One of Us

As we draw The Shadow over August to a close, I'd like to end this series with a moment of reflection. Celebrating H.P. Lovecraft is, for many, a complicated endeavor. It has become fashionable in recent years to criticize him, to magnify his personal flaws while downplaying the extraordinary influence he has had on the worlds of fiction, pop culture (including roleplaying games), and imagination itself. Yet, for all his faults, both human and literary, I have come to see Lovecraft as something more than a historical figure or a subject of controversy. I see him as a kindred spirit.

Lovecraft was, in so many ways, like many of us who have found solace in books, in quiet contemplation, and in worlds of our own making. He was shy, intensely bookish, and at odds with the modern world and its demands, yet he also cultivated wide friendships and a network of mutual support that enriched both his life and the lives of those around him. He endured profound loss and personal difficulty throughout his life, from the death of his father while a child to the even greater loss of his beloved grandfather to a mother whose protectiveness sometimes smothered him Despite that, he carved out a life of meaning through his imagination, his letters, and his multitude of friends.

No one is without flaws and Lovecraft’s were many. But the measure of a man is not in perfection. It is in persistence, in the courage to create, to connect, and to leave something lasting by the time we depart this sublunary existence. In this, Lovecraft succeeded in ways few could. For me, he is a fellow nerd, a fellow writer, and a fellow introvert who managed to create not only stories but, just as importantly, friendships, a community, and a legacy that continues to shape the way we imagine and tell tales decades after his death.

I hope that in following The Shadow over August, readers might come to understand not just Lovecraft’s works, but the man behind them – flawed, human, brilliant, and strangely relatable. Perhaps, in some small way, I hope readers might also recognize in his life the quiet courage it takes to pursue one’s own path, to cultivate one's own circle, and to leave one's mark on the world.

Lovecraft, with all his contradictions, reminds me that being a nerd, being a dreamer, and being devoted to one’s craft are virtues worth celebrating. That, after all, is the real reason why I have spent this month writing in his honor. I hope you have enjoyed it.

Interview: Jeff Talanian

1. How did you first discover the works of H.P. Lovecraft and what was it about his writing that captivated you?

Greetings, James, and thank you for the opportunity to chat about one of my favorite authors, H.P. Lovecraft. So, when I was a young teenager in the early- to mid-1980s, I was playing in a local AD&D group that was run by a childhood friend by the name of Andrew. One week, my friend Bob, whom I am still friends with to this day, wanted to run something different for the group as a one-shot. It was Call of Cthulhu, by Chaosium. I played a scientist armed with a pistol, and my guy either died or went mad – I don't recall the specifics. But I loved the content, and it led me to looking up the story "The Call of Cthulhu," by Mr. Lovecraft, and it's since been a lifelong fascination. So, I discovered HPL through gaming. I think it was about 1983 or 1984.

2. Lovecraft’s influence on Hyperborea is unmistakable. What elements of his cosmic horror do you think best lend themselves to tabletop roleplaying?

The crushing sense of futility in which mankind must come to terms that he is an insignificant ant in comparison with the Great Old Ones; that no matter how much he achieves, whatever lofty heights he attains, there is something larger out there that views man with indifference, if even at all. It is a different mindset than some previous presentations in which player characters can actually achieve a god-like status or even become immortals with all the benefits derived therefrom. In a true cosmic horror campaign, for no matter how much power and glory you achieve, you are still no more than the aforementioned ant in the grand scheme of things.

3. Lovecraft is often associated with "modern" horror, but Hyperborea is firmly sword-and-sorcery. How do you blend the alien terrors of the Mythos with the more grounded violence and heroism of pulp fantasy?

I drew a lot of inspiration from HPL's brothers-in-arms, as it were – Clark Ashton Smith, Robert E. Howard, and no small amount of inspiration from other authors such as Abraham Merritt and Fritz Leiber. As Howard and Lovecraft became closer friends, as evidenced by the letters they exchanged, we started to see the influences of cosmic horror played out in Howard's fiction, which was a subtle shift away from some of his earlier themes of more heroic, action-oriented yarns. This also applies to Smith's work, which borrows from Lovecraft's work, but in a lot of cases, HPL was borrowing from CAS (see Tsathoggua). So, even though HPL was writing a lot of his works from a modern (for his time) perspective, and other authors have since done the same, I think it should be recognized that authors such as REH and CAS were taking these same concepts and themes and applying them to other worlds and other times of a more fantastic bent.

4. What’s your favorite Lovecraft story, and why? Has it ever directly influenced an adventure or mechanic in Hyperborea?

"The Shadow Out of Time" is not only a personal favorite, but also one that I have derived a great amount of inspiration from for the entire Hyperborea adventure game itself. In 2008, in the aftermath of Gary Gygax's passing, whom I'd been working for three years as a writer, I found myself back to square one. I decided to make my own game that I would enjoy playing with my beer-drinking buddies, and if other gamers liked it – great! If they didn't, then to hell with them! I wanted my game to be built out from and inspired by earlier systems by Gygax and Arneson, and I wanted its setting to have a Bran Mak Morn, Conan, and Kull feel to it, but with a heavy dose of the weird fiction produced by Howard's friends, H.P.L. and C.A.S. At the time, I was rereading all of Lovecraft's works, and when I read "The Shadow Out of Time," I had an epiphany. It was inspired by the following passages:

I learned—even before my waking self had studied the parallel cases or the old myths from which the dreams doubtless sprang—that the entities around me were of the world’s greatest race, which had conquered time and had sent exploring minds into every age. I knew, too, that I had been snatched from my age while another used my body in that age, and that a few of the other strange forms housed similarly captured minds. I seemed to talk, in some odd language of claw-clickings, with exiled intellects from every corner of the solar system.

There was a mind from the planet we know as Venus, which would live incalculable epochs to come, and one from an outer moon of Jupiter six million years in the past. Of earthly minds there were some from the winged, star-headed, half-vegetable race of palaeogean Antarctica; one from the reptile people of fabled Valusia; three from the furry pre-human Hyperborean worshippers of Tsathoggua; one from the wholly abominable Tcho-Tchos; two from the arachnid denizens of earth’s last age; five from the hardy coleopterous species immediately following mankind, to which the Great Race was some day to transfer its keenest minds en masse in the face of horrible peril; and several from different branches of humanity.

Here was a story showing me exactly what I needed to do with my setting and how I could pull it all together – whether you are talking about Kull's Valusia, the Elder Things of Antarctica, or Tsathoggua worshipers of Hyperborea – it was all there! I then began to conceive of an idea of an adventure game setting in which all these elements could be pulled together, and more!

