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cthulhu

Great Old One
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The Rodina and the Shackles of Humanity

moscow.jpg




Table of Contents

1923

- * -

The Early Hours of New Year's Day
Svetlana Nikolaevna Platova
Yevgeny Kartaphilov
Lev Davidovich Trotsky
Baron Andrei Sergeevich von Berg
A Bloc Against the Apparatus
The Soviet Trade Delegation to Norway
The Commissar and the General
Propykin's Mask
The Georgian Affair
Jailbreak
Lauding the Organizer of Victory
The Nature of the Fiend
Boris Kirillovich Volosatov
The Twelfth Congress of the Russian Communist Party
Kristof S. Havel
Kollontai's background
Samuel Greenleaf

- * -





Moscow, the heart of the vast Russian lands had suffered many trials since its founding in the dark tenth century. The hardest trials of the last two years were the famine and the following outbreak of cholera. The situation of course, was due to the horrible civil war that had raged across the former domain of the Tsars. The flames of civil strife were not quite extinguished – the Red Army was still fighting in Central Asia to crush the last domestic foes of the Bolsheviks. It was the fourth hour of New Years day 1923 and the city was covered in crisp white snow that had been falling for a solid week. The black night sky was clear now however, and the bleak light from the stars and the moon shone down on the dark metropolis where some would say Europe ended and Asia began. The streets were quiet, with the exception of some die hard New Year’s revelers, and only the avenues had working street lamps. Down by the Borodinsky Bridge, a tall and powerfully built man, wearing the uniform of a General of the Red Army, was walking up the northern stairs toward the Roman portico on the western side of the Moskva River. Mikhail Ivanov was called stone face by his fellow officers, because they claimed to have never seen him smile. In a way it was a fitting name, because Ivanov’s beautiful if stern face resembled the perfectly proportioned appearance of ancient statues of Greek gods. If the General had hoped for solitary star gazing from the portico he was disappointed.

A very short man, of almost dwarfish proportions, wearing a cheap and soiled dark brown coat stood gulping down a bottle of vodka. He turned to look at Ivanov, with the happy smile of a half-wit. His rather long and unkempt thick black hair merged with his gray-streaked black beard. The man’s narrow eyes tried to focus and take in the general’s tall frame. ‘Cold night, eh sir?’

Ivanov stopped in front of the drunken man and looked down on him with his cold gray eyes. He smiled at Ivanov and stretched out a filthy hand to shake hands. ‘Pleased to meet you, your lordship, I’m Alexei, but in these parts I’m known by most as simply…’

‘The fool?’ The general smiled warmly, a sight that would have shocked the men serving under him.

‘Why…yes! Do I know you, sir?’ The man’s surprise seemed to sober him up a bit.

‘We don’t know each other. I will call you Alexei if you don’t mind?’ The man shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes off the General. Ivanov was sure he was a mix of Russian and Azeri stock.

‘It’s an honor, sir!’

‘Pleased to meet you Alexei, I’m Mikhail Ivanov’ they shook hands and the General then moved to stand beside the short man and looked up at the starry sky. ‘It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?’

Alexei looked up and said, confused, ‘I haven’t thought much about it.’

‘Can I have some of that?’ Alexei handed over the bottle and the General took a swig before returning it. ‘Thanks. I guess this helps you keep warm?’

‘I have no problem with the cold, sir. The landlord of the building I grew up in let’s me keep a place in the cellar. No, I like the vodka because how it makes me feel, sir.’

Ivanov looked amused. ‘I can see that of course, and it’s good that you have a place to stay at.’

‘Will things get better soon, sir? It’s been harder and harder to get by since we went to war with the Germans.’

Ivanov stared down into the black icy water of the Moskva River. ‘We’re at an important junction in this country’s development and there are many possibilities, of which many might improve the plight of not only the Russian people, but also all of Europe. The road is fraught with danger however, and there is no shortage of enemies, both foreign and domestic.’

The fool thought hard and then simply said. ‘Then I hope we choose the right path. I have listened to Lenin speak once, but I think his voice says one thing and his heart another.’

‘You’re an underestimated man, Alexei, I know of many men who would much more deserve to be called ‘the fool.’

‘It’s been with me since I was a small boy, sir. I was always too slow to understand. The other children started to make fun of me. My mother always said that it didn’t matter as long as I was happy; because God would keep an eye on me to make sure I was safe.’

‘Are you a religious man?’

‘I don’t know. My late uncle Boris once told me God was dead and to be honest I have never heard from him. If he’s keeping an eye on me, he’s awfully secret about it. Maybe he sees me from up there.’ Alexei pointed to the night sky.

‘Well, judging from what this country has been through the last decade, the idea of God’s death is not outlandish. We must all do what we can to make sure that the all the lives lost were not for nothing. A new age of enlightment and solidarity must dawn.’

‘I hope you’re right, sir. I don’t think we can endure much more hardship.’

