I have once again renewed my eldritch tradition—immersing myself, one tale a day, in the dark and unnameable horrors spun by the master himself, H.P. Lovecraft, throughout October. To be sure, it is a peculiar sensation reading such works under the relentless sunshine of San Diego rather than amidst the autumnal shadows of New England. Yet, despite the incongruity of my surroundings, the strange pleasure I derived from revisiting “The Doom That Came to Sarnath” remained undiminished. Truly, the title itself is a blasphemous hymn to the unholy—one that is, as the modern youth might say, “metal AF!”
Where once had risen walls of 300 cubits and towers yet higher, now stretched only the marshy shore, and where once had dwelt fifty millions of men now crawled only the detestable green water-lizard. Not even the mines of precious metal remained, for DOOM had come to Sarnath.
More than 10,000 years ago, a race of shepherds, hardy and ambitious, colonized the banks of the river Ai in the land of Mnar. They founded the cities of Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron, and from there, their avarice led them to the desolate shores of a vast, dark lake, where they established the mighty city of Sarnath. Yet, there, beside the silent waters, lay the grey and ancient city of Ib, home to a queer, voiceless race who had descended from the Moon itself. These beings—green-skinned, with bulging eyes and flabby lips—worshipped the great water lizard Bokrug, and for their grotesque forms alone, the men of Sarnath loathed them.
In their arrogance, the Sarnathians rose in merciless slaughter, wiping out the inhabitants of Ib, razing the city to the ground, and carrying back the idol of Bokrug as a symbol of their victory. But that night, as the idol vanished from the temple and the high priest Taran-Ish was found dead, with the single word “DOOM” scrawled in his final moments, the true fate of Sarnath was sealed.
A thousand years later, when Sarnath had reached the zenith of its power, a feast was held to celebrate the destruction of Ib. But the revelry was cut short by strange green mists rising from the lake, sending waves of terror through the city. Survivors claimed to have seen the long-dead inhabitants of Ib staring out from the towers of Sarnath. The following day, Sarnath was no more—vanished, leaving only a desolate marsh crawling with water lizards and the missing idol of Bokrug. From that dark day forward, Bokrug reigned supreme in Mnar, a grim reminder of the doom that befell the proud city of Sarnath.