5. You’ve cited not just Lovecraft but also Howard, Smith, and Merritt as inspirations. What do you think the shared thread is among these authors and how does Hyperborea pay homage to that tradition?

I think that each and all they were incredibly imaginative writers who dared to write for a genre that was largely shunned, and they were excelling at it. I believe they wrote "up" to their readers, and never catered to a lowest common denominator to increase sale. Their themes were complex, thoughtful, and induced a range of emotions from curiosity to dread to fear. Sure, I have tried to pay homage to this in my works and the works I'm overseeing, and I hope that my stuff has honored the great pulp tradition (at least in gaming form).

6. What does pulp fantasy offer that contemporary fantasy often neglects or downplays?

Contemporary fantasy has largely been stuck in Tolkien's back yard for many years. It's not a bad backyard to be trapped in, because the good professor was one of the greatest practitioners of literature to ever do it, and there have been some wonderful homages to his works. Pulp fantasy is different. It often features a single viewpoint protagonist, it's usually not about saving the world, and it has a more immediate, realistic feel to it, even if the things experienced are beyond the mundane. They often feature an unexpected twist at the end that results in the death of the protagonist or worse, so you are almost always at the edge of your seat when reading these fantastic tales.

7. You've continued to refine and expand Hyperborea across its editions. Has your approach to incorporating Lovecraftian elements evolved over time?

I think conceptualizing a world setting in which Lovecraftian elements are real and present is something that I am always trying to see improved or evolved, as you put it. For example, a ranger in Hyperborea is not a specialist versus humanoids and giants; rather, he is a specialist against otherworldly creatures whose objectives do not accord with the welfare of mankind. So, rangers in Hyperborea hunt Mi-Go, the Great Race, Night Gaunts, and so forth. The content we produce touches on this, in a world that has seen mankind nearly wiped out by a star-borne contagion and now clings to a meager existence in which these many horrors abound.

8. Do you think there's such a thing as too much Mythos in an RPG? Can it become over-familiar or even cliché?

I think if it is done well, with purpose and a vision that is worked hard for, it can never be too much. Imagine, if you will, how many people in the last two millennia have studied the classics, reading and rereading The Odyssey and The Iliad. So, I don't think the Mythos will ever get old, but as readers become more savvy, they will discern between quality pastiche and silly pastiche.

9. As a game designer and worldbuilder, what lessons have you learned from Lovecraft’s approach to mythmaking and the unknown?

I learned that we, as designers and world builders, should not feel bound to the religions and myths of the ancients when conceptualizing and exploring antemundane concepts. Anyone can create a world or a setting that draws inspiration from known works but also has the audaciousness to explore and develop strange new worlds and realities. You just have to have the stubbornness to do it, dismissing naysayers and detractors. Do what thou wilt, my friends.

Thank you for having me, James. Cheers!

Hyperborea's Lovecraftian Adventures

As The Shadow over August draws to a close, I keep catching myself thinking about the posts I never got around to writing. That seems to be the curse of writers everywhere. It’s all too easy to dwell on the missed opportunities instead of celebrating the pieces that did make it to the page. One post in particular keeps nagging at me: an exploration of RPG adventures that wear their Lovecraftian influence on their sleeve, whether through mood, themes, or outright horrors. Since time is short and a full treatment is no longer possible, I’ll settle for the next best thing: highlighting three terrific Hyperborea modules that practically drip with Lovecraftian atmosphere, strange terrors, and otherworldly monsters.

Rats in the Walls: Sharing its title with one of Lovecraft’s most famous tales, this collection offers three short adventures for levels 1–2. Each works perfectly as the start of a new Hyperborea campaign, though the standout is the namesake scenario: helping a desperate Khromarium tavernkeeper rid his alehouse of an unsettling infestation of otherworldly rats. The set also includes "The Lamia’s Heart," a tense caper centered on the attempted theft of a legendary gem from a wealthy merchant’s mansion, and "The Brazen Bull," a foray into a crumbling temple of Thaumagorga, Daemon Lord, where a sinister new power is beginning to stir.

The Mystery at Port Greely: This level 4–6 adventure doesn’t just echo Lovecraft’s The Shadow over Innsmouth: it embraces the same eerie vibe while spinning it into its own dark tale. The player characters arrive in the coastal town of Port Greely to investigate the unexplained disappearance of envoys from Khromarium’s Fishmongers’ Guild. Needless to say, what's happening here isn't very pleasant – a fact made all the more apparent when they meet the locals, whose fish-like appearance points to the horrible truth. The more the characters dig, the clearer it becomes that something profoundly inhuman is lurking in Port Greely.

The Sea-Wolf's Daughter: At 60 pages, this level 7–9 adventure is the biggest of the three and the most unabashedly “weird science-fantasy” of the lot. On the surface, it’s about the abduction of a Viking jarl’s daughter by a notorious pirate. But beneath that pulpy premise lies a heady mix of Lovecraftian horror and science-fantasy: nightgaunts, elder things, alien technologies, and the looming weight of cosmic dread. Imagine Robert E. Howard, H.P. Lovecraft, and Jack Kirby locked in a fever-dream collaboration, and you’ll have something of the adventure's flavor. It’s a great showcase of what makes Hyperborea such a distinctive game and one that I have long admired.

Of course, what unites all three of these fine modules is their author, Jeff Talanian, the creator of Hyperborea and a tireless promoter of pulp fantasy. I recently put a few questions to Jeff about Hyperborea and its ties to HPL and he kindly offered some responses, all of which will appear in an interview to be published later today. I hope you'll enjoy his answers as much as I've enjoyed Jeff's adventures.

What If Lovecraft Had Lived into the '60s?

In our reality, H.P. Lovecraft died on March 15, 1937 at the age of 46. While it would be a stretch to say that he died "young," he certainly died younger than most men of his era. For example, Clark Ashton Smith, who was born less than three years after Lovecraft, died in 1961 at the age of 68. With a better diet and better access to medical care, it's not at all improbable to imagine HPL living into his 60s or even 70s – long enough for him to see World War II, the end of the Great Depression, and the monumental technological and social changes of the ensuing decades. If he had lived, what might Lovecraft have written and what impact might it have had?

I have no answers of my own to this question, but, back in 1978, at the 38th World Science Fiction Convention in Phoenix, Arizona, several notable science fiction and fantasy writers and commentators held a panel on the very topic. Led by Dirk W. Mosig, the panel also included Donald R. Burleson, J. Vernon Shea, Fritz Leiber, and S.T. Joshi. If you're interested and have the time, you can listen to the panel, which consists of six half-hour audio files. 

