I cannot begin to describe the eldritch horrors that awoke that day while we traversed the eternal, arctic waste. The sun – what little showed itself on those white, dreary plains – nearly blinded us with its wicked glare, forcing our eyes to squint so as to nearly render us completely blind. From such a wicked light we could nary see but five feet to our front. The howling wind was our only companion in the snow-bleached wilderness, which incessant howling grew louder and more ominous by the minute, or so it seemed.
MacTavish, one so full of strength of will and might, threw himself to the ground and wailed, a sound not unfamiliar to us, as it was all too reminiscent of the horrific, screeching wind that surrounded our souls with each lumbering step. Duncan followed MacTavish’s lead, as did two others of the company. Their unearthly wailing pieced my mind with gruesome visions of long-forgotten entities. My mind screamed in dreadful fright as it conjured up creatures emerging from the snowy depths before us, although it wasn’t until I had left the place that I realized it had all been in my mind. The wailings of my comrades ceased almost immediately, leaving echoes in the frigid, arctic air. Without a word spoken, our entire company picked themselves up and returned to our ship, still locked in place by solid ice; any fate seemed better than what lay ahead, as evidenced from our minds. The visions of those Great Old Ones sleeping restlessly below the snow’s surface haunted my waking dreams, and the thought of putting my back to that unholy place was the only solace for my frenzied mind.
This story was written as a companion to a review I wrote for a board game expansion called Cthulu War: Windwalker. Check out my review here.