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The Rise of Djimm

(2599 years ago = 110 BD)

Walthar Leafblade, a humble wizard devoted to the pursuit of knowledge and understanding, found himself burdened with a responsibility he could scarcely comprehend. As he stood before the towering form of Cthulhu, his small frame trembling in the presence of the ancient and incomprehensible being, Walthar struggled to make sense of the task laid before him.

"Great Cthulhu," Walthar whispered, his voice barely audible against the crashing waves that surrounded them, "why have you chosen me? I am but a mortal speck in the vastness of the universe."

Cthulhu's eyes, filled with an otherworldly glow, peered down at Walthar, seemingly indifferent to his concerns. And yet, there was a glimmer of something resembling amusement flickering in those depths.

"You possess a rare quality, Walthar Leafblade," Cthulhu rumbled, his voice echoing in Walthar's mind. "A thirst for knowledge and a drive to understand the unfathomable. I have chosen you to carry on the work we have begun here. With the power I bestow upon you, you shall shape the narrative that will ultimately lead to the downfall of Hastur."

Walthar's mind whirled with the implications of Cthulhu's words. He had always sought to unravel the mysteries of the universe, but now he found himself thrust into a cosmic battle between ancient and malevolent entities. Fear mingled with excitement within his heart, knowing that his actions would play a significant role in the world's fate.

"But how, Great Cthulhu? How can one mortal wizard hope to stand against the likes of Hastur?" Walthar asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Cthulhu's form seemed to shimmer, his features distorting and shifting as he contemplated Walthar's question. The waves crashed with renewed intensity, as if the sea itself echoed Cthulhu's internal struggle.

"You possess the power of prophecy, Walthar," Cthulhu finally answered. "The tower you call home shall become a beacon of knowledge and magic, connected to the very fabric of the universe. Through your written words, you shall shape the hearts and minds of future generations, guiding them towards the path that will ultimately seal Hastur's fate."

Walthar's eyes widened in awe and realization. He had always been fond of books and the written word, but now he understood the true power they held. With each page he crafted, with each story he spun, he would be sowing the seeds of Hastur's downfall.

And so, Cthulhu bestowed upon Walthar the ancient and forbidden knowledge required to navigate the currents of time and space. He gifted him a powerful artifact, a quill imbued with the very essence of his being, that would aid him in his task. Walthar's mind flooded with visions of battles fought, realms traversed, and ancient secrets uncovered. The weight of his newfound power settled upon his shoulders.

"I shall not fail you, Great Cthulhu," Walthar declared, a fire igniting within his eyes. "I will dedicate my life to unraveling the mysteries of the universe, to crafting a narrative that will bring about the demise of Hastur."

Cthulhu's towering form seemed to nod in approval, a strange sense of satisfaction emanating from his presence.

"Your journey begins now, Walthar Leafblade," Cthulhu intoned, his voice resonating with an ominous finality. "May the touch of my power guide your hand and lead you to victory."

And with that, Cthulhu retreated into the depths of the sea, leaving Walthar alone with his thoughts and the vast expanse of possibilities that lay before him. As the waves crashed against the shores, Walthar Leafblade took his first steps towards a destiny intertwined with the fate of the world.

And so began the age of the Necromancer, wielding the power of the Old One and maneuvering the threads of fate. With every stroke of his quill, he wove a tale that would one day lead to the final confrontation between Cthulhu and Hastur, two titanic forces battling for dominion over the cosmos. And standing at the heart of it all, was Walthar Leafblade, the unlikely hero tasked with shaping the narrative that would determine the fate of all existence.

(252 years ago = 2237 AD)

In the heart of the Necromancer's Tower, Djimm, adorned in his purple robes and surrounded by ancient tomes, was deeply engrossed in his studies. The air crackled with arcane energy, and the flickering candles cast eerie shadows on the aged stone walls. It was in this atmosphere of solitude and quiet contemplation that a chilling breeze suddenly swept through the room, causing the flames to dance and flicker.

Startled, Djimm looked up from his books, his sharp eyes narrowing as he tried to perceive the source of the disturbance. But as his gaze roamed the room, he found nothing amiss. Just as he was about to dismiss the encounter as a mere trick of his imagination, a low rumbling voice echoed in his mind.