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4
• Part 5
• Part 6 

The files are surprisingly clear, given how old they are, and the discussion is interesting. Fritz Leiber's comments are, in my opinion, among the most notable, especially in light of the fact that Lovecraft read an early draft of the Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser story, "The Adept's Gambit," As I said, if you have the time, it's well worth your time.

Dream-Quest: Death & Return

This is the second preview post of my Dream-Quest project. As I said on Tuesday, I'll generally keep this project segregated from the other work that appears on this blog regularly, but I wanted to let readers know of its existence in case, like me, you have a hankering for a Lovecraftian fantasy roleplaying game.

Campaign Updates: Catching Up

Lest anyone be concerned: all three of the ongoing campaigns I'm currently refereeing continue, but I simply haven't had the time to write any posts providing updates of what's happening in each of them until now. In fact, so many sessions have occurred since my last update that this post is going to gloss over some of the finer details in the interests of brevity. I suspect few readers will mind. However, if there's something that's unclear or about which you wish to know more, leave a comment and I'll do my best to answer your query. 

Barrett's Raiders

Despite Michael's admonitions, Vadim revealed to Lt. Col. Orlowski the truth about his background and his connection to Michael. Strictly, he was not a prisoner of war but a military defector. A doctor by training, Vadim had been drafted to serve in a unit of the Red Army's chemical troops. While there, he learned of a project to unleash a cereal crop pathogen on the United States with the intention of fostering famine and civil unrest. As a doctor and man of conscience, Vadim saw this as a war crime in the making. He used his rank and position to obtain copies of certain documents pertaining to this project and fled his unit, hoping to make contact with someone in the West to whom he might give this information.

That contact turned out to be Michael, a deep cover CIA agent in Eastern Poland, who immediately recognized the value of the documents Vadim possessed. He promised to get Vadim first to safety, the GRU hot on his heels, and then to American lines, so that his information might be put to good use. Now that they were both on the other side of the Atlantic, Vadim felt it was the time to reveal what he knew and make every effort to aid American officials – military or civilian – who could make good use of it. 

This conviction is at the root of a conflict within the characters' unit. As a CIA agent, Michael is pledged to support President Broward and his government in Omaha. Though traveling with soldiers loyal to USMEA, his ultimate loyalty lies with the reconstituted civilian authority of the USA. Orlowski has tolerated Michael's position, because of how steadfastly he had aided his men in Poland and, truth be told, harbors some qualms about USMEA himself. At the same time, he is not interested in going out of his way to cross his superior officers or otherwise do anything to undermine them. 

Vadim is likewise grateful to Michael for his aid in getting him to America. Though now an American citizen under the provisions of AR 000-00 as adjudicated by V Corps HQ, he cared little for the politics of the post-war USA. From his perspective, all he wished to do was share his documents widely with as many people as possible, in the hope that they could counter the pathogen and spare America from famine at this critical moment. On this point, he was adamant.

Col. Franks, CO of Fort Pickett, recommended that Orlowski and his unit seek out Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Tennessee. That's where many of the scientists and doctors from Fort Detrick were transferred after the nuclear attack on DC and Maryland in 1997. If anyone could make good use of Vadim's information, it was them. To calm Michael, Orlowski authorized the creation of a copy of Vadim's notes, so that they could be shared with whomever he wishes. At that, the unit then set off west toward Oak Ridge.

Dolmenwood

The characters set off into the region of the swamp known as the Flotsam Pools, after all the small pools of strange debris that had arisen along the banks of the nearby river. Led by Waldra, they made good progress through this unpleasant terrain before a group of bog corpses appeared. Lumbering through the muck, they attacked the group. Sir Clement leapt into action and handled the bulk of these foul undead, while his companions kept at a distance and attacked with missiles. The menace defeated, Waldra and her blood hound (Joremey) picked up the sent of Emelda, which led them to a strange hut by the river.

Exploring the hut, which sat on stilts, neither Alvie nor Marid found any evidence of Emelda. In fact, they found very little evidence of anything other than the possessions of an aristocrat down on his luck. Not long thereafter, an elderly longhorn Breggle appeared, advancing through the river's water. Identifying himself as Sir Tekwell Onehorn (on account of his single horn), he claimed to be living in seclusion, lest his "many admirers" continue to harry him. When asked about Emelda or the Hag, he was evasive, leading Sir Clement to be suspicious of him.

Eventually, Tekwell offered to lead the characters to the borders of the Hag's domain, the location of which he admitted under some duress. Approaching that locale, with its green mist and strange sounds, the characters were beset by black tentacles that seemingly grew from the ground, trying to snatch them. Tekwell was an early victim of the tentacles but, fortunately for him, Sir Clement bore no grudge against him. With the help of his companions, the tentacles were defeated and Tekwell saved. The grateful Breggle then admitted that he had not come to the swamp to avoid his celebrity but because he'd fallen from grace in service to a high Breggle lord. Inspired by Clement's bravery, he vowed to lead them directly to the Hag, which he did.

The Hag's dwelling was a floating hut, guarded by two ogres. Sir Clement challenged them to a fight, which they accepted. Initially, the fight went badly for Clement, despite the assistance of his comrades. However, Tekwell proved surprisingly effective and played a major role in slaying both the ogres. Next, the characters decided they needed to find a way into the hut, since it was some 10 feet above them. Clement placed Alvie on his shoulders, who attempted to reach and open the door through the use of a rope.

Just as he did so, the Hag opened the door, her eyes goggling. She looked down at Alvie and smiled, "Thief-son, you may come in. The rest of you, begone!" Reluctantly, Alvie agreed to enter, surreptitiously tying his rope to the handle of the hut's door. Just as he entered, Sir Clement grabbed Marid and threw the grimalkin enchanter headlong into the Hag's home, just as its door slammed shut.

House of Worms

Táksuru had not only sent the characters on their way to Avanthár but also provided them with an ancient device that would temporarily deactivate some of its external defenses, allowing them to make use of an auxiliary entrance. Once inside, however, the defenses would soon reactivate and they would not be able to leave by the same means. This was a one-way trip into one of the most well protected and secret locales in all of Tsolyánu, perhaps all of Tékumel. The only way out was through. One way or another, the members of the House of Worms clan would soon end their adventures.