The men stood in silence for a while. Alexei was usually quite restless and could stand neither place nor fellow man for a longer time, but for some reason he felt content standing here, next to this stranger. There was something reassuring about him. As time passed the effect on him began to change – he felt that for each minute that passed it would be harder for him to go his own way instead of staying in the company of Ivanov. Alexei had never felt anything like it. He had to go. ‘I’m getting tired, sir. It has been very nice talking to you, but it’s time to hit the sack and there’s quite a walk home. I hope you’ll not be offended?’

‘Of course not, Alexei. It was a pleasure meeting you and I hope to see you again. I will watch the stars for a while longer. Good night!’

‘Good night, sir.’ The man called ‘the fool’ walked unsteadily back the same way the General had come from. Ivanov was alone with his thoughts again.
 
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Hmm... Am I actually the first to comment upon a new Cthulhu AAR???

Very interesting start. I would say a very benign start, but I know better. Ambiguous -- there's clearly more hidden than revealed.

Perhaps there are clues here for those familiar with the Cthulhu motif, but I must ask the question -- is Cthulhu in this Cthulhu story? :rolleyes:

I'll keep an eye out! Thanks, Cthulhu!

Rensslaer
 
Getting booked in with this one from the start.
 
I wonder where this is heading.
 
Rensslaer: Yes, you are the first. :) To answer your question - no this is not a story set in the cthulhu mythos universe. I think however, that you'll find this story worth your while anyway.

Lordban: Thank you.

Palmyrene: How fitting that you happened to listen to 'Nightingales'. Synchronicity? :cool: I'm glad that the atmosphere came a across. I have had the idea for the scene for quite a while, but as usual, when you write it it comes out quite different than first imagined.

JonReb: Next one is in the works.

Sir Humphrey: Glad to have you aboard, sir!

Myth & Deamon: Wohooooo! :D

stnylan: Nice to have you following this one.
 
Wouldn't miss it for the world.
jaby2.gif
 
Sounds very interesting!
 
Sir Humphrey: Glad to hear it.

Enewald: Welcome.

Maj. von Mauser: I hope you find the second installment as interesting!
 
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shivaz.jpg




The sun's weak rays were finally challenging the darkness' reign over the Moscow sky. It had been a very cold night and the old apartment building with its gray crumbling facade still lay in silence as if it was some ancient giant, refusing to be awoken from its slumber. On the third floor, in a one room apartment facing the backyard, Svetlana Platova sat in deep meditation - she was performing the last of the morning’s three mental exercises. The center of the room was cleared from furniture, the wooden floor covered by a thick Tibetan rug. A worn bed with tired springs stood in a bedstead recess in the wall to the right of the apartment’s only window. The left wall was covered by bookshelves in walnut that were superbly carved. The shelves were stuffed with books, many of them in foreign languages and bound in the finest leather. Under the window stood and simple wooden desk and chair. Piles of sheets covered with notes and drawings, marred by ink stains here and there, where neatly arranged on the desk. Three beautiful fountain pens lay together closest to the chair, the light from the kerosene lamp standing on the right hand side of the table, glistening on their shiny surface. The only decoration on the table was a small brass figurine of Shiva.

In the centre of the Tibetan carpet, Svetlana sat on a small thick cushion of Indian design in full lotus position. Despite the chilly air in the apartment and the cold creeping up through the thick carpet, her body only needed the cover of loosely fitting pants and a shirt made in linen - she was still flushed from the Yoga that she always started her morning routine with. Svetlana took a deep breath, starting in her belly, moving up to her chest and then exhaled with a relaxed sigh and opened her rather big green eyes. Her face was pretty with a small nose and slightly pouting lips. Her cute looks and the long red hair, although always made up in a bun at work, made most men strongly underestimate her. She slowly rose and stretched her muscles for a minute before walking into the simple kitchen and lit the stove under a large pot filled with water. While waiting for the water to boil, she went over to the wardrobe that was built into the wall beside the bedstead recess, and chose what clothes to wear, laying them on the bed. Svetlana moved gracefully with an awareness that is rarely seen in any individual doing everyday chores. When the water was boiling she poured most of the water into an iron tub, which was standing just out of the way in the part of her room that was closest to the kitchen. The hot water mixed with the cold that she had brought up the evening before. The tub was just big enough for a grownup to sit in, with the knees to the chest. She disrobed and got into the tub standing and began washing herself. Svetlana was above average women in length and despite being in what most would call perfect physical shape, still had the enough of body fat to give her the voluptuous forms men found so titillating. When done washing, she toweled off and put on her underwear before making a simple breakfast – strong black tea and four sandwiches with cheese. Two of them she wrapped in greaseproof paper and put them in her bag – for lunch.

