Folly [Lovecraft Crossover]

[Lord Raa]

Try something new from your fiend, Uncle Raa.


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The Folly of Knowledge


By Lord Raa


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Disclaim-me-do: I think we should find something else to worship; something less angry and with fewer tentacles.


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Miskatonic University was one of the most well respected seats of learning in the United States of America. And despite the dissolution of the United States as a political entity, the city of Arkham’s Miskatonic University had managed to maintain its status as a centre of excellence.

Professor Ralph Stone was one of the reasons for this reputation. He was a man who had spent a great many of his years in the study of the occult and supernatural. His treatise on the myths and legends of the native peoples of New England had won him great acclaim amongst his peers. His latest research was leading him and his team of undergraduates and postgraduates in the direction of the fishing town of Innsmouth and the tall tales surrounding it.

Sitting in his office, the greying man looked at the letter he’d had received earlier that morning. He cast a glance over the envelope and saw that it had come from England. After swiftly opening it up, the Professor took a sip of his coffee and started to read the handwritten message.

‘¬Dear Ralph,

I know that it has been far too long since we last corresponded, and even longer since saw each other. I know that it shouldn’t be used as an excuse, but we both know that we’ve been horrendously busy.

As much as I would like to tell you that I’m planning to take a trip over to Arkham, or indeed invite you over for family reunion, I am afraid that I have some good news and bad. First, the bad news: there has an incident with my daughter, Grace.

As I may have mentioned before, Grace is a strong willed woman. And as such, she didn’t take too kindly to a potential suitor’s advances. While I am sure that things will work out without too much trouble, I decided it would be a good time for her to broaden her horizons with some overseas travel.

I realise that I am taking quite the liberty in asking you to look after her during her stay in Arkham at such short notice, and apologise for doing so, but you’re the only one I can turn to for this.

Knowing that you haven’t seen Grace for a long time, I have included a recent photograph of her.

Now on to the good news: I have acquired some texts that may be relevant to your research. Of course, there is every possibility that they may be completely irrelevant, but you must see them.

I cannot do these documents justice by attempting to describe them here, but you have more chance of understanding that their true nature than I.

I shall send them with Grace in order to keep them safe, but please, be careful. I have heard stories of agents from Germany scouring the world for information and artefacts related to our studies. I keep having horrible visions of us being “encouraged to take holidays in Germany” by men with swastikas on their shirts.

I will see you again, but please take care.

Your brother,

Geoffrey.¬’

Ralph sat back in his seat as he digested his brother’s message.

On the one hand, he felt more than a little put upon. It had been years since Geoffrey had written to him and now he expected him to put up his daughter? He was tempted to reject the idea and send Grace back home to England.

It was then that the Professor saw photograph nestled in the envelope.

It was easy to work out which of the people in the photograph was Grace Stone. The young woman was beautiful: high cheekbones, blonde shoulder length hair, and a smile that could get a man into all kinds of trouble.

‘Definitely inherited her mother’s looks,’ the academic noted with a smirk.


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As Grace Stone made her way through Boston airport, she noticed that someone had followed her through the main gates on the way to the taxi rank.

‘Who is that? What does he want?’ she wondered. Her thoughts flitted over the possibilities. She came up with three potential reasons, and she didn’t like the sound of any of them.

The journey from England had been a long and, despite the comfort of the zeppelin, tiring one. She was in no mood to deal with any romantic advances. That was part of the reason why she was in the Atlantic Coalition.

Another option was that the police were trying to take her back to England for a few questions about that odious Tarquin fellow. It was clear what sort of person he was; lecherous, callow, and surprisingly brittle-boned.

For a split second, the memory of snapping the fingers on Tarquin’s wandering hands made her smile. But then the third possibility brought her back to reality.

The third possibility was the worst; that her father’s fears about the book she was taking to her uncle Ralph were well founded and foreign agents wanted collection of papers she was carrying with her.

Picking up the pace, Grace reached the nearest taxi and climbed in.

“Where to, ma’am?” the slightly pudgy man asked, looking over his right shoulder.

“The train station, please.”