The auxiliary entrance was located inside a rise near the Mssúma River, well hidden except to those, like the characters, who knew of its presence. Kirktá made use of the device Táksuru had given them, which opened a door disguised as a rockface. Beyond was a huge, vaulted chamber overgrown with weird vegetation. Everywhere were small pillars made of a strange crystalline material. Above, portions of the ceiling flickered with peculiar lighting – a reminder that Avanthár had once been some kind of fortress from the Ancients and would undoubtedly contain many examples of technology from before the Time of Darkness.

Thus began an extensive exploration of these forgotten, subterranean levels of Avanthár, in the hopes of locating the prison of the One Other, assuming it even existed. The characters then proceeded to move carefully from one chamber to another, ever mindful of the dangers they might encounter. One room contained a series of "windows" that seem to depict possible/alternate futures, not all of them pleasant. Another housed shadowy reflections of the characters lying in ambush. And another still seemed to be an armory or repository of some kind. For the most part, the characters avoided doing anything too bold in these chambers, lest they activate a trap or defense mechanism of some kind.

Eventually, though, their luck ran out and they came to a hallway with an energy barrier that allowed on Kirktá to pass through it. A voice in an ancient tongue – translated by an eye of incomparable understanding – stated the following if anyone else attempted this, "Incompatible genetic signature. Further access denied." Clearly, at least some of Avanthár was keyed to Tlakotáni DNA, meaning only Kirktá could proceed. This was not really an option, so much time was spent trying to determine a way to circumvent the system. They eventually succeeded in this and continued to advance.

One of the more worrisome aspects of their advance was the discovery, in multiple places, that Prince Dhich'uné was already in Avanthár himself, possibly racing toward the same destination ahead of them. Dead Sárku troops attested to this, as did the charred body of Jayárgo, Dhich'uné's top lieutenant. As the characters pondered this, they realized that it made sense Dhich'úne was already here, as he had been conspicuously absent in Béy Sü during the build-up of Eselné's troops. Clearly, Dhich'uné felt that the real battle was here, beneath the emperor's palace and that nothing less than reaching the prison of the One Other would secure the Petal Throne. Needless to say, the characters soon hastened their steps.

Interview: Mike Mearls

I've known Mike Mearls for a long time. We both toiled in the freelancer salt mines back in the late '90s and early 2000s, but Mike managed to make the leap to full-time game designer that I never did. Until 2023, he was employed by Wizards of the Coast, where he worked on Dungeons & Dragons in both its Fourth and Fifth Editions, rising to the post of the latter's Creative Director. After WotC, Mike went to Chaosium as Executive Producer of RPGs before recently being hired by Asmodee's as its new head. 

One of Mike's last projects at Chaosium was Cthulhu by Torchlight, which brings aspects of H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos into Dungeons & Dragons Fifth Edition. I recently asked Mike some questions about Cthulhu by Torchlight and its design, which he very kindly answered.

1. With Cthulhu by Torchlight, you've gone from developing the Fifth Edition of Dungeons & Dragons to adapting those same rules for cosmic horror. What challenges did that pose, philosophically or mechanically?

The biggest challenge was figuring out how to approach horror in modern D&D. 5e sets the characters up as heroes taking on powerful enemies early in the game. Trying to make the characters feel weak or powerless runs against the game’s design, and I’m not sure that gamers playing 5e want that. If they wanted the full Call of Cthulhu experience, they could just play that game. The key was finding a way to make Mythos entities distinct without leaning into making them just more powerful than other creatures. With how D&D 5e scales, a tougher monster just has a higher Challenge Rating.

I also wanted to include a mechanic that evoked sanity from CoC without duplicating that game directly, again to preserve a more heroic feel. To that end, I took the concept of passions from the latest edition of RuneQuest and Pendragon and brought them into 5e. A passion in Cthulhu by Torchlight explains why your character charges headfirst into danger. It gives you a reason why your character pushes dangerous spots that even a hardened adventurer would avoid.

2. What was the core idea behind Cthulhu by Torchlight? Was it more about bringing Mythos horror to 5e or exploring how 5e could stretch into horror-adjacent modes?

The idea was to lean into the Mythos as a threat fully rooted in 5e’s approach to heroic fantasy, with some extra flourishes to make it stand out. There are two main ways the book does that.

First, it includes a framework for building mysteries and investigation into 5e. It’s a style of play that is common to Call of Cthulhu, so it felt like a no-brainer to bring that to D&D.

Second, the monsters in the book dabble in mechanics that you usually only see in really powerful 5e creatures. Stuff like legendary actions and legendary resistance show up a lot more often in Mythos creatures, especially at lower levels. It’s obviously not horror, but throwing 5e characters into the deep end of the pool helps create a sense of danger and threat that the Mythos brings to the table.

3. The inclusion of passions is a striking choice. What specifically inspired their use and how do they interact with the theme of cosmic horror as opposed to the courtly drama of Pendragon?

It all started with the realization that a lot of D&D players approach the game from a tactical mindset. They weigh options based on risk and reward. If you apply that calculation to the Mythos, the typical adventurer stays home.

I wanted a simple mechanical hook that explains why an adventurer steps into a creepy, abandoned mansion. Horror is filled with examples of characters who let their obsessions override their common sense. Thinking of Pendragon, with its elegant mechanics that create situations where a knight’s nature becomes their worst enemy, felt like a great match. Plus, I’ll jump on any excuse to take a design cue from Greg Stafford.

4. Meanwhile, the "dreadful insight" mechanic replaces insanity with obsession. What was your thinking behind this shift and how does it change the player experience of a Mythos-corrupted character?

I’ve played a lot of D&D over the years. One of the game’s strengths is its ability to cater to a lot of different players at one table. Dreadful insights are designed to shift how a character acts based on their exposure to the Mythos, but in a way that lets players find their comfort level.

Someone really into roleplay might take an insight and run with it, using it to color everything their character does. Another player who focuses on mechanics can use it strictly by its mechanical definition as a passion, an option that can give them some mechanical benefits if they follow it.

5. The Mythos often centers on helplessness in the face of the unknowable. How do you reconcile that with the more heroic power curve of 5e?

That’s one element of the Mythos that I had to leave by the wayside. D&D is very much a game where the players determine their own fate, and helplessness is obviously a bad match for that. I leaned into the idea that the characters are the one force that can stand up to the Mythos. I took a lot of inspiration from Ramsey Campbell’s fantasy stories, specifically his Ryre stories. Ryre is basically your classic sword and sorcery wanderer looking for wealth, and he ends up matched against eldritch horrors. What I love about those stories is how much Ryre disrupts things. He comes into an area where something truly Wrong is tolerated or endured and puts an end to it. That felt like a good starting point for mixing D&D with the Mythos. 

