On the night of the 4th of Neth, the party dreamed of giant cephalopods that died aeons ago. They died on the rare world Xhamen-Dor actually FAILED to excrete into the bowels of Carcosa. But their world died, regardless.

You see, an experiment was attempted.

The name of God was put into writing and distributed to the children of the giant cephalopods. And the name of God spread like wildfire. Each child read the name and experienced the dread and irrevocable consequences. And they took what they’d read to a friend, or a sibling, to ask what it meant, to ask “had they done something wrong? Were they in trouble?” And on and on it went, until the name reached the parents.

The parents were wiser. And stronger. They figured out what they faced. And they stopped the spread. They burned the writing.

But the damage had been done.

Before they went irrevocably insane, those that knew The Name, murdered the children. All of them. So that they could no longer feed the Star Seed. And then they murdered all those left who’d not yet heard, or read, the name. And then they saved themselves and saved their world by engulfing it in an arcane conflagration designed to eliminate any trace of hair… or moss… or fungus or fiber or bone or blot that might contain the consciousness of Xhamen-Dor.

But they failed to understand that just as they dreamed God’s dreams…. God dreamed theirs.

And it launched a microscopic fleck of its essence into the vastness of space. Just as their world burned.

And it flew.

In the darkness.

For ages.

Until it found a gravity well. And life. And consciousness.

And so it began Hastur’s harvest anew.

PRAISE.

First Reference: Chapter 44
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