you, its even more pathetic wearer! The Helm cannot help you now, and I know you cannot help yourself!" My soul quavered at these hateful words, for I could suddenly feel the truth revealed as if a veil had been torn aside and the icy breath of evil had blow across my spirit. We were caught in a thought snare - an accursed and terrible enchantment.
And even though I understood that thinking would only trap me deeper in the web of magic, my mind raced back and I realized we had indeed been manipulated. I could sense the towering intellect and ancient, vile magic of the skull pervading the air around us, drowning my own powers, pulling me down like a stone in quicksand. The faster I tried to think of an escape, the more deeply I became ensnared by the enchantment.
"The two of you," the skull gloated, "were like the innocent children of dullards as you followed the path I set for you, never once suspecting you were being manipulated like puppets on a string." I was at a loss, drained of my powers and certain we were facing our end. All of my defenses were down. There seemed no way out.
"So first, dude," Mathew yelled suddenly, "those kinda puppets are called marionettes, and second, you shouldn't mix metaphors. Either we're children or we're puppets, but it's stupid to say we're both! Which is it, YOU BONEHEAD!?!"
The skull was taken aback by the unexpected ferocity of the outburst, and in that moment, Mathew launched himself at the little girl, bowling her over with his own impressive bulk. Caught completely off guard, the girl tumbled to the ground, accidentally flinging the skull as she fell.
"HOW?" the skull screamed, incredulous, but without missing a beat, Mathew swung his magic blade like a baseball bat and struck it a bone-jarring blow that shattered it like a clay pot and sent glowing shards smoking through the air. With that, the spell was broken. There was an earsplitting roar and the Mansion collapsed, the stones cracking and exploding with a sound like gunshots.
And then we unleashed some serious murder on the assembled cultists, hacking them down like wheat before the scythe.
As dawn began to color the sky, we finished the last of them. The only one unaccounted for was Abbey Carfax, the ancient little girl, of whom we found no trace. We suspect that she may have been unbound by the destruction of her master and wisped away to where ever the souls of the damned are tormented.
As we headed for the Atlanta Hartzfield Airport, I congratulated Mathew, somewhat incredulous myself.
"That was a masterful stroke, Valhalladrim! How did you know that only rage could blank your mind enough to free you from the thought snare of the enemy?"
"What?" Mathew asked.