6. You’ve converted Mythos tomes and creatures to 5e. Did you find you had to reinterpret anything significantly to make them fit without losing their alien menace?

The hardest part was coming up with specific mechanics for D&D. So many Mythos creatures in Call of Cthulhu – quite correctly, to be clear – ask a Keeper to roll a die and kill that many investigators. For D&D, I needed to find some ways to add more texture to them. For entities like Dagon, I tried to think of how they would wreak havoc across an area simply by moving through it. I gave them abilities designed to make it seem like a natural disaster had swept over an area. Hopefully that gives DMs a clear sense of what’s at stake.

7. Did working on Mythos material change how you think about fantasy in general? What does horror make possible in fantasy RPGs that more traditional adventure sometimes doesn't?

In a lot of ways, this book synthesized a lot of what I’ve been thinking about fantasy. I mentioned Ramsey Campbell earlier, and his fantasy stories have been a big influence on me. Working on RuneQuest and Glorantha with Jeff Richard over the past year has also pulled me into a more mythic approach to things.

I think horror, with its direct refutation of the rational and scientific that sometimes bleeds into D&D, is a good way to bring a more mythic feel to a campaign. There’s always an urge to bring the rational and scientific to D&D. Look at all the "Ecology of …" articles that showed up in Dragon magazine over the years.

Horror refutes the idea that we can rationally measure, understand, and control the universe. I think that element is key to keep fantasy powerful and vital. There’s an impulse in gaming to pile layer upon layer of explanation on top of everything. Players want to ask why and get a good answer. I think that undermines what makes fantasy interesting and vital. Horror is a good excuse to pull that away and instead focus on the mythic, the idea that the world is far more malleable and contextual than we might want it to be.

8. What lessons from your previous time working on D&D did you bring into Cthulhu by Torchlight and were there any assumptions you had to leave behind?

The biggest lesson was to include an option that let players turn into a cat. This is the third time I’ve done that in a book, and I always see gamers excited about it. We have four cats, and there’s something aspirational to how they are domesticated animals that somehow run our household.

A funny assumption I had to leave behind – that I knew all the rules! It’s been years since I wrote anything for D&D, and I was lucky enough to work with two people who are absolute experts at the D&D system. Ian Pace developed the rules and nailed down the technical end of the manuscript, making sure that everything matched the D&D house style and that our rules synched with the D&D rulebooks. Chris Honkala, also known as Treantmonk on YouTube, brought his deep understanding of the D&D system to the project. He whipped the game mechanics into shape, making sure that they matched up with the power level of the game and would work well within the context of high level play.

9. The readership of this blog is obviously more geared toward earlier editions of D&D. Do you think that Cthulhu by Torchlight would still be of interest to players and referees of those older versions of the game and, if so, in what way?

If you play AD&D, Shadowdark, B/X, or OSE, I think the book still has a lot of value for you. The monsters and Mythos tomes need adjusting to get their numbers in the right place, but the general direction of the effects should provide plenty of fodder for DMs. Passions and dreadful insights can copy across to those takes on D&D almost directly, with maybe some tweaks to get the benefits of a passion to match up with your specific D&D-like.

Even with their grittier feel and less forgiving mechanics, I think earlier editions would benefit the most from using the monster design as a starting point for a conversion.

Dream-Quest: Character Origins

This is the first proper post about the Dream-Quest project I alluded to yesterday, for those of you who are interested. Like my other RPG projects, I'm keeping this one segregated from what I write here daily at Grognardia, especially now that The Shadow over August is drawing to a close soon. However, from time to time, I'll still make a post like this in order to remind readers about the existence of Dream-Quest and its progress.

More HPL in Astounding Stories

A story by H.P. Lovecraft appeared twice in the pages of Astounding Stories, the first of which was At the Mountains of Madness, serialized over three consecutive issues (February–April 1936). Later that same year, in June, another HPL story appeared, "The Shadow Out of Time," which is, in some ways, a thematic sequel to At the Mountains of Madness. (They both feature Professor William Dyer of Miskatonic University, for example).

Like its predecessor, "The Shadow Out of Time" was published with multiple illustrations, several of which are quite worthy of examination, like the one that appears opposite the first page of the story. Here, you can see two examples of the Great Race.

The next two illustrations depict several non-human species Professor Peaslee presumably encounters while a guest of the Great Race. Take note of the creature in the middle, which is similar, though not identical, to the artwork of the Old Ones (Elder Things) that had appeared in previous issues.

The checkerboard flooring in these illustrations is quite striking, though I don't believe Lovecraft's text suggests anything at all like it. In fact, as I recall, the floor is made up of octagonal stones. 

Here, we see the Great Race again. I find the fact that, despite their advanced technology, they still use books – and ones suitably large for their size. To be clear, this is a detail that Lovecraft himself includes in the story, so it's not an embellishment of the artist. That doesn't make it any less silly, though.

Lovecraft the Fantasist

When most people think of H.P. Lovecraft, I imagine most of them think of cosmic horror, with its visions of an indifferent universe, ancient alien gods, and humanity’s fragile place within the vast gulfs of space and time. They're not wrong to make that connection. After all, it’s the foundation of HPL's reputation and the source of his continued influence.

However, it’s only one side of him.

Alongside "The Call of Cthulhu" and At the Mountains of Madness, Lovecraft also wrote tales that are not horror at all but fantasy adventures after the fashion of Lord Dunsany or The Arabian Nights. These are the stories of the so-called "Dream Cycle" – "The White Ship," "The Doom That Came to Sarnath," "The Cats of Ulthar," and, of course, The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, as well as many more. 

These stories are not about terror and despair but about journeys, quests, and the exploration of strange lands. Lovecraft's recurring literary alter ego, Randolph Carter, sails with merchants from far ports, climbs mountains to speak with gods, and braves enchanted cities. He is, in every sense, a pulp fantasy protagonist, however much his adventures unfold in dream. Likewise, Basil Elton, the protagonist of "The White Ship," travels to exotic islands “where dwell all the dreams and thoughts of beauty that come to men once and then are forgotten.” It is less a tale of horror than a fantastical voyage into the unknown, reminiscent of the voyages of Sinbad or Jason and the Argonauts.

Viewed in this light, The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath looks very much like a full-fledged fantasy quest. Carter’s journey is replete with allies and adversaries, strange locales, and even battles. At one point, he sails “past the basalt pillars of the West,” at another he becomes entangled in the politics of Ulthar and the ghouls beneath the earth. His is a perilous but wondrous quest:

“Carter resolved to go with bold entreaty whither no man had gone before, and dare the icy deserts through the dark to the Cold Waste where Unknown Kadath veiled in cloud and crowned with unimagined stars holds secret and nocturnal the onyx castle of the Great Ones.”

