The Strange Adventures of H.P. Lovecraft will be terrifying at WonderCon in San Francisco this weekend Feb 21 - 23. Stalk Adam down in Artist Alley. Berate him with clever one-liners. Cast a-skewed glances from an adjacent table, refusing to approach. Sneer loudly, and often!

We deserve it! This is our third WonderCon in a row promoting our new, yet ancient Lovecraft comic book. But fear not, faithful fiends. When we tell you we’re almost finished with our graphic novel, this time we ain’t lyin’. After years of toiling we are putting the finishing touches on a huge tome we hope will please Lovecraft Nation.

While we won’t have the book for sale at WonderCon, you can pick up a pristine 18 x 24 poster penciled and inked by Tony Salmons and colored by yours truly. If you didn’t pick it up at ComicCon last summer, come get it this weekend. Best of all it’s only a buck.

See you there!

adam

Of all the djinn tribes that rule the four elements of this world none is more powerful, more arrogant or proud, or more truly evil, than the first born of the djinn: the Marid.

With skin the color of the roiling oceans, hair like damp sea grass, and an unquenchable thirst the “blue” djinn inhabit the boundless waters of the world occasionally taking the form of a canny talking porpoise or a shrewd old man in their dealings with humans.

Though the Marid were the most powerful of the four djinn tribes, they could still be coerced into doing a human’s bidding. The Marid were known to grant wishes to those who vanquished them in battle, and according to some sources, through imprisonment, rituals, the promise of immense wealth, or just a great deal of flattery.

It is widely believed that Dagon, the major northwest Semitic god worshipped by the early Amorites and Philistines (2500 BC), was a direct influence upon the emerging Arab mythology of the djinn.

The most often told fable of the Marid dates to the Abbasid Caliphate and translates roughly as “Under Green Sail.”

Two weary sailors from Siraf found themselves helplessly adrift in the midst of an angry tempest on the seething Arabian Sea. With badly tattered sails and a kamal useless under coal black skies, their dhal had begun to sink when they were approached by an enormous water spout. Atop the great whirling column sat an old man. He asked, “Do you have any drink you might share with a thirsty old man?” The two sailors carried palm wine, and though they thought the request unusual from a water daemon, they gave the old man their goat skin and he drank from it long and deep. When, for the moment, he had sated his thirst he commented on how the wine pleased him to no end and then asked a second question of them, “Would you answer a riddle to save your lives?” The two sailors in their sinking vessel had little choice; they thanked the old man for the opportunity and agreed to hear his riddle. It went: “There are four brothers in this world that were all born together, The first runs and never wearies. The second eats and is never full. The third drinks and is always thirsty. The fourth sings a song that is never good. Name these brothers.” As the waters rose above the knees of the sailors one turned to the other and said, “I have it! The brothers are the djinn tribes, the elements: water, fire, earth, and wind.” The sailor was correct and the old man smiled as he hadn’t wanted to watch these two good men drown as he very much enjoyed their wine and hoped to partake of more. I will take you to an island nearby where you can mend your sails and seal your dahl. And with that, he whisked their boat away on his water spout and set them down on fabled Jazirat as-Sindibad (Arabic: جزيرة السندباد). Before the old man could take his leave the sailors asked if he wouldn’t care for more of their wine as he was surely thirsty after carrying their battered ship such a great distance. The Marid happily agreed to sit and drink. He soon had finished all the palm wine the men carried in the store of their dahl and found himself richly intoxicated. It dawned on the sailors that an opportunity had presented itself. The first sailor spoke, “Old man, you are truly a great sailor that you can ride these waters without a ship. Your knowledge of seafaring vessels must be deep indeed. Would you agree to stay and repair our ship if you are unable to answer our riddle?” The old man, like all of the Marid, was full of conceit as the sailors knew and relished the challenge, “I agree. What is your riddle?” The second sailor spoke, “At dusk I come without being fetched. At dawn I disappear without being stolen. I’m a poet’s tears and a sailor’s guide. Who am I?” Though the djinn had answered many riddles in his lifetime, and was certain he had heard this one numerous times before, the answer to this one escaped his wine-addled mind. Realizing he had been beaten, the old man smiled. The sailor smiled back and gave the elusive answer, “The stars.” And that is how the two sailors met an old man riding a water spout, survived a terrible storm, and returned to their families in Siraf under magnificent green sails woven from the finest seaweeds found in the ocean.

From an annotation to Tale 133, Volume 6 of
Sir Richard Burton’s esteemed translation of
The Book of One Thousand and One Nights.

Day 703.

Still no rain. No war parties yet either but the drums may be heard all night. In this danger and privation I’m uncertain of my companions. They seemed friendly enough at first but now they keep to themselves and chatter in their inane native tongue. Even the monkey stays to herself in the corner of the cave with her own thoughts. The only woman on the island is strangely sad about it. All seem affectionate enough of her. Oh, the secret councels of a woman’s unknowable heart!
While spirits have risen in the last day, I suspect the worst for us. Or even worse than that. What would that look like? What’s worser than worstest? In this isolation the mind plays games. I would ask the others what’s worstest-y but they’re busy with some clay contrivance at the hearth in which to prepare our next community meal. It will be a hardy celebration for the vessel is large and the fire is raging. A reliefe and a happy occasion for all. They seem invigorated in some way and I’m pleased that they’ve found a kind of purpose in this forsaken place.
God help me if I’d been here alone all this time. These brave and noble men of the forest will be my salvation.
In honor of the feast everyone will bathe and groom. My man is preparing my shave, now. When I am back in England what a story I will tell.

Thomas Salmons, H.M.S. Feelyhorn. Lost March, 1783.

The conclusion to The Strange Adventures of H.P. Lovecraft is underway. Years later, our 4 issue mini-series that was projected to run under 90 pages has absolutely ballooned. By the time we’re done, TSAHPL will be over 160 pages!

Thanks for your patience while we’ve been juggling life and comics at the same time. Tony Salmons is doing an incredible job with the artwork and we’re excitedly fine-tuning the story and colors.

Stay tuned as we plan to publish the graphic novel in 2008. If you’re not signed up on our mailing list, go to the COMIC page and sign up for an email alert when we’re ready to publish. As of now, we’re an independent publisher so when we do make it into Previews, we may ask you to go to your local comic book store and ask them to order our book. Thanks for all the kind letters of support. We’re looking forward to publishing as much as you’re looking forward to reading it.
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