"Djimm, Necromancer of the Tower of the West," the voice spoke, its words resonating with ancient power.

Djimm's brows furrowed in surprise, "Well, this is unexpected. At least you've heard of me, I suppose. Who dares to invade my solitude with their grand proclamations?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Djimm noticed a spectral figure coalescing into existence. It was a towering being, its form both ethereal and monstrous, incomprehensible yet undeniably awe-inspiring. As the figure solidified, Djimm's breath caught in his throat, for he now beheld the visage of Cthulhu himself.

"Cthulhu," Djimm muttered, his voice laced with a hint of reverence he seldom displayed. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Cthulhu regarded Djimm with eyes that contained the vastness of the universe, his voice resonating with an otherworldly power. "I have observed your endeavors, Djimm. You possess the strength of character required to stand against the encroaching chaos that approaches."

Djimm arched an eyebrow, an smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "And what chaos might that be, Great Cthulhu? I deal with corpses on a daily basis. I consider myself well-acquainted with chaos."

Cthulhu's gaze bore into Djimm, piercing through the layers of his flippant demeanor. "Hastur, the insidious one, stirs once more. He seeks to claim this world, a world that I have claimed as my own for my slumber. His arrival is imminent, and I will require allies such as yourself to ensure his plans are thwarted."

"Well, Great Cthulhu, it seems you have piqued my interest," Djimm replied, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "What exactly do you require of me?"

"You possess the ability to delve into the deepest and darkest corners of magic and harness its power. This power has been granted to you, and the twelve before you, in preperation for this event. Now the bill for your powers has come due. "

Djimm's eyes gleamed. "Consider me your ally. I shall wield it against those who seek to bring unending chaos."

(102 years ago = 2387 AD)

Hastur, his form a shifting vortex of yellow and black, stirred the cosmic winds as he awoke Cthulhu. The ancient entity, a monstrous vision of tentacles, claws, and eyes, rose from the depths of Molderia with a bone-chilling groan that echoed throughout the cosmos.

"Brother," Hastur began, his voice a cacophony of discordant echoes, "Molderia beckons me."

Cthulhu's multitude of eyes flickered, the colors of dying stars shimmering within their depths. "Hastur, your pleas and cries are as tedious as the passing of eons," he replied, a mocking smile playing on his grotesque maw.

Hastur responded with a low growl, the sound a black hole swallowing light. "I seek not your approval, but your acquiescence. The world ripe for our taking, the creatures squirming in anticipation of their end."

Cthulhu shrugged his massive shoulders, the movement causing ripples in the fabric of reality. "Ah, Hastur, always the one to relish in the destruction, aren't you?" he said, his voice as cold and indifferent as a supernova's heart. "You know well, I have a certain... fondness for this realm."

Hastur's form twisted, a maw of shadows yawning wide. "Your sentimentality is a weakness," he accused, "Their magic shall not protect them from our wrath."

Cthulhu chuckled, the sound resonating like the tolling of a cosmic bell. "Oh, dear brother, it is not sentimentality but a sense of aesthetics. You see, I've taken to... cultivating this world, much like a gardener tends to his roses. It amuses me."

Hastur bristled with rage, but held his silence. He knew his brother would not actively hinder him, but neither would he aid him. The dance of destruction and creation was an intricate one, and they had long ago agreed not to step on each other's toes.

"Go then, Hastur," Cthulhu said, waving a gargantuan tentacle dismissively. "Wreak your havoc elsewhere, sow your despair where I am not. Go! And should you disturb my slumber again, it is not the humans you should fear, but me."

And with that, Cthulhu sank back into the abyss, leaving Hastur alone in the vast emptiness of the cosmos, contemplating his next move.

(3 years ago = 2486 AD)

*Hastur has indeed awoken Chthulu again.

A ripple of dark energy pulsed through the Necromancer's Tower as Cthulhu's form materialized. Djimm, the tower's current master, looked up from his tome, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

"Cthulhu," he greeted, his voice echoing in the vast chamber, "To what do I owe this... unexpected visit?"

Cthulhu's form flickered, the cosmic entity taking a moment to adjust to the confines of the tower. "Djimm, your sarcasm is as refreshing as a solar flare," he said, the corners of his grotesque maw curling into a smile. "I find myself in need of your... unique services."

