By Donald Tyson
H. P. Lovecraft's compelling personality, Abdul Alhazred, is delivered to existence during this epic story detailing the mad sorcerer's tragic historical past and magical adventures. Alhazred tells his personal existence tale, starting with himself as a negative, good-looking boy in Yemen who draws the eye of the king for his divine ability in poetry. because the courtroom poet, younger Abdul lives a sumptuous lifestyles on the palace, the place he stories necromancy and magic. yet falling in love with the king's daughter ends up in a silly tryst, that's eventually came upon. As punishment, Abdul is tortured, brutally mutilated, and forged into the wasteland, often called the Empty house. combating madness, he joins a tribe of ghouls and learns forbidden secrets and techniques from a stranger known as Nyarlathotep. therefore starts his downward spiral into wickedness. Renamed Alhazred, he escapes the wilderness and embarks on a quest to revive his physique and reunite along with his real love. touring around the historical global and excellent geographical regions, he's hounded through foes and stricken by the calls for of his darkish lord.
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Extra resources for Alhazred: Author of the Necronomicon
He lifted his arm, all except the fingers of his hand concealed within his long sleeve, and I shrank away in fear, but some power compelled me to walk toward his throne on stiffened knees. When I stood at his feet, he reached toward me. His fingernails were black and elongated, like the talons of a hawk. Using the tip of his first finger, he scratched the skin of my forehead so that my blood ran down on either side of the hole that had been my nose. " I asked, my voice quavering. He reached up to unhook his black silk caul, and let it fall from the dark well of his face.
He spat the flesh out on the ground. "Poison," he hissed, glaring at me. "I can scrape off the honey," I said quickly. "Not the honey. The meat. " For a moment I wondered what the preparers of the corpse had done to taint its flesh. Then I comprehended the creature's meaning. Ghouls were carrion feeders. The preserved flesh of the corpse was too fresh. Evidently they could not digest fresh meat. The leader took a threatening step toward me, and the others followed. "I can fix the meat, so that you can eat it," I said in haste.
There were fourteen males, all larger than Gor, although their bodies did not appear as powerful as those of the Black Spring Clan. Some would stand as tall as my shoulder on their thin legs. At present they squatted in a circle on the ground and drank from water skins, passing objects back and forth and admiring them. Dropping to my hands and knees, I began to crawl toward them. I touched my sweating cheek to the ground so that the sand would stick to it. When I came closer, I emitted a piteous moan.