“Of course,” the cabbie nodded. “So, what brings you to our part of the world?”

“Ah, I see you picked up that I’m not a local,” Grace smiled. “I’ve got some family business to attend to.”

“Must be important to bring you all the way out here,” the driver commented.

“Unfortunately, I can’t talk about it,” the blonde said, hoping that it would end the conversation. She held a hand over her mouth to cover a yawn.

The cabbie noticed this. “You sure you don’t want me to take you to a hotel, ma’am?”

“I need to get to Miskatonic University as soon as possible. I’d rather not delay things further, even if it’s only a day,” Grace explained. “Besides, I can always nap on the train to Arkham.”

“You’re the boss.”


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It had been a long day for Professor Stone, and it was becoming the normal state of affairs for the émigré. His class had turned in their latest assignments and he was marking the last one.

It seemed that this one student, David Hook, was not taking it seriously. His answer for the essay did not place a great deal of importance on history.

Certainly not an opinion shared by the Professor or his brother.

There was a knock on the door, interrupting his thoughts about whether or not he should give the student a failing grade this early in the school year or not.

“Come in,” Professor Stone said, not looking up from the assignment.

“Hello there, I’m looking for Professor Stone,” an English accented woman said, slowly opening the door.

“That’s me,” the older man replied, looking up from his desk. “Can I help you?”

“Ah, Uncle Ralph,” the blonde smiled. “It’s me, Grace. May I come in?”

“Of course!” Ralph smiled broadly. “So, how was your journey?”

“Lengthy, but comfortable enough,” Grace replied as she shut the door behind her and made her way to the desk. “Father sends his love.”

“I know, I did receive his letter yesterday. He still hasn’t gotten used to the idea that things need proper planning and notice, has he?”

“No, unfortunately not,” Grace smiled knowingly.

Ralph shook his head. “I’m being a terrible host here, would you like anything to drink, Grace?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any gin?”

The Professor shook his head. “We’re not allowed alcohol on campus. Not after the incident with the lacrosse team.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Having just won the championship, the team were celebrating. They ran out of drink and broke into the faculty lounge. It was then that a few of the classrooms were damaged in what the Dean classified as ‘high spirited antics’ and ‘letting off steam.’ If we want to drink, we’ll have to leave the campus.”

There was a knock on the door, causing Grace to frown. “You’re popular today, aren’t you?”

Ralph opened the door to see who it was.

“Professor, I ...” the man in his mid twenties trailed off when he saw the blonde near his professor’s desk.

“Mr. Bathurst, what can I do for you this evening?”

Grace turned to see who was interrupting.

Bathurst’s eyes widened when he saw how attractive Grace was. “Who’s your friend, Professor?”

“That’s my niece, Mr. Bathurst,” Professor Stone said, his tone warning the student to tread lightly.

The younger man nodded. ‘So, she’s available...’

Grace stood up and walked elegantly to the door, every step enticing the younger man. “Mr. Bathurst, is it? I’m Grace Stone, Professor Stone’s niece.”

“Please, call me William, Miss Stone.”

“Well, William, I’m sorry to be rude, but I’m here to discuss something very important with my uncle. I’m sure that we’ll have time to meet in a more social setting, but for now, my uncle and I have business to discuss.” The blonde’s eyes acquired a dangerous glint. “Serious business.”

“I... Of course, my apologies. Professor, I shall see you at tomorrow’s lecture.”

The Professor nodded before shutting the door. “You’re good, Grace. William Bathurst is one of the more persistent young men I’ve encountered.”

“Well, sometimes you just need to drop the right hint to get what you want,” Grace smiled knowingly as she returned to her seat.

“So, what was it that brought you to Arkham, Grace?”

“Aside from the chance to broaden my horizons, Father wanted you to see this.”

Professor Stone looked at the old, dark brown tome his niece had brought with her. The cover was old, but it had been looked after. He ran his fingers over the grain of the binding before looking at a page at random and sniffing. It had a musty smell, one that was similar to the oldest books in the Miskatonic University Library, but something about it was slightly different. He blinked for a moment.

