This week, we start the Philip Hastane stories and cover “The City of the Singing Flame.” You can read the original in a flipmag viewer or in PDF. You can also check out the Eldritch Dark combined version. There is also a reading on the Eldritch Dark site, but of the combined version.

Illustration of worshippers jumping into the singing flame

Next time, we’ll be cover “Beyond the Singing Flame.”

Thanks to our reader, Joe Scalora.

Music:
Kevin McLeod

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In this episode/interlude, we talk a bit about what we saw and did at the NecronomiCon(vention) in August and go over what’s next for the podcast, now that we’re done with Hyperborea.

The artist Ruth mentioned was Joe Broers, whose work can be found on his deviantART gallery at this point. The Hyperborean book Tim is currently reading is Deepest, Darkest Eden, put out by Miskatonic River Press. This episode’s different introduction was composed by Mr. Tyler Crook, artist extraordinaire who will maybe someday read the stories before we talk about them. ;)

Our upcoming story order will be:

Philip Hastane/Singing Flame

Mars

Xicarth

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In this week’s episode, we close Hyperborea with a story from the, err, “master thief” Satampra Zeiros. That’s right, it’s time for the infamous “Theft of the Thirty-Nine Girdles.”

Join us next time as we reflect on the NecronomiCon conference we all went to at the end of August and go over what stories we’ll be covering next.

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We finally present our long-awaited “Coming of the White Worm” episode. Between power failures and illnesses, this was as much a monster to record as it was for Hyperborea. But now we’re recording more and back on track. Our guest is Mike Bukowski, who really does have a fake cult.

The Gaspard Du Nord sketch and Sabine.

Phil’s film Europa Report.

We swear to Tsathoggua that Rumology is a REAL thing.

Join us next time for the final story in Hyperborea “The Theft of the Thirty-Nine Girdles.”

Reader: The Divine Joe Scalora
Music: Kevin MacLeod

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Progress has been made on our next episode, in that it’s actually finally been recorded and is being worked on. But with travel schedules and projects, we’re a bit behind where we’d like to be. Once we get to September, we hope to be back to the minimum of 2/month and possibly an interlude as well.

For your listening pleasure now, however, we present Tim!

Relevant links for this episode:

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We’ve been having a hell of a time recording the next episode(s). We’re looking forward to doing “Coming of the White Worm” with Michael Bukowski, but scheduling 4 people has been complicated by a power outage one time we tried to record and someone having a bad case of the stomach flu the second time. Cross your fingers and make your sacrifices for a successful third attempt at a recording session.

In the meantime, we present Phil with CAS’s poem “The Doom of America.”

THE DOOM OF AMERICA

Thou hast striven after strange gods, O America: in the
Temples of latter time, thou hast lifted up Baal and Mammon and Moloch
Thou hearkenest wholly unto these, thine ears seek after the flattery of subtle and false oracles:
They are filled therewith, they are grossly satisfied: neither shalt thou hear the lord if His thunders bespeak thee, nor heed His prophets except with mockery.
O bride that was given unto God of former time! O sharer in the covenant of the Most High:
Thou does adultery with bestial deities:
Yea, thou deniest it not, in the marts thou confirmest the report of thy shame with mirth.
O breaker of faith, thou fearest not, thou art graceless: thou hast forgotten the promise of the jealousy of the Lord, and the prophecy of his vengeance:
O fornicatrix! Thou art entirely naked; thou art bare even of shame.

Thou hast built innumberable furnaces for altars to the greed of the gods: thou hast drawn forth the demons of the elements and enforced them to labour with groaning and shrieking in the service of Mammon.
But the smell of the altars is not pleasant to the true God, neither do the stars approve it:
It is a stench to the nostrils of Alcyone; the cry of the sacrifice is a howl of abomination in the ears of Altair.
The stars have cursed thee with red conjunctions, with a most fatal configuration:
They are leagued with God in a conspiracy against thee.
Thou canst not hear the menace of His mirth, who fashioneth the levins of reckoning:
Neither dost though observe how the planets of midnight shake with an evil and unheard laughter:
In her cold and hollow heart, the pale moon hath a most black and secret mirth.
The years and days of thine end have been assigned to the work thereof, and God hath already named their attendant angels:
Time and the sun have been notified as to thy doom; thou alone knowest it not.

O foolish, O indiscreet, thou hast taken to thee many alien peoples, the stranger is become thy possessor:
They shall be invoked against thee soon, they shall be given over to the stakes of thy confusion, even to the redoubling thereof:
The curse of Babel shall be upon thee.
Shall the Beasts of the Abyss that thou hast taken for deities, countervail the flaming might of the seraphim, and the sunlike wrath of the Most Righteous?
Mammon shall be aghast in the light of thine end, Moloch shall reel amain before the thunder of thine undoing.
Art thou stronger than Rome, art thou greater than Babylon, that, sinning as these sinned, thou shalt abide where they abode not, nor be stricken as these were stricken?
Nay, thou art less than these were, the term of they fornication shall be briefer than theirs:
Doom shall come upon thee ere thou art made ready, and the chariots thereof shall be swifter than comets.

O scorner of poets and prophets, of them that are soothsayers: O mocker of the trumpets of Truth: I know that thou wilt not heed me: thou wilt pause a little. Thou wilt pass on with derision and forget:
For thine ears are withholden. The rumor of the preparation of doom may not reach so far: and seals are upon thine eyes like eyelids.
Perhaps thou wilt remember me, in the days like tempestuous night, when thine ears shall be thronged with the thousand noises of the labour of death, and around thee shall gather and multiply the rumours of manifold division:
When many confusions are increased upon thee.
But now thou sayest, Ha, ha, am I not armoured with cities, is not my metropolis a shield of adament embossed with iron? Am I not fortified? Have I not swift messengers that I have taken captive in the kingdom of the wind?
Am I not ringed about with demons of the deep, with strangers from the vast that I have enslaved and compelled to my service?
Yes! But the strength of iron and stone availeth and saveth not when the heart is corrupted!
Neither shall the weapons of genii protect against the rot and rust of the spirit.

O thou unseemly one, whose actions are not meet: who hast suffered they merchants to wax as kings: who admittest the multitude to thy councils: In the end they shall betray thee to the desert and the dust. In that day they captains and divers peoples shall divide thee from within: the strnog shall be at strife with the strong: Also, the heathen of his multitude shall sunder thee from round about: he whose heart is entire within him, who is not forsworn as thou:
Who hath not departed from his god as thou from thine.
O twice-confounded: in the end they shall render thee to the Abyss, to the blind and earless One who recieveth but rendereth not in turn:
Abaddon shall take charge of thee.

In the far time to come, ere the end of the black cycle, thy memory shall be but as the writing on a stone that hath crumbled, that the wind hath lifted grain by grain and diffused afar:
The wise and the patient shall hardly regather the characters of that writing, nor put together the import thereof.
Only some wind, that hath blown always within they loneliest and most ancient waste, shall have remembrance of thee then.
Even thy magic shall be forgotten: the desert peoples latterly they remnant, will hardly have the same names for thy devils in that day made free and ranging as aforetime.
Also, they high and haughty cities shall in those years be such that they who builded them would scarcely say if this were their handiwork.

Neither shall they endure as the stone of old times, as the pillars of Rome and Tyre that builded mightily, of Egypt whose toil shall be a testimony to the stars of the last and endless night.

Music: Sonorant – Soul Extinct

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