Well—this is my farewell to our world. I, you could say, have royally fucked up. And this is why, and very much how, you shouldn’t royally fuck up.
Who am I?
Liam Turner, a pleasure to meet you. I’m from Bloomington, Minnesota, thirty-eight of age, and worked as a police consultant (all irrelevant as you won’t find any trace of me other than these pages).
And before I dig in, some background, my fellow friends.
Beyond time and space lies the Great Old Ones. Cthulhu, Azathoth, Yog-Sothoth, and many others. God-like creatures, aliens of horror. All lurking. All preying. All sleeping. Well, probably sleeping. You hopefully are familiar with these monstrosities, and if you aren’t, buy an omnibus for fuck’s sake. Thirty dollars is worth knowing what revulsions are out there.
They first appeared in stories written by Howard Philips Lovecraft (more widely known as H.P. Lovecraft) and others in the early nineteen-hundreds. Weird horror tales, inspired by their dreams. Written for—“fun.” Now. I know what you’re thinking, fiction, you might say, but I, and many others— disagree. Bet our lives on it in fact. They are stories of non-fiction. Fantastical visions of worlds and things that exist beyond.
Beyond our senses.
Beyond our concepts.
Beyond our reality.
Luckily, to my knowledge, our version of Earth is safe from the Old Ones. They’ve been tucked away, far off in the Dreamlands. But—beyond the Dreamlands, with the wicked Nyarlathotep and the blind idiot god, Azathoth, lies a realm as malign and sometimes more. For beyond the beyond, lies the world of Arkai.
We’re not safe from this world. I mean, if I wasn’t safe, why would you be either?
Almost ready to start, my fellow friends. Just lastly, please remember this!
There are eight realms that make up Arkai, and they're as fantastical as they are poisonous: so beautiful, yet so toxic. It’ll create a painful void in your soul, hungering you for more until you’re nothing left but a husk. A hollow, wishing you could go back to ignorance. Back to working your same old, boring job. But—it’s gone. The job, not the ignorance. I would know, for I fear that I am almost there. A fate brought me to a place worse than death. Brought by a book. Brought by a dancing witch. Brought by a pull of a trigger. Brought by—.
Sorry. Got ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? With a friend of a friend.