“Velum, handwriting, and this cover... Geoffrey certainly found a special book.”

“What’s so special about the cover?”

“It’s not leather, Grace.”

“Not leather? Then what is it? Calfskin? Deerskin?”

“No, something rather more grisly,” Ralph said looking up at his niece. “It’s bound in human skin.”

Grace’s eyes widened. “I thought that was a myth... A tale to scare children.”

“It wasn’t used often, but it did happen. Mostly for anatomical works,” the Professor explained casually. His fingers brushed lightly across the pages as he flipped to the front of the book.

It was then that the Professor started to understand what he’d been given by his brother. “This... D-do you know what this is, Grace?”

“No, sorry,” the blonde shrugged.

“If this isn’t a hoax, this... this is the Necronomicon. This book... I... it’s hard to explain to a layperson just what it contains.”

“You could try, I’m hardly the village idiot, Uncle Ralph.”

“I’m sorry, Grace. The Necronomicon is a book originally written over a thousand years go in Arabic. This version is in Greek, hence it’s read left to right, rather than right to left like the Arabic language. Do you know where you father found this?”

“He didn’t say,” Grace replied. “All he said was that he wanted to get it into your hands because you’d know what to do with it.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t matter at the moment. The Necronomicon is purported to contain arcane knowledge, from details of the Nameless City to chants that summon ancient and terrible gods.”

“Ancient and terrible gods? I’m not sure what the Archbishop of Canterbury would have to say about such a book,” Grace smirked.

“Popes and Patriarchs have had copies of this book burned and its owners tortured to death,” the Professor explained. “If its power is real, then I can understand why Geoffrey wants to keep it out of certain hands.”

“How will you know if it’s real or a hoax?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s not like there are copies to compare it to for accuracy or a log of serial numbers. I don’t even know where to begin with this research. I recognise the language as Greek, but I don’t know it well enough to translate it. I need to assemble a team for this one. Fortunately, I know three people that would be perfect. I’ll call them in the morning.”


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Sleep was fitful for Ralph Stone. Part him knew that he should remain sceptical about the contents of the book. It wouldn’t be the first time something of this nature had been forged; countless religious artefacts had turned up over the centuries and if they were all authentic, then some of these saints would have had four arms and 20 fingers.

Not to mention the “true cross” would have had enough wood to make a small a barn.

But if this was true? Then it would have serious implications for everyone.

It would prove that there were forces far beyond human comprehension at work. And not just the work Einstein, Bohr and Schrödinger were famous for.

The existence of intelligences as old as dinosaurs would change everything and raise so many questions.

Questions like where did they come from originally? Where have they been hiding? When did they arrive here? If they came from a world other than ours, where was it? How long would it take to get here? How did it get here?

And the questions that would arise from the disproving of the authenticity of this Necronomicon would also be interesting. Why create the hoax? Who could create such a convincing tome? How did they create the binding? The texture if one of an old book, how could someone age a skin like that?

How would someone get their hands on human skin for the bindings?

But there was one question that troubled Professor Stone regardless of any authenticity issues: Just how did his brother acquire this book?


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Obviously this is only the start of something new and you have no idea who these characters are or why you should care whether they die in a fire or not, but hopefully it's enough to get you interested.

All original characters, though the setting is a fusion of two known settings, one is Lovecraft's Miskatonic University and the other is Crimson Skies.

Why? Well, they're kinda happening at the same time and there could be some logical overlap if I can manage to write something clever enough. I'd explain more, but I don't want to "spoil" anything that I might have planned for this one.

There will be a couple more characters to be introduced soon, but I need to write that scene. Hopefully, you'll like them enough to want me to continue writing them in this vaguely interesting setting.

If you have any questions, then let me know and I'll see if I can answer them without too many disappointments or spoilers.

Feel free to complain/demand that I write something else/tell me to piss off/other.

 

[Python453]

Interesting. I'm not that familiar with either settings (I've heard of Lovecraft, but until today never knew what Crimson Skies was), but I'd like to see what else you have planned for this.

Carry on, good sir.