Djimm raised an eyebrow, setting his book aside. "And what might those services be?" he asked, his tone dry. "I'm not exactly in the business of catering."

Cthulhu chuckled, the sound reverberating through the tower. "Oh, Djimm, always the jester," he replied. "I require your expertise in assembling a group of adventurers."

Djimm frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Adventurers?" he asked, his tone incredulous. "I'm a necromancer, not a talent scout."

Cthulhu waved a tentacle dismissively. "You underestimate yourself, Djimm," he said. "You have a keen eye for talent and a knack for manipulation. Besides, this is not a request."

Djimm sighed, rubbing his temples. "And why, pray tell, do you need a group of adventurers?" he asked.

"Hastur is here." Cthulhu replied. "His destruction and disregard for my slumber has become... bothersome. I need this group to stop him."

Djimm grimaced, considering the implications. "And what's in it for me?" he asked. "Other than my powers of course."

"Why, Djimm, I thought you might enjoy meddling in the affairs of gods," he said.

Djimm nodded slowly, "Alright," he said, his tone resigned. "I'll gather your adventurers."

Cthulhus form shimmering as he prepared to depart. "I look forward to our... partnership, Djimm," he said, before disappearing into the abyss.

Djimm was left alone in his tower, contemplating the task ahead. A group of adventurers to stop a god... It was going to be an interesting challenge, to say the least.

(2 years ago = 2487 AD)

Cthulhu's form materialized in the Necromancer's Tower, his many eyes shimmering. "Djimm," he greeted, his voice echoing throughout the chamber, "Tell me of our... progress."

Djimm grimaced. "Cthulhu," he began, his voice heavy, "I fear I bring unfortunate news. The group... they met a tragic end in the Jungle of Mogolo."

Cthulhu's form flickered, his eyes narrowing. "Explain," he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Djimm sighed, running a hand through his hair. "They were hunting the cultists of your brother, as planned," he said. "But they stumbled upon a trap in the temple. The resulting explosion... There were no survivors."

Cthulhu was silent for a moment. "Unfortunate," he finally said, his voice cold. "But we must press on."

Djimm nodded, "I will assemble another team," he said. "We will not be deterred."

Cthulhu's form shimmered, "Good," he said, his tone approving. "Remember, Djimm, we cannot afford failure. Hastur's destruction must be stopped."

Djimm nodded.

Cthulhu's form faded, leaving Djimm alone in his tower. The necromancer sighed, turning his gaze to the vast desert below his tower. Another team... he thought, this time, they would not fail.

(Modern Day = 2489 AD)

Cthulhu's massive form materialized in Djimm's bathroom, causing the tiles to crack and the room to shake. Djimm, standing in the shower, looked up in surprise and annoyance.

"Must you always make such a dramatic entrance?" Djimm grumbled, water dripping from his hair.

Cthulhu chuckled, his many eyes gleaming. "Apologies," he said, his voice echoing in the small space. "I forget how fragile your mortal abodes can be."

Djimm rolled his eyes, reaching for a towel. "Fragile or not, it's still my bathroom," he replied.

Cthulhu's form shimmered, his eyes narrowing. "The time has come, Djimm," he said, his voice filled with determination. "The current group is ready to face Carcosa."

Djimm nodded, wrapping the towel around his waist. "Good," he said. "But we need a plan. Carcosa is not a realm to be taken lightly."

Cthulhu's massive tentacles waved. "Indeed," he said. "The group will need to infiltrate the city, find the obelisks binding the pathway between realms, and strike at them directly."

Djimm frowned "And what of the city's inhabitants? The cultists, the madness... How do they navigate through that?"

Cthulhu's eyes flickered with a mix of determination and amusement. "The group will need to rely on their wits, their skills, and perhaps a touch of madness themselves," he replied. "Hastur's power lies in his ability to manipulate minds, to sow chaos and despair. They must resist his influence at all costs."

Djimm sighed, his fingers running through his wet hair. "This won't be an easy task," he said. "But nothing ever is."

Cthulhu's form shimmered, "I have faith. I desire to slumber agian."

Djimm nodded, "We will not fail," he said. "Molderia will be free. "

And with that, Cthulhu's massive form faded from the bathroom, leaving Djimm alone to finish his shower and prepare for the battle ahead.