Bøker av Ran Cartwright

A collection of Lovecraftian Horror story arcs that include: Tales of Nephren Ka, the ancient dead pharaoh raised from the dead (The Circle, The Chronicler, The Coming, The Candidate); Tales of Shifting Sands, chased across time by a dead woman possessed by a djinn (Hagif, Damascus, Shar-i-Gholghola, Ubar); Tales of the Dia Tessaron, four young women devoted to fighting minions of the Great Old Ones (Arkham Shadows, The Dia Tessaron Destroyed, The Spider and the Fly, The House in the Valley); Tales of Y'ha-nthlei Rising, the Deep Ones attempt to raise the ancient city from the floor of the Atlantic Ocean (Innsmouth Harvest, Y'ha-nthlei Rising, Of Gods & Aliens); Tales of Z'toggua, an obscure cult attempts to summon its ancient god (Z'toggua, Shog-E'yahg, Ch'g-Ghral); The Coming of Winter, the return of Rhan-Tegoth heralds the return of the Great Old Ones (A Festival of Winds, Rhan-Tegoth, Fire & Ice).

Deadtown in the '50s. It's one helluva place. You know the kind. If ever there was a slimy misty wet cesspool of a dive on the dark side of forever, the far wrong dark side of the wrong dark side of the tracks, yeah, that's Deadtown. The seediest slimiest sleaziest hellhole slime pit this side of Purgatory. It's a greasy place, dark and dank, with a misty fog that alternates with a misty rain. It never stops. Never. Buildings teeter on the verge of collapse, catering to the dark slimy seedy sleazy side of life with restaurants and bars and nightclubs and whore houses and drug dens. Beyond lay the hinterlands where misshapen horrors chew on the unsuspecting and spit out flesh and bone. Deadtown isn't a town actually, it's a city. Not much of a city, but it's a city. Occasionally you'll find a special nutcase lurking in the side streets and misty wet alleys. The Sleeper was one such special nutcase. Some would say that he was in a class all by himself. They would probably be right...

The Massachusetts seaside village has seen its better days. What remains is a ruined and rotting collection of buildings teetering on the brink of collapse. The scent of fish permeates the air. Trench coated villagers prowl dark allies and side streets. They gather in the night on the village wharf while lantern light flickers off the coast on the craggy cliffs of Devil Reef. Unholy cacophonous sounds echo from the Hall of the Esoteric Order of Dagon on New Church Green. Yes, there's something unholy about the village, a malignancy dark and mysterious that its inhabitants seem to guard closely from outsiders. Fair warning...do not delve too deeply into their affairs else you may be begging for a swift and merciful death.