It is difficult to read such passages and not see the outlines of a RPG adventure. Here are dangers, quests, treasures, and mysteries aplenty – all the standard ingredients of fantasy roleplaying, simply flavored with Lovecraft’s dreamlike melancholy.

Even Lovecraft’s shorter dream tales carry the same sense of fantasy adventure. In "The Doom That Came to Sarnath," we hear of an ancient city destroyed for its hubris, a lost civilization waiting to be explored by bold wanderers. In "The Cats of Ulthar," a law is established through the agency of uncanny allies, reminding us of the strange but binding rules that often govern a mythic setting. These are not horror stories in the usual sense at all but fragments of a larger imagined world, glimpses into a fantasy setting that could be as rich as Howard's Hyborian Age or Tolkien's Middle-earth.

Despite having certain similar trappings, like swords, sorcery, and epic struggles, Lovecraft’s Dreamlands tales have a somewhat softer focus. There are more quests and voyages than outright battles, more enchantment and peril rather than the struggle between good and evil. Where Howard’s Hyborian Age shows readers a world of raw survival and Tolkien’s Middle-earth a world of moral conflict, the Dreamlands are realms of longing, beauty, and half-remembered wonder. HPL's heroes rarely slay monsters to claim kingdoms. More often, they seek hidden truths, forbidden cities, or the distant gods of Earth.

Even so, there are similarities, too. Like Howard, Lovecraft peopled the Dreamlands with decadent civilizations, perilous sorceries, and monstrous foes. Like Tolkien, he gives us a secondary world with its own geography, history, and laws. The difference is perhaps one of emphasis. Howard’s heroes carve their fates with the sword, Tolkien’s with the burden of virtue, and Lovecraft’s with the dreamer’s restless desire to glimpse what lies just beyond the horizon.

It’s easy to imagine a roleplaying campaign shaped by these differences. A Dreamlands campaign would not be about conquering kingdoms like Conan, or saving the world like Frodo, but about exploration, discovery, and the pursuit of strange and beautiful mysteries. Characters would bargain with cats, ally with ghouls, cross seas to forgotten isles, and climb into the heavens in search of Kadath. Victory would mean glimpsing the ineffable, not necessarily surviving with treasure in hand.

Lovecraft the horror writer gets plenty of attention. Lovecraft the fantasist deserves some, too.

Lovecraft the Blogger

One of the curiosities of H.P. Lovecraft’s literary career is how little of his work was actually published during his lifetime. Only a modest number of stories appeared under his byline in Weird Tales or elsewhere. Despite this, his typewriter was rarely still. He was, after all, a writer, and writing, as any writer will tell you, is not something one can simply turn off.

What makes this paradox even more striking is the sheer volume of his correspondence. Lovecraft is estimated to have written somewhere between 60,000 and 100,000 letters. The exact number is impossible to know, since fewer than 10% survive today. Even if we take the lower estimate, it still makes him one of the most prolific epistolarians of the 20th century. These were not perfunctory notes dashed off in haste. Many ran to dozens of pages, dense with his thoughts on history, politics, philosophy, architecture, literature, science, and, of course, his own dreams and nightmares. For many of his correspondents, a letter from Lovecraft was less a personal communiqué than a miniature essay.

It was in these letters, more than in his published tales, that Lovecraft revealed himself most fully. Through them we glimpse the breadth of his interests, the peculiarities of his mind, his recurring dreams, his everyday concerns, and, inevitably, his darker and less creditable opinions. If his fiction shows us his esthetic vision, his correspondence shows us the man behind it.

Perhaps I am biased because of my own proclivities, but Lovecraft’s letters remind me of blogging. He had no blog, of course, but his endless correspondence functioned in much the same way. The letter was his medium of self-expression, his way of thinking aloud to an audience that was at once personal and diffuse. Many of his letters were, in fact, shared among friends or passed from hand to hand, much as a blog post today might be reposted, linked, or shared across social media.

Nor was this his first experiment with a pre-digital mode of communication. Before his vast correspondence, Lovecraft had already been active in something that feels strikingly like a low-tech precursor to blogging, namely, the world of amateur journalism and the Amateur Press Associations (APAs). In the 1910s, he was deeply involved with the United Amateur Press Association (UAPA), editing its official organ, The United Amateur, and publishing some of his earliest fiction and essays there. As anyone familiar with the early history of roleplaying games knows, an APA is a kind of distributed network. Members submit their work, which is then collated, printed, and mailed out as a collective periodical. In the pre-digital age, this was often how people with literary ambitions, eccentric opinions, or obscure interests found one another and shared their work. For Lovecraft, the UAPA provided a forum, an audience, and, most importantly, a community.

It’s not hard to see the connection. To be anachronistic, the UAPA was Lovecraft’s early “platform,” while his letters became his lifelong “feed.” Both offered him a way to connect, exchange ideas, and keep writing, whether or not the commercial magazines accepted his fiction. That’s one of the reasons we know Lovecraft better than we know most of his contemporaries. His fiction reveals his artistic ideals, but his correspondence and amateur journalism reveal his mind. Just as blogs today offer insight into their authors’ lives, passions, and obsessions, so too do Lovecraft’s letters and UAPA writings.

I’ve often thought of Grognardia in similar terms. This blog has never been my fiction, nor even my formal criticism, however much I’ve sometimes tried to make it so. Instead, it is an extended conversation with others who share my interests. Lovecraft would have understood that impulse. He may have written comparatively few stories, but he never stopped writing, leaving behind a record of himself more complete than almost any of his contemporaries. That’s not a bad model for the rest of us who also feel compelled to share our thoughts, fears, and dreams with others.

Pulp Fantasy Library: "The Music of Erich Zann"

First published in The National Amateur (March 1922), “The Music of Erich Zann” is one of H.P. Lovecraft’s most haunting short stories, and one he himself ranked just behind “The Colour Out of Space” as a personal favorite. It's easy to see why. Unlike his larger, more expansive tales, this story operates on a smaller, more intimate scale and it is precisely this narrow focus that gives it so much of its enduring power. Though not literally derived from a dream, as several of Lovecraft’s stories were, it nevertheless possesses a distinctly dreamlike quality, a quality that, I would argue, heightens rather than diminishes its effect.

