stars, for he guards the heavenly gates jealously even as he creates and destroys them from moment to moment with his dancing colors.
Truly did the sage Ibn Schacabao write that the face of Yog-Sothoth is the face of the heavens itself; he and the vastness of space are the same, and the turning, interlocked circles of the spheres are the orderly progression of his thoughts, some moving fast and others slowly, even as turn the bands of the astrolabe to mark the motions of the wandering stars. He is seen only by his face; body he has none, for his body is the universe, yet not the very matter of creation but the measurements of angles and distances between, for he is composed of no tangible thing and can only be perceived as a shimmering array of ever-changing colors such as may be seen on the shell of a beetle or the wing of a dragonfly beneath the sun.
He is known by the cults of men that adore his gates as the All In One Who Is One In All. They worship him within stone circles composed of great monoliths, and the chief of these is on the grassy plains of Albion; though its builders have been forgotten, its function is unimpeded, for from it open outward gateways to all reaches of this cosmos and countless lesser gates. It is the great mother of doors, and Yog-Sothoth holds the key. These gates he cannot open wantonly, but only when the stars align and the angles come right for passage. A gate is opened when he appears, and his face of flashing colored spheres, all overlapping and turning one within another at varying rates, is the gate, and the key, and the way. Those who pass through become for a timeless aeon Yog-Sothoth, knowing all things that were, that are, and shall be; but having transited the gate they forget everything save only for a lingering sadness and sense of regret that cannot be set into words; and so profound and enduring is this sorrow that many are those who find life unbearable after opening the face of the transcendent All.
While there are men who have dared to seek glimpses beyond the threshold, and to accept him as a herald, they would have been more prudent to have shunned commerce with him; for as Ibn Schacabao relates, it is written in the Book of Thoth how fatal is the payment for but one glimpse of his face. Neither is it permitted that those who pass through the higher gates ever return, for in the empty spaces transcending our world are patterns of shadow that grasp and bind. The thing that stumbles by night, the wickedness that defies even the Elder Seal, the throng that gather watchfully at the secret portal possessed by each tomb and make themselves fat on what grows out of the corpse within: all these abominations are less than he who guards the gateways, he who will guide the rash traveler that speaks the words rightly beyond all the spheres and into the void of unnamable hungers. For he is called Tawil
At’Umr, the First Ancient One, which the scribe has rendered imperfectly in our tongue as the Prolonged of Life.
When the road of the moon and the road of the sun cross in the heavens, then is Yog-Sothoth exalted and empowered to open the spaces between the stars, and greater still is his power when the sun and moon copulate, and the gateways spawned are his children, for he is sun and moon united in lust. The sweat of the sun falls, but the dew of the moon rises to maintain his balance of turning circles.
This is the invocation, cried out in the tongue of the Old Ones, that calls him at these pregnant times within the circles of stone, having met all requirements of worship and sacrifice:
N’gai, n’gha’ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y’hah!
Yog-Sothoth, Yog-Sothoth, aï!
Yhah, bugg-shoggog, n’gha’ghaa, ngai!
The charm to open the gate is to be inscribed with the seal of the caput draconis and may be voiced following the preliminary summons on either day of the month, for both Head and Tail of the Dragon are times when the heavens are in balance, so that on these days the
Truly did the sage Ibn Schacabao write that the face of Yog-Sothoth is the face of the heavens itself; he and the vastness of space are the same, and the turning, interlocked circles of the spheres are the orderly progression of his thoughts, some moving fast and others slowly, even as turn the bands of the astrolabe to mark the motions of the wandering stars. He is seen only by his face; body he has none, for his body is the universe, yet not the very matter of creation but the measurements of angles and distances between, for he is composed of no tangible thing and can only be perceived as a shimmering array of ever-changing colors such as may be seen on the shell of a beetle or the wing of a dragonfly beneath the sun.
He is known by the cults of men that adore his gates as the All In One Who Is One In All. They worship him within stone circles composed of great monoliths, and the chief of these is on the grassy plains of Albion; though its builders have been forgotten, its function is unimpeded, for from it open outward gateways to all reaches of this cosmos and countless lesser gates. It is the great mother of doors, and Yog-Sothoth holds the key. These gates he cannot open wantonly, but only when the stars align and the angles come right for passage. A gate is opened when he appears, and his face of flashing colored spheres, all overlapping and turning one within another at varying rates, is the gate, and the key, and the way. Those who pass through become for a timeless aeon Yog-Sothoth, knowing all things that were, that are, and shall be; but having transited the gate they forget everything save only for a lingering sadness and sense of regret that cannot be set into words; and so profound and enduring is this sorrow that many are those who find life unbearable after opening the face of the transcendent All.
While there are men who have dared to seek glimpses beyond the threshold, and to accept him as a herald, they would have been more prudent to have shunned commerce with him; for as Ibn Schacabao relates, it is written in the Book of Thoth how fatal is the payment for but one glimpse of his face. Neither is it permitted that those who pass through the higher gates ever return, for in the empty spaces transcending our world are patterns of shadow that grasp and bind. The thing that stumbles by night, the wickedness that defies even the Elder Seal, the throng that gather watchfully at the secret portal possessed by each tomb and make themselves fat on what grows out of the corpse within: all these abominations are less than he who guards the gateways, he who will guide the rash traveler that speaks the words rightly beyond all the spheres and into the void of unnamable hungers. For he is called Tawil
At’Umr, the First Ancient One, which the scribe has rendered imperfectly in our tongue as the Prolonged of Life.
When the road of the moon and the road of the sun cross in the heavens, then is Yog-Sothoth exalted and empowered to open the spaces between the stars, and greater still is his power when the sun and moon copulate, and the gateways spawned are his children, for he is sun and moon united in lust. The sweat of the sun falls, but the dew of the moon rises to maintain his balance of turning circles.
This is the invocation, cried out in the tongue of the Old Ones, that calls him at these pregnant times within the circles of stone, having met all requirements of worship and sacrifice:
N’gai, n’gha’ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y’hah!
Yog-Sothoth, Yog-Sothoth, aï!
Yhah, bugg-shoggog, n’gha’ghaa, ngai!
The charm to open the gate is to be inscribed with the seal of the caput draconis and may be voiced following the preliminary summons on either day of the month, for both Head and Tail of the Dragon are times when the heavens are in balance, so that on these days the
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