More nonsense from the Barrow-Downs.

H.P. Lovecraft incorporates Sauron into his mythos. Originally posted on What if the Ring was thrown in the ocean?

The paradigm splice from hell

I think I can supply a scenario that plumbs new depths of terror.

Captain Devereaux fired his revolver above the heads of that unwholesome and demented revel; but no authority could quell their blasphemous obsequies. Before our own crew could overcome them they had cast into the waves the golden ring, that cryptic talisman of nighted Mordor.

Before long we subdued them, and gathered from their vessel many items of an indeterminate age and provenance. Strange idols, depicting horrors that were surely the products of deranged minds corrupted in excessive study of the Pnakotic Manuscripts, even the forbidden Necronomicon of Abdul Alhazred. One jade chimera was a figure of nightmare, its base written about with disquieting hieroglyphs that bore no relation to any alphabet known to the most esoteric of antiquaries. And upon the hellish altar where it rested was an immemorial parchment written in the same maddening letters. We heard no sense from the debased wretches who formed the vessel’s crew, save one: he was of a less degraded type than his fellows, and showed some signs of education, being familiar with the Timaeus of Plato and the impenetrable Pennas Nan Goelið of the crazed Anglian Ælfwine. Many of the ravings that he spat at us were no more than the unconnected syllables of the long mad, but he spoke in triumph of the giving of a great tribute that would bring upon the earth a horror long forgotten. This he would not describe save in dark allusion: ‘He has it, who has waited long; and those who once resisted him shall withstand no longer. Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.’

And Harkness the anthropologist, who alone among us had blanched at the site of the idols on that ship of madness, grasped my arm as one possessed, saying: ‘This thing that they have cast into the sea; this ancient relic of evil that even now is sinking to the utmost depths of the deepest ocean, is surely that Ring of which Alhazred wrote: Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul. But if that hideous chart can be believed, then it will come to rest among the ruins of aeon-shadowed R’lyeh itself. By nightfall, Great Cthulhu will have the One Ring!’


Originally posted on If LotR had been written by someone else.

Fëar and Loathing in Minas Morgul by Hunter S. Thompson

We were somewhere around Cirith Ungol on the edge of the Black Land when the pipeweed began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should take the Ring…” And suddenly there was this terrible gurgling all around us and the dark was full of what looked like huge eyes, all swooping towards us, while our hearts were going about a hundred beats-per-minute, Hell-bent for Mordor. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Elbereth! What is that Eru-damned animal?”
Then it was quiet again. My valet was stumbling blindly “What in Angband are you yelling about?” he muttered, staring up at the dark with his eyes closed and covered with what felt like hanging growths. “Never mind,” I said. “It’s your turn to lead.” I hit the brakes and steered myself to the edge of the passage. No point mentioning those eyes, I thought. The poor wight will see them soon enough.
It was almost noon, and we still had more than a hundred miles to go. They would be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to walk it out. Bearer registration for the destruction of the famous One Ring was already underway and we had to get there within twelve days to claim our ride from Gwaihir. A fashionable Elf-Lord in Imaldris had taken care of the reservations… and I was, after all, an amateur Ringbearer; so I had an obligation to destroy the Ring, for good or ill.


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