The plot is straightforward. A poor student takes a room on the Rue d’Auseil, a street so narrow and steep that it seems scarcely real. Indeed, the narrator later admits to the "singular and perplexing" fact that he has never been able to locate the Rue d'Auseil again. It's within this uncanny setting that he meets his neighbor, Erich Zann, an aged, mute viol player whose nightly music he finds as compelling as it is disturbing.

The tale that follows is less concerned with action than with revelation or perhaps more accurately, with the withholding of revelation. The narrator is drawn to Zann’s strange playing, which he describes as “weird harmonies” and “vibrations suggesting nothing on this globe of earth.” Lovecraft underscores the uncanny not by explanation but by stressing its alienness, evoking a sound beyond human experience. This method of suggestion – describing the indescribable by circling it – is one Lovecraft would refine throughout his writing career, but it's already well in evidence.

Zann himself is an enigma and his muteness only deepens the mystery. He can communicate only by gesture or, in one crucial moment, through a note. He is portrayed as a man consumed by terror but equally by duty. His music is not artistic expression but desperate necessity. As the narrator observes in one of the story’s most chilling lines, “He was trying to make a noise; to ward something off or drown something out – what, I could not imagine, awesome though I felt it must be.” Zann’s nightly performances are revealed as acts of resistance against an unnamed intrusion, his bow and strings a fragile bulwark against the void.

The climax comes when the narrator, finally left alone in Zann’s garret, dares to look out of the high barred window. Expecting to see the city below, he instead beholds “only the blackness of space illimitable; unimagined space alive with motion and music, and having no semblance to anything on earth.” The juxtaposition of Zann’s frenzied playing with this abyssal vision conveys intrusion from Beyond, but Lovecraft never specifies what lies outside. The horror is not defined but suggested, leaving the narrator (and the reader) with only a glimpse into the abyss before the curtain falls.

What makes “The Music of Erich Zann” remarkable is not simply its atmosphere, but its economy. The tale unfolds in a handful of tightly constructed scenes. There are no digressions into history, no catalogs of forbidden tomes, no elaborate mythological scaffolding. Instead, it is a study in mood, memory, and the limits of human perception. Even in its restraint, however, the story anticipates many of Lovecraft’s enduring themes, such as the fragility of the human mind when confronted with the unknown, the inadequacy of language to capture the truly alien, and the inescapable persistence of memory. The disappearance of the Rue d’Auseil when the narrator later searches for it reinforces the dreamlike quality and denies any possibility of closure. Both the place and its terrible secret have been effaced, leaving only recollection, an echo, much like Zann’s music itself.

Despite how early it was written, “The Music of Erich Zann” remains one of Lovecraft’s most polished and effective works. Its imagery is unforgettable: the steep vanishing street, the mute musician, the barred garret window opening onto infinity. More than a century after its publication, it continues to demonstrate that Lovecraft’s genius lay not only in constructing elaborate mythologies of cosmic horror but also in crafting stories where suggestion, atmosphere, and ambiguity achieve the same, if not greater, effect.

Interview: Geoffrey McKinney

The release of Geoffrey McKinney's Carcosa, an imaginary fifth supplement to OD&D, in 2008 caused quite a stir at the time – so much that I devoted four posts to reviewing it on this blog. What set Carcosa apart was its singular vision of old school fantasy roleplaying seen through the lens of an idiosyncratic interpretation of H.P. Lovecraft. Since I was already devoting the entirety of this month to HPL and his legacy, I thought it might be interesting to ask McKinney a few questions about Lovecraft, Carcosa, and roleplaying games. 

1. What first drew you to the works of H. P. Lovecraft, and how did they shape your vision for Carcosa?

In the spring of 1980, I bought the D&D Basic Set (with the rule book edited by Dr. Holmes and with module B2) and the Monster Manual, and I started playing D&D with some friends who had already been playing for a few months. In the second half of August 1980, I had enough money to buy the Players Handbook, but when I got to the toy store, I decided to instead buy the brand-new Deities & Demigods Cyclopedia (DDG). The Cthulhu Mythos section melted my 10-year-old brain. The gloppy Erol Otus illustrations are still my favorite Mythos illustrations of all, and his Shub-Niggurath is one of the best D&D illustrations of any sort.

The dark, mysterious text accompanying Otus’s art deepened my fascination. In fact, the sixth word of the first sentence left me unsure whether the Mythos was a 20th-century creation or whether some unhealthy ancient men actually believed in and worshiped these beings: “The Cthulhu Mythos was first revealed in a group of related stories by the American writer H. P. Lovecraft.”

The six pages of the Cthulhu Mythos immediately seeped into our D&D games, adding a generous helping of Cthulhoid gods and monsters; dark magics to conjure, dominate, and banish them; and human sacrifice.

Carcosa is basically D&D seen through the lens of “DDG’s Cthulhu Mythos, all the time”.

2. In what ways do you see Carcosa as diverging from Lovecraft’s cosmic horror, and in what ways do you think it reinforces it?

Carcosa is definitely the version of the Cthulhu Mythos presented in Deities & Demigods, and as such does not strive to be “true” to Lovecraft’s stories. Carcosa is pulpy, sword & sorcery D&D fun. Sure, the setting is dark and bleak, but you can (for example) blow Cthulhu away with technetium pulse cannons rather than cower and hide.

3. You incorporate many of the Great Old Ones and other Mythos entities. Did you approach these beings differently from how Chaosium might?

All the monsters in Carcosa were taken from the 1974 D&D game, inspired by the Cthulhu Mythos section of Deities & Demigods, or they crawled out of the dark corners of my own imagination. I have never played Chaosium’s Call of Cthulhu, so I am not familiar enough with it to compare it with Carcosa.

4. The setting of Carcosa feels like a fusion of Lovecraft, planetary romance, and pulp science fiction. Do you think Lovecraft’s legacy fits naturally into that blend, or did you have to reshape it?

I like to refer to Carcosa as “weird science-fantasy”. Virtually everything in it grew from the seeds in the Cthulhu Mythos section of Deities & Demigods. Carcosa’s psionics sprang from DDG’s description of the Great Race. Carcosa’s high-tech grew from DDG’s descriptions of the Primordial Ones and of the Great Race. Of course, Lovecraft’s “The Shadow out of Time” and At the Mountains of Madness include these elements. I would not say I reshaped Lovecraft’s legacy but rather fleshed it out.

5. Do you think there is room for wonder in Lovecraft’s cosmos or is everything inevitably tainted by dread? Does Carcosa reflect that?

