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  Arkham

  Behind everything crouched the brooding, festering horror of the ancient town, and of the mouldy, unhallowed garret gable where he wrote and studied and wrestled with figures and formulae when he was not tossing on the meager iron bed. His ears were growing sensitive to a preternatural and intolerable degree, and he had long ago stopped the cheap mantel clock whose ticking had come to seem like a thunder of artillery. At night the subtle stirring of the black city outside, the sinister scurrying of rats in the wormy partitions, and the creaking of hidden timbers in the centuried house, were enough to give him a sense of strident pandemonium. The darkness always teemed with unexplained sound – and yet he sometimes shook with fear lest the noises he heard should subside and allow him to hear certain other fainter noises which he suspected were lurking behind them.

  He was in the changeless, legend-haunted city of Arkham, with its clustering gambrel roofs that sway and sag over attics where witches hid from the King’s men in the dark, olden years of the Province.

  A shadowy, unapproachable forest of maple, birch, dogwood, cypress and pine softened by a garland of New England wildflowers: bergamot, columbine, rue anemone, blue violet, creeping phlox, bloodroot, toadflax, and pixie moss.

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  The Eternal King

  The Old King is sacrificed, dismembered, and returned to the earth so the land may be renewed and nourished.

  The death knell of the Old Order so life may begin anew: juniper and yew berry, black pine, white sage, soil, and pyre smoke.

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  This is Your Wilderness

  Honeyed patchouli with cypress, black pine, and tobacco absolute.

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  Loup Garou

  The wild, untamed essence of lycanthropy. Primeval in its raw power and insatiable hunger: juniper, cypress and galangal with the barest touch of eucalyptus.

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