Now, however, sprawling tenements and apartments clustered around the coastal region, and temples reached up to the skies, gazing out to sea.

Iceland had never previously been so densely populated even at the height of its settlement, before the First Arcanotech War, the population had never exceeded one million human beings. The profane marks of those aliens could not be permitted to stand.Īnd so now the Chosen had claimed this land for themselves, and permitted those loyal to them, the Elect, to dwell upon it. Even the human-scaled buildings which the Loyalist Nazzadi, who had chosen to stay subservient to their creators, and the Blanks, who had been given no such choice through the technosorcery of the Migou, had been torn down. But the Chosen of Great Cthulhu, servants of Lord Dagon, and those humans who had seen their light had cleansed this island of their alien taint, restoring it to the species which owned this planet, despite the feeble claims of the upstart, unfaithful humans who would deny the elder species their rightful claim. No, the fungoid Yuggothians had erased the human habitation which had existed here before, replacing it with the high spires and deep bunkers so beloved of their kind. No building here dated back to before the glorious forces of truth had seized this land from the malevolent aliens who would work against the cause of faith and deny the Great of this planet his domain. The late autumn wind blew too, up the Eyjafjörður Fjord, whistling through the packed tenements of the city of Dagon'uvtu Oraribyrapr, literally, The Blessing of Highest Dagon. The sea crashed against the coastal wall, long breakers rolling in from the Arctic. And it may have been a holy duty, but it was also bitterly cold in the Icelandic autumn. No-one over the age of 15 was exempt from the militia even the injured or crippled would be trained for supporting roles. They had another militia training session the day after tomorrow. As a static defence, they were innately able to pump more power into their colossal lasers than a comparably-sized ship It was impossible to assault this area with ships, because they would be targeted and destroyed, but the Eyes were impregnable to anything lesser. Her eyes skipped over to the nearest Eye, one of the heavily armoured domes which were speckled along the coastline. Nevertheless, the hollow, liquid sounds resonated off the walls, in both the shrill chatterings of uplifted apes as well as the guttural barkings of those who had almost become the Chosen, their parentage released to the world. True, the mortals, even though they were of the Elect, were ill-equipped to speak the blessed tongue, their ape-like throats but poorly forcing out the inhuman syllables, warping and twisting them, but those born with the Blood could do better, a faculty which only improved with age. The dominant tongue, at least in this region, was a pidgin, linguistically approaching a creole, of post-Reformation English, a northern Brazilian dialect of Portugese, but underlying everything, and the source of what the unholy would have been perplexed by, was the sacred tongue of R'lyehan. The language, or more accurately language s, spoken came from all around the globe, as the faithful had flocked to this place to avoid the persecution of the NEG and the genocide of the Migou. To an observer, both from the godless New Earth Government as well as an earlier time, it would have sounded strange.

It was good, after all, as it would ensure that her children by him would have both a strong father and each other, long after they had left their flawed mother behind.Īnd, truly, what more could a caring parent desire?ĭown, from the streets below, she could hear the market, the voices crying out. For that, she had been truly blessed, for few among such pitiful kind as hers could say that one of the Chosen of Great Dagon had chosen to come back. He was out there, she knew, the Holy One who had favoured her not once, not twice, but thrice. Her left hand sunk down to her stomach, the swelling barely showing. She chewed idly on a nutrient bar, the reprocessed kelp and fish fairly flavourless, but nevertheless a clear sign of the benevolence of the Holy Ones. Her scarf was pulled aside from her face, but the rest of her body was swathed in a thick overcoat and gloves, proof against the inclement climate. Raguelle Goldstein sat outside in the chill breeze, on the roof of the building, gazing out to sea.

Marcellus schools lightspeed systems