James Gruetzmacher and Ron Shiflet

Overcome with madness, my friend and I,
Partook of rare drugs which opened the door,
To an unholy realm where death may die,
The ancient source of all forbidden lore.

An immense nefarious Titan claw,
Slashes apart the dark, moonlit sky,
As the stars listen in silent awe,
Afar from that eldritch, forboding cry.

In our deep confusion there came a wind,
Carrying death and a charnel stench,
On addled senses we could not depend,
Blindly we stumbled into some dark trench.

As we peered over the edge cautiously,
For the arrival of the baneful Gods,
Bewitched of all arcane propensity,
Manifested as polypoidal globs.

Bereft of reason, in panic we ran,
Even deeper into that dark abyss,
We hid from the things, devising a plan,
But to our ears came a serpentine hiss.

The ground beneath our feet slowly shifted,
As finger-like tentacles grew and reigned,
Over slobbering masses that twisted,
Before hungry death coils that slew and maimed.

From the huge gaping maws we were fleeing,
As the escape route lead into the earth,
Half insane from the things we were seeing,
'Twas the creatures of nightmare, given birth.


© 1997 Edward P. Berglund
"Spawn of Tindalos": © 1997 James Gruetzmacher and Ron Shiflet. All rights reserved.
Graphics © 1997 Old Arkham Graphics Design. All rights reserved. Email to: Corey T. Whitworth.

Created: December 2, 1997; Updated: August 9, 2004