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Sabledrake Magazine October, 2000
Feature Articles Four Adventures for Call of Cthulhu The Dodgy World of Ear-Recorders
Regular Articles People, Places & Things Just Add Dice It Came from the SlushPile QuickQuests Sincerest Flattery Letters Links Funnies
Serial Fiction
Resources
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A Selection of Poems
Questions for Lovecraft, by John W. BarnesDragon Descending, by Kim Bundy14 Seconds of War, by EmambuMorrigu's Ravens, by Jenna Garcia
Questions for Lovecraft(Copyright John W. Barnes 2000; used by permission)
Improbable as it may seem,I sometimes have damnedest dream:Before me stands the Horror-King,Grandmaster of the Occult-Thing;It's Howard Phillips in the flesh;Perhaps he'll deign to answer me;And then again, perhaps,It would be better yet for me,Better still to let him be …Is life still here, or is it gone?A fragment of a by-gone age,A tattered, crumbly, yellow pageInside the Necronomicon?Do we exist? Are we a dream,A sickly fancy in the mindOf Cthulhu and his monstrous kind?Do we poor humans stand a chance?Could we ever make a teamThat could compete with horrid thingsOf rope and jelly, squirming tubes,And squiddy ooze,With tens of feet,Undreamed-of size,And floating face,A thousand eyes and ghastly wings?We are but fodder, it would seem;Mere gruel for creaturesFrom beyond, from Outer-World,A place so farFrom any sense of where we are.And by the way,Is our world mistAnd dreamy haze?A puff of smoke from better daysThat blows beneath that gnarly GuideWho guards The GateWho with one glance could seal our fate,One glimpse of Whom would drive us mad -Come, H.P., have we been had?As Cthulhu's world lies in his grasp,Does He rule o'er our world as well?Does He still try (as witches tell)To turn it to Primeval Hell?Does He still order fiends to claspOur poor and puny, spindly lives,Choke out our last and dying gasp?Need we approach the fearful Gate?Need we apply the Silver Key?Or, can we simply let things be,And just forget the whole damn'd thing,Retain our minds, while they're yet free?Yes, bypass Gate and Key, and both,Avoid the Guide,That horror'd visage filled with loath,That dreaded, formless Yog-Sothoth!Does Cthulhu care whose fate he twirls?Is He not sick of earthly girls,Brought to Him by his sick'ning priests,Pathetic warlocks, human yeast?The Wilbur Whateleys of our plane,The worst of us, the pure insane?Some final questions I would ask;Some theses I would test and task:Netherworld: a truth or rumor?Is R'lyeh fantasy or fact?And are the Old Ones still intact,Or have they gained a sense of humor?And now, I'd really like some answersTo the questions I have posed;Perhaps you're hiding out in Arkham,Providence, or Dunwich town;Perhaps you think I've been a bore,Perhaps I've turned your grin to frown;Without your answers, I'll still liveAnd prob'ly be the gladder still;It's just that you've blown out the lights,You've piqued our fancies, raised our sights;You are the Wizard of our Oz,You've taught us how to live in dream,Re-animated, we've become!How could we ever become bored?You've given us such charming soulsAs Al-Hazred and Dexter Ward;Yes, unnamable as it may seem,I sometimes have the damnedest dream,And still would like to know for sureJust where you've beenAnd what you've seen;Come on, H. Phillips -Let's come clean!-- copyright John W. Barnes, October 31, 1999Dragon Descendingby Kim Bundy
A Dragon descends in a cloudless sky.His hide glimmers in the morning sunlike the scales of a river salmon,muscles ripple in desperate flexure.Cloud like puffs of breathborne of the frigid air, issuefrom his coppery bowl shaped nostrilsgiving illusions of a fiery whiff.He gives himself over to the air currents.Poised like a gull with wings arceddipping and gliding, circling round, around,tipping side to side at the zephyrs' whim.Thick lips draw up to form a daggered grin.Inhaling deep, he tilts his head to the sunand bellows; and trumpets; and roars.Declaring omnipotence over this airy world.14 Seconds of Warby Emambu
OneTwoNever stopping and yet never movingThe dull uncaring walls of the bunker reflect our moodWe are silent,We are waitingSome pray, some sleepBut we are waitingThreeFourNever stopping and yet never movingThe first wave surges over our lineAnd the silence is gone,A harsh melody remainsWe fight, we struggleBut the dance goes onFiveSixNever stopping and yet never movingThe gun is cool in my hand but I am not coldI can see the fear in your eyes,I can smell the panic in youBut you are my enemy, I know you as evilHow can you have emotionsSevenEightNever stopping and yet never movingI hold the gun to your headI cock the hammer back,My mind is tense and poisedYou are silent, you are waitingBut the dance goes onNineTenNever stopping and yet never moving*Click*The noise is deafening,Hot crimson sprays my faceNine months to create life, nine years to nurture lifeNine seconds to destroy lifeElevenTwelveNever stopping and yet never movingA hot white light erupts in front of meThe light burns my eyes,It attacks my soulAm I dying, is this painWhy do I feel nothingThirteenFourteenNever stopping and yet never movingLife seeps away from my faceSo many tasks unaccomplished,So many questions unansweredI slowly close my eyes, I expel my final breathBut the dance goes onMorrigu's Ravensby Jenna Garcia © October, 2000Her ancient avatarsPerch about our bustling city-Watching the living with the eyes of the dead,Watching, as pagan gargoyles-As the harbingers of doom-Whose eyes never move from us.They wait for that day when we,Shall join her flock, and become asOne of the feathered watchers-One of the avatars,Servicing the dark queen-To eternally watch the livingWith the eyes of the dead.
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