Cum Grano Salis

Plague.

One of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, alongside War, Famine and Death. One of the mortal terrors that mankind was obliged to personify.

Paradopolis was recovering from such a plague. Manifested by Phleglethor the Pestilent, it had spread through the City, not only decimating the population, but striking down those who dared to care for the stricken.

Ebony had last been seen in the Zero Street Mission, caring for the plague victims. She had also contracted the plague herself.

The true horror comes not just with the individual losses, but with the disposal of all the bodies. Many old places with names beginning with "Black" owe their identity to a nice, cheery plague-pit nearby. The modern approach (due to lack of time, funds, space and - inevitably in this case - manpower) was to bury the bodies in the radioactive wasteland north east of Gothametropolis York.

The members of the Lair Legion had dreaded informing the Shoggoth of the (presumed) fate of his High Priestess. It was known to be rather attached to its priestesses, and it could be assumed that the news that its current High Priestess was currently presumed dead and dumped in a plague pit in radioactive wasteland was not going to go down too well.

As it was, they needn't have worried. The Shoggoth took the news with hardly a murmur, as if it had already known.

Midnight.

The wasteland was illuminated by a faint phosphorescence, a side effect of its radioactivity. In this eldritch were-light, shadowy figures shambled where no living creature - at least not those with any sense - would linger.

"I don't know why we are doing this." One of them complained. "The ground is far from wholesome, consecrated or even mildly uncursed. It is not even as if there is anything we particularly want here."

This complaint earned him a withering stare from his leader, a figure dressed in faded and rotting academic robes.

"We are doing this as part of our agreed payment for the loan of certain tomes and the translation of other... items of interest. We are also doing it in part payment for repairs due to the damage caused by one of our brethren…”, this punctuated with another stare at the first speaker, ”…who happened to spill wine on our original copies of the Book of Dying Names."

"I could have copied the script well enough..." groused the first speaker quietly, although not quietly enough.

"But not the drawings, rendered in more dimensions than the pen is capable of." retorted the leader tartly. "Besides, our patron requires those who can easily bring forth the contents of a grave, and who are not at all squeamish about so doing."

Before the exchange could progress any further, one of their companions called them over. Within a few minutes, the Ghouls of Gothametropolis York had exhumed a partly rotted corpse, still wearing soiled white linen robes, and still wearing a strange and arcane pendant.

The Abyssal Greye took personal charge of the next stage of the process. The body was carefully stripped and cleaned. The amulet was taken and given a quick polish (carefully avoiding the pearl mounted in the middle) and the robes sent to Mr Lye's Laundry with a request for express cleaning.

Then the body was lowered into a vat of Aqua Regis, where it was slowly dissolved. The acid was then boiled off (a more lengthy process), and the resulting salts and other deposits carefully scraped up and placed in an alchemical glass flask. Finally, the stopper in the flask was sealed with lead.

In the mean time, the robes had returned from the Laundry, and the amulet had been restored to its normal fine lustre.

Greye folded the robes and placed the flask and amulet on top of them.

"Do you wish my assistance with the process?" he asked, addressing his question to the amulet.

No, thank you. Came the reply. I have another person in mind on this occasion.

”Very well. As always, we who remember Bridgit send our greetings.”

The pearl in the amulet suddenly expanded to cover the flask and robes, then shrank to a point and finally disappeared. In its place was a small but ornate scroll case.

Greye smiled. A new addition to their library was always welcome, and the Shoggoth had a habit of finding the most obscure of documents.

The Reverend James Harlsden had something nasty in his crypt.

This was not a new experience for him. He had once had a rather unpleasant infestation of Deep One unearthed by a clumsy archaeologist. The failure of the bishop to exorcise it had led to his introduction to Ebony of Nubilia and the Shoggoth, and (indirectly) to some of the more interesting inhabitants of Soho.

On this occasion he just had a Shoggoth, who had requested his aid in a small matter concerning his High Priestess - a return on the favour of removing the aforementioned Deep One.

