H. P. Lovecraft's work reaches its climax with his stories about the primeval gods and their arrival on earth from space, where they are confronted by the Ancients for the domination of the world. After bloody battles they manage to establish themselves and spread their cult. Until the Archetypal Gods of humans through their magic and the power of the Arcane Symbol banished them to remote places. They are still waiting for a sect or a sorcerer to free them in order to subjugate the human race and destroy the earth... the literary cycle "The Myths of Cthulhu" show us a terrifying reality that lurks hidden from the depths over who dares to peer into the abysses of that dimension. Gods and creatures like Yog-Sothoth, Azathoth, Shub-Niggurath, Nyartlathotep or Dagon plague his stories...

"He was not the most honest or the most pious man, but he was a brave man" P. Reverte.

If you lived dangerously and your life was hanging by a thread, if you defied authority, defending your reason and rights with the proud point of your sword, if you sacrificed yourself and were generous and human, if you were fearless, reckless, arrogant, brave, adventurous, seductive, rogue, loyal, if you were capable of the most heroic but also the meanest actions, if you were guided by your code of honour, if you sought glory on the margins of society and the law, if you lost your innocence in the face of the harsh reality of mud and blood, and if, disenchanted, everyone abandoned you. .. then you were probably an Old Thirdsman, a tired hero in rusty armour, a forgotten anti-hero like a cursed Alatriste.

"He was not the most honest or the most pious man, but he was a brave man" P. Reverte.

If you lived dangerously and your life was hanging by a thread, if you defied authority, defending your reason and rights with the proud point of your sword, if you sacrificed yourself and were generous and human, if you were fearless, reckless, arrogant, brave, adventurous, seductive, rogue, loyal, if you were capable of the most heroic but also the meanest actions, if you were guided by your code of honour, if you sought glory on the margins of society and the law, if you lost your innocence in the face of the harsh reality of mud and blood, and if, disenchanted, everyone abandoned you. .. then you were probably an Old Thirdsman, a tired hero in rusty armour, a forgotten anti-hero like a cursed Alatriste.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

We are the horsemen who ride with beasts of pipes and steel based on black fuel, in this hostile land, the roads are nightmares, the cities are deserts and humanity feeds on men... the leaders cannot stop this avalanche, the storm from fear…

Driven by this confusion full of frustrated dreams, we unscrupulously take revenge on the burdens, we will annihilate with our sword, with hunger, with death and with the beasts...

The great earthquake dyes the sun black and the blood moon, the stars fall from the sky...

The great day has come... in the midst of this chaos hope will resurface...

Don't you want to ride like a horseman from the Apocalypse to hell itself carrying this iron cross? Discover new horizons and new worlds, cross the wild nature flying free to the ends of the Universe. Be bold, break barriers, the rules if necessary, help your people and do not forget that the trophy you carry is a symbol of loyalty, companionship, courage, rebellion and freedom.

We are the horsemen who ride with beasts of pipes and steel based on black fuel, in this hostile land, the roads are nightmares, the cities are deserts and humanity feeds on men... the leaders cannot stop this avalanche, the storm from fear…

Driven by this confusion full of frustrated dreams, we unscrupulously take revenge on the burdens, we will annihilate with our sword, with hunger, with death and with the beasts...

The great earthquake dyes the sun black and the blood moon, the stars fall from the sky...

The great day has come... in the midst of this chaos hope will resurface...

La Estantigua (in Castilian tradition), Güestia or Bona Xente (in Asturian mythology), Corteju de Genti de Muerti (in Extremadura), Estadea (in Zamora), Hueste de Ánimas (in León), Vision, La Huespeda… different names to refer to the Santa Compaña, that group of wandering hooded ghosts, a dark army of souls in pain that wandered in the gloomy night through the towns, forests and crossroads as an omen of death. To know its origin, we must go back to Germanic paganism (Wild Hunt — whose evolution under the medieval Christian veil would give the gloomy spectral procession Mesnie Hellequin—) and Celtic (the Sluagh or the Fairy Host) related to omens of wars, plagues, diseases future and acts of gathering souls.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

"Only dead fish follow the stream of the river".

Swimming against the current is an odyssey in an open world where paradoxically there is more access to information but at the same time we are more controlled. Reflections of those dystopian universes — riddled with environmental disasters and cataclysms — from science fiction novels have come true. But there is still hope. There are spaces of freedom to ambush, where dissidents and freethinkers can react and rebel against the flashes of tyranny, censorship and dehumanization present in society. In some remote and lost place the Lineage of the free will always resist.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

Listen to her desires, there is no calm from where to escape, the intensity of her pain is revealed which encloses the secret in a ritual of beats about to explode. The essence of light at the heart of her formula: Ode to freedom, an irreverent burst of daring that awakens consciences, melt into the encounter of civilizations, the tension finally gives way to lethal caresses that confine hatred and envelop it in the depths. Crucible of Cultures, catalyst of life. Redeeming Apocalypse. Listen inside, there is no longer anguish and pain. A new horizon enriches her soul.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

“Men of learning suspect it little, and ignore it mostly. Wise men have interpreted dreams, and the gods have laughed”.

H. P. Lovecraft, poet, essayist, author, an appreciated and misunderstood genius of the cosmic horror novel. Pagan and creator of blasphemous stories of the wonderful and the ridiculous, his oniric dreams have drawn the worst of our nightmares and inspired in the form of worship the curious and daring who have come to read his chilling and delicious work full of outer beings, ancient gods and ancestral monsters... Cthulhu, Shub-Niggurath, Nyarathotep, Azathoth, Yog-Sothoth... As our friend said so well... The oldest and strongest emotion of humankind is fear, and the most oldest and strongest kind of fears is fear of the unknown.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even dead may die" 

H. P. Lovecraft, poet, essayist, author, an appreciated and misunderstood genius of the cosmic horror novel. Pagan and creator of blasphemous stories of the wonderful and the ridiculous, his oniric dreams have drawn the worst of our nightmares and inspired in the form of worship the curious and daring who have come to read his chilling and delicious work full of outer beings, ancient gods and ancestral monsters ... Cthulhu, Shub-Niggurath, Nyarathotep, Azathoth, Yog-Sothoth .... As our friend said so well ... The oldest and strongest emotion of humankind is fear, and the most oldest and strongest kind of fears is fear of the unknown »

"Kill them all, God will know His own". If you see pale, thin and barefoot walkers through the towns of Landeloc, do not fear, they are the Cathars, those "perfect" messengers, good men, vegetarians, celibates, gnostics, dedicated to religious life, of primordial wisdom, who neither collect nor benefits are granted. People who reject oaths, who keep the divine secret and that the church, to exterminate any attempt at heresy, has suffocated in its Albigensian crusade. Their mysterious story is a hymn to truth, freedom and love, to the personal search for the knowledge of God for salvation. On March 1, 1244, the last focus of resistance surrenders at the Montsegur Castle, where they say the Holy Grail is housed. 200 Cathars are burned alive.

Design: 80's Helloween "Keeper" style