The Dark Rites of Cthulhu Read Online Free PDF

out," Warren snapped. He reached inside his own coat and extracted a heavy, antique revolver from a shoulder holster. The pistol was a LeMat, a Civil War era revolver that Warren had some attachment to, despite its age and unwieldy size. Warren had never shared the origin of that attachment with Carter, despite the latter's numerous attempts to pry it out of him. "You're going to have your hands plenty full with this."
    "What?" Carter stepped back, hands raised in protest. “I’m not the sort for guns, Warren."
    "Take the pistol, Carter. I need you to hold it for me for a minute," Warren said, flipping the revolver around so that he proffered the butt to Carter. Carter made a face, but took the weapon. It was heavy in his hand, far heavier than the pistol he'd carried in France during the Great War. In its own way, it was as much a relic of ancient times as the thing on the bed.
    "Fine," he said. "Now would you mind telling me what you're talking about? What is this--this 'roh-lang' you mentioned?" He hesitated, struck by an unpleasant notion. "It doesn't have anything to do with that business in Arkham last year, does it?" he asked quietly.
    "Not quite," Warren said, smiling slightly. "You'll recall I spent some formative time in Tibet?" He pushed himself to his feet and dusted his hands. "I learned a lot in those mountains. Mostly things I'd rather not know, but you can't always pick your lessons or your teachers, if you catch my meaning." He grinned crookedly and Carter felt a shiver pass through him, though he couldn't say why. Warren went to the bed and looked down. "At any rate, there are certain men of power in the hinterlands of Tibet who swear by the rite of the rolang. They spoke of signs and marks like those plastered on the walls, and told me of scenes just like this one here, rolang and all."
    "And what, pray tell, is a rolang?" Carter asked.
    Warren gestured to the thing on the bed. "That handsome fellow right there.'Rolang' roughly translates as 'corpse who stands up' or some such, depending on the dialect." He scratched his chin and looked down at the brown thing.
    "He's--ah--he's not standing up," Carter said. His skin crawled at the thought even as he said it. He had an image in his head, of burying grounds full of crawling, rising corpses, and he clutched himself as a cold chill ran through him.
    "You sound disappointed." Warren shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned forward. "This particular rite involves a prepared body, often that of a sorcerer or a lama, and a sealed room. The undertaker of the ritual, whom I'm guessing was the fellow on the floor, and is almost always a wizard, gets on top of the body, repeating a certain formula to awaken the spirit slumbering in the corpse. The corpse gets frisky, tries to escape, and the wizard must hold it down until he can bite off its tongue."
    Carter made a sound of disgust. "And if he fails?"
    "The rolang kills him. As it will kill any other living thing that it gets its leathery paws on," Warren said serenely as he bent low over the withered features of the thing on the bed. "Nasty thing, a dead sorcerer. Ain't that right, Mr. Rolang?" Warren went on, as if speaking to the thing. Carter felt a thrill of horror as he saw its eyelids twitch. The LeMat bobbed up in his grip, almost of its own volition. Warren carefully pushed the barrel aside. "Whoa there, not yet Carter," he said.
    "It moved!"
    "That it did, but that ain't no call to plug it quite yet. Probably wouldn't do any good anyway," Warren said.
    "If it can move, why didn't it leave?" Carter demanded.
    "I did mention that the room was sealed, didn't I?" Warren said, gesturing to the doorframe.
    "It was trapped," Carter said. He felt a sinking sensation in his gut.
    "Yep," Warren said, still examining the thing.
    "It was trapped and you brought us in here with it?" Carter nearly shrieked. The LeMat came up again, and again Warren gently pushed it aside.
    "You're in no danger, Carter, now calm