Inns mouth
IN STROLLED CTHULHU, Slapping slippery tents all over the floor growning, moaning, as atlantian doors slamed shut, into the antarctic laden, frost covered, dwarvish looking halls he sank, down a shoot the size of a giant moth, green jade inlayed, outlayed, brownish stains, so cold. Sliding deeper, hearing streams, gushing rapids, rolling tides, KOOOSKPLOOSASH fast then slow like a billowing pinup parachute he sank, following a tunnel to the temple, he smelt something, no..no...tasted it..yes...