Of course, that was twenty years ago and much has changed since then. Poor old Branham still sits catatonic in that Arkham hospital, undoubtedly still playing through the game over and over again in his mind, Azathoth reeling deep in his subconscious mind to the tittering, sinuous sounds of maddening flutists. Occasionally I do sense a small degree of guilt, knowing that it was Branham’s work which brought the game and its translation into my hands but it is tempered with an understanding of my own destiny- the stars were truly right and I have become the rightful custodian of the game and its eldritch mysteries.

Now, I am myself a publisher of board games and my business specializes in reprint editions of titles thought to be lost, forgotten, or otherwise unattainable. Of course the art had to be made a little more palatable and the theme was changed to a more accessible one, representing the travails and trials of medieval agriculturalists and industrialists but none will be the wiser. Hobbyists the world over have placed advanced orders for my next release, which will be the last, and anticipation is high amongst everyone from the most seasoned gamer to the practical beginner. Shipping containers full of the game are en route from manufacturers in China and soon the game will be in the hand and minds of thousands, most blissfully unaware of the silent invocation in which they will be unwitting, ignorant accomplices. The flutes scream out in crescendo. Azathoth stirs in his slumber. His time is at hand. “Ia! Ia! Dhau Phg’na Azathoth! Ia Ia! Ghat Hngu’th Azathoth!”

Questions or comments for Michael? Send them along to gameshark.feedback@yahoo.com .

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