The Tomb of Great Cthulhu
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The odor is intolerable and at length you hear a nasty, slopping sound. It lumbers into sight and gropingly squeezes Its gelatinous green immensity from the bowels of this poison city of madness. Cthulhu, that titanic Thing from the stars, commences slavering and gibbering as you stagger before Its pulpy, tentacled head surmounting a grotesque and scaly body with rudimentary wings.
It is not composed altogether of flesh and blood. It has shape - for does not this star-fashioned image prove it? - but that shape is not made of matter. When the stars are right, It shall plunge from world to world through the sky. Until then Its spells protect It while it lies awake in the dark, dead but dreaming, forming the minds of men and inspiring cults of chaos!