There is definitely room for wonder in Lovecraft’s cosmos, particularly when looked at through Dunsany’s Pegana and some of his other early tales. My own favorite of my books is the Carcosa module, The Mountains of Dream. I tried to infuse it with that Dunsanian/Lovecraftian sense of wonder and awe.

6. In traditional D&D, magic is a tool. In Carcosa, it is a moral and metaphysical hazard. How much of that came from Lovecraft, and how much from your own take on sorcery?

At risk of sounding like a broken record, it came from the Cthulhu Mythos section of Deities & Demigods. Of DDG’s seventeen pantheons, only the gods of the Cthulhu pantheon are unanimous in demanding human sacrifice (DDG, pp. 136-137). Couple that with DDG’s description on page 48 of the spells contained in the Necronomicon. For example, “It would appear that spells are given for summoning all of the Old Ones and their minions, and some spells for their control and dismissal, although these latter are not always effective. The spells are very long and complicated, and not entirely comprehensible without long study and research.” Carcosa’s sorcery attempts to flesh out these four paragraphs from DDG.

7. How did you approach the balance between evoking Lovecraftian horror and making a setting that is actually playable and engaging at the table?

The gods, monsters, sorcery, and setting itself of Carcosa evoke Lovecraftian horror just by existing. The player characters can arm themselves with advanced technology and/or with sorcery and psionics to lay waste to the blasphemous abominations that are practically everywhere on Carcosa. It is not about being afraid of Cthulhu and his ilk. Instead, the player characters can strive to amass enough might and firepower that Cthulhu and everything else becomes afraid of them.

8. Would you ever consider returning to Carcosa or Lovecraftian themes in a future project or is that ground you feel you have already covered?

Generally speaking, every time a DM puts something such as purple worms, black puddings, mind flayers, Juiblex, Kuo-Toans, gibbering mouthers, slaadi, etc. into his campaign, he is injecting some good old Lovecraftian horror into his game. As for me writing additional Carcosa books, that is out of my hands. If the Muses sing to me again the dark songs of Carcosa, then yes. We must wait and see what implacable Fate decrees for the future.

9. Have your thoughts on Lovecraft’s work or worldview changed over the years?

I have read and re-read Lovecraft since the early 1990s. While I enjoy his works as much as ever, I have come to agree with Lovecraft that his four favorite authors (Lord Dunsany, Algernon Blackwood, Arthur Machen, and M. R. James) are even better. I highly recommend the following:

by Lord Dunsany:

• The Gods of Pegana
• Time and the Gods
• The Sword of Welleran and Other Stories
• A Dreamer’s Tales
• The King of Elfland’s Daughter

by Arthur Machen:

• “The Great God Pan”
• “The Inmost Light”
• “The Shining Pyramid”
• The Three Impostors
• “The Red Hand”
• The Hill of Dreams
• “Ornaments in Jade”
• “The Great Return”

by M. R. James:

• Ghost Stories of an Antiquary
• More Ghost Stories of an Antiquary
• A Thin Ghost and Others
• A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost Stories

by Algernon Blackwood:

A great many of his weird stories, preeminent of which are:

• “The Willows”
• “The Wendigo”
• Incredible Adventures

Lovecraft and Adventure Fantasy

My friend and fellow creator, Zzarchov Kowolski, wrote a very interesting – and, in my opinion, largely correct – post over on his Patreon entitled "Lovecraft and Adventure Fantasy." Don't worry, it's a public post, so you don't have to become a member to read it. Of course, Zzarchov makes good stuff worthy of your support, so you should probably become a member anyway (modesty precludes my bidding you to do the same for me). 

I mention this because some of what Zzarchov writes in his post dovetails with things I'll be saying in an upcoming post of my own and thought it'd provide additional food for thought on a topic that's increasingly becoming near and dear to me. More on that next week!

The Dream-Ship Captain

The Dream-Ship Captain by James Maliszewski

A Dreamlands Character Class in Honor of Lovecraft's Birthday

Read on Substack

HPL in Astounding Stories

Because of its length, At the Mountains of Madness appeared in three consecutive issues of Astounding Stories (February–April 1936). Each installment featured illustrations (by Howard Brown), noteworthy as some of the earliest artwork connected to a Lovecraft tale. A few are especially significant, as they provide the first published depictions of the Old Ones (Elder Things) and shoggoths.

The first issue from the February 1936 issue shows the base camp of the Lake Expedition, with the city of the Old Ones in the distance.

This issue also includes two illustrations of the Old Ones themselves. 

The March 1936 issue opens with a depiction of not just the Old Ones and their city but also a shoggoth, which looks very similar to the one that appears on the cover of the February issue.

We then get more of both the Old Ones and their city. 

The March 1936 issue contains only a single illustration, again of the city of the Old Ones. At the bottom right, you can see two of the expedition members fleeing the city ahead of the shoggoth (not depicted, so far as I can tell).

In my opinion, these are all really striking illustrations – and apparently Lovecraft agreed. In a letter to August Derleth, he stated that, "The illustrator drew the nameless Entities precisely as I imagined them." Very high praise indeed! 

I'll have more to say about the illustrations from "The Shadow Out of Time," I'll save that for yet another post.

HPL in Weird Tales

While most interested parties nowadays know that H.P. Lovecraft's stories almost all appeared in the pages of pulp magazines during the 1920s and '30s – the vast majority of them in "the Unique Magazine," Weird Tales – what they may not know is that a great many of these appearances were accompanied by illustrations. I posted a couple of these at the start of the month, but I thought readers might enjoy seeing a few more of these, particularly those associated with some of his more famous yarns.

This one, for example, depicts the bayou ceremony described by Inspector Legrasse in "The Call of Cthulhu."

 Here's an imaginative illustration of Wilbur Whateley's twin brother in "The Dunwich Horror."

This piece shows the end of "The Whisperer in Darkness," when Professor Wilmarth finds the face and hands of Henry Akeley left behind in the chair in which he'd been sitting for most of the story. 

Disappointingly, only one Lovecraft-written story ever appeared on the cover of Weird Tales, "Under the Pyramids," but it did so both with a changed title ("Imprisoned with the Pharaohs") and a Harry Houdini byline (no surprise, since HPL had been hired by Houdini to be his ghost writer).

Lovecraft had much better luck in this regard with Astounding Stories, which featured two of his tales on the cover, starting with At the Mountains of Madness, which features what is likely the first ever illustration of a shoggoth.

This was soon followed by "The Shadow Out of Time."

Both of the Astounding appearances also include interior artwork as well, some of which is quite interesting and probably deserving of a separate post.