Deep within his grave, Cthulhu rests. No longer alive, but not truly dead. Sleeping, but never idle. From his tomb of stone, in the darkest depths of the Pacific, he calls out to us with his mind. Seeking.

Most cannot hear the call. Our minds are shackled by mortal walls and our limited perception of reality. Some hear the call in their dreams and are driven to madness; senses unable to cope with the sheer force of his will. The rarest of souls are those who can truly comprehend the call and answer it. These few, the Chosen of Cthulhu, create a sort of psychic connection to the Great Old One himself.

Upon death, like Cthulhu himself, his Chosen do not truly die. Instead they wait, in the spaces between reality, for the return of the Great Old One when they too will be revived to bring chaos to the world once again.

This original painting was done in oils on 18” x 24” hard board.