He carefully chalked a circle on the crypt floor, and laid the robe and amulet in the middle. He carefully unstoppered the flask and pored the dried crystals and other secondary minerals and substances into the centre of the circle.

Are you sure that you can do this? Queried the Shoggoth. I seem to remember that the Christian Church has problems with some natural processes.

"No. I read Borellus in my younger days. This hardly seems daemonic. Besides, I can always tell the Bishop that the circle was for playing Marbles."

He carefully arranged a screen in front of the circle, and then took up a small, ragged parchment. Opening it up, he declaimed in a resonant voice:

Errant drafts wafted through the crypt. The electric light dimmed slightly as the rules of the universe shifted slightly as if swerving to avoid an obstacle. For a moment, an acrid smell filled and overrode the normal slightly damp smell of the crypt.

From behind the screen came the sound of someone attempting to cough their lungs up.

The Reverend Harlesden started to rush round the screen to render aid, but was restrained by the Shoggoth.

She is all right. It assured him. She just needs a few moments to recover her wits and get dressed.

Sure enough, after a few moments the coughing ceased and was replaced by s brief rustling and clinking. After this, Ebony of Nubilia walked round the screen, looking pale, but otherwise healthy.

I suggest that you take Ebony to one of those local cafes she so likes. advised the Shoggoth. In the mean time, one of the [rather rude word in Great Old One] responsible for this has been imprisoned in my estranged biomass. I think I am going to have a word or two with it.

The Shoggoth shrank down to a point, and vanished.

Helpless within the mass of the Shoggoth floated the Bloodreaper.

Horror? the Manga Shoggoth seared into his captive’s mind. You only think you know horror. Your tiny limited mind with its crude four-dimensional perceptions has hardly glimpsed the beginnings of abyssal fear and the depths of torment. What you think are cruelties are the merest beginnings of a logarithmic progression of torture that stretches on beyond infinity. You believe that nothing that is done to you can surpass what you have done to others? LET ME SHOW YOU DIFFERENTLY.

The Shoggoth is very protective of its High Priestesses.

Ebony and the Reverend Harlsden faced each other over a Latte and Ginger Tea respectively.

"The process returns me in a healthy form, complete with memories, but at the same age I died." She explained. "The Shoggoth is not into granting eternal life or youth, but on the other hand really does not like losing priestesses."

"From my readings I understand there is a way of reversing the process. Does that not leave you rather vulnerable?"

"No.", she replied. "The mortals who used the process hot caught up in the "purity of saltes", the chants and everything else. They never actually managed to understand the process. Not surprising, really. Mortal minds are mercifully limited."

Ebony sat back, and took another sip of her Latte. "When I die in service I can be brought back. When, a long time in the future, I either become too old to serve or tired of service, I will start training my replacement. Then I can rest."

She smiled. "Life is good." She assured her companion.

Epilogue, of sorts...

The Shoggoth delivered its captive to the lowest and most secure cell of the Safe.

Slowly, the shadows lengthened, evening fell and finally surrendered to night.

From deep within the Safe came a terrifying - and terrified - scream. The screaming continued for some time, and then died down.

"Well?", the warden asked the rather nervous attendant who had been dispatched to deal with the matter. "What was it?"

"The Bloodreaper, Sir.", the attendant replied. "It seems that it doesn't like sleeping with the light off."

"Huh. A creature like that, afraid of the dark? Ridiculous!"

But then, it is true that the darkness is not to be feared. Only the things that live in it, unseen by mortal eyes.

Let the Footnotes Begin!

During the Hellraisers arc, HH did not explicitly describe shat happened to Ebony, leaving it for me to write. I apologise for the delay, but the story was being saved until the Gathering, when I would actually have time to write it.

Most of what occurs in this story can be understood in the light of "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward", by H.P. Lovecraft, which can be found in the "H.P. Lovecraft Omnibus 1: At the Mountains of Madness", which also contains the story from which I received my nickname, and thus from which the character of the Manga Shoggoth was originally derived.

The chant used in this story is very similar to the one in "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward". There is just one very important change.