After eating she put on the clothes – a white shirt, a black jacket and skirt, knee length socks in a dark shade of purple, and dark brown leather boots with wool lining. To protect her from the Russian winter, she wore a too big gray army overcoat that had belonged to her father, and a long and broad knitted moss green woolen scarf. She didn’t like to wear a cap, so she used her scarf when need be. She grabbed her bag and locked up before walking down the stairs and out into the early Moscow morning. She reached the streetcar stand in ten minutes and had to politely chat with the wife of the landlord Mrs. Kanukova as they waited and then all the way to the stop closest to the Foreign Commissariat. Svetlana was as usual the first to arrive to the tiny department she worked – which was supposed to primarily handle matters regarding India, but was mostly reduced to being extra manpower for other departments. Despite being fluent in Hindi and knowing India very well, she was reduced to being a glorified file clerk and although she resented this very much, one had to be happy to have work these days. Her colleagues arrived an hour later and they passed the morning chatting and working together. After a quick lunch break, she concentrated on updating a file on the senior members of the German diplomatic service.

‘Excuse me Comrade Platova.’ A tall man with a broad friendly face smiled at her.

‘Yes, can I help you, Comrade?’

‘Comrade Litvinov, requests your presence immediately.’

Svetlana looked at the man in disbelief, ‘are you sure you have the right person?’

‘Yes comrade Platova, the deputy People’s Commissar wants to meet you right away.’

‘Lead the way comrade.’ She followed the man up from the basement through the building up to the top floor. He made no attempts at small talk. They reached a large hall with four desks, of which three where occupied by secretaries busy with their typewriters. Of the three double doors in the hall, her guide chose the left one, ‘a moment, comrade Platova.’ He entered the doors and was gone but for a moment, ‘The Deputy People’s Commissar will see you now.’

The Commissar’s office was spacious and the furnishings were clearly relics from the Imperial era, chosen to impress with splendor. If the framed picture of Lenin alone didn’t dispell the effect, the Deputy Commissar himself certainly contributed. Litvinov, who rose from behind his huge desk and approached, was clad in a discrete plain suit. He smiled broadly and shook her hand. ‘Svetlana Nikolaevna, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Likewise, Comrade Deputy Commissar.’

‘Please, call me Maxim Maximovich.’ Litvinov was surprised at how calm she appeared to be, her small hand gripped his with friendly strength and there was no hint of moist or cold. ‘Please sit down, Svetlana Nikolaevna.’

‘Thank you…Maxim Maximovich?’ She sat in one of the guest chairs and he nodded while getting to his chair.

‘I have read your file; Svetlana Nikolaevna and I must say I’m very much impressed by your background and what you have achieved at such a young age. When I was a young man, I dreamed about the kind of exotic life you have already experienced. Sometime when we have more time you must tell me how it was to grow up in China and India, hmm?’

‘Of course, Maxim Maximovich. But I didn’t realize that the foreign commissariat kept detailed files on us simple clerks.’

‘Oh we don’t. We don’t’ Litvinov looked at her with serious eyes. ‘This is your file kept by the State Political Directorate, or at least the file they wanted me to see.’ He suddenly smiled, a little disappointed at not seeing any fear in her eyes. ‘Nothing to worry about in this case, my dear. The Cheka is always this thorough when we are about to send someone abroad.’

‘Abroad?’ Finally, a glitch in the armor, Litvinov was surprised at his delight at this.

‘You know Alexandra Mikhailovna Kollontai?’

‘Yes, I have met her several times. I worked about a year for Zhenotdel* before I was transferred here.‘

‘Do you remember where you met her the first time?’

‘Yes, it was the International Conference of Women Communists, held here in Moscow, two years ago. I worked as an organizer and by happenstance, we ended up having a long discussion on feminism and it’s role in communism.’

‘What is your opinion of her?’

Svetlana hesitated for a couple of seconds, ‘I think she’s very intelligent and has many great ideas.’

Litvinov leaned back and put his fingertips together, ‘And what of her role in the Workers' Opposition? The party condemned them for factionalism.’

‘It’s true, but remember, some of the proposals, like improving worker’s living conditions, were adopted by the Tenth Congress of the Russian Communist Party.’

‘So you agree with them?’

‘I’m not sufficiently informed of these issues to have an opinion. My loyalty is to the party, but I do believe that we have everything to gain from the free expressions of ideas when we meet.’

‘Somehow I get the feeling that you are very informed in many matters.’ Litvinov smiled. ‘You joined the party in 1918?’

’Yes, I came into contact with Marxist ideas in my teens, but I met the first party members through friends.’

‘Excellent. Now on to the reason I asked to see you. Would you accept to become the assistant to our First Secretary of the Soviet Trade delegation to Norway?’

‘Why, yes! I’d love an assignment abroad.’

‘Alexandra Kollontai is the current First Secretary.’

‘Oh, good, then I at least know someone there’

Litvinov scrutinized her face for a few seconds. ‘There’s one more thing regarding this assignment.’

‘Yes?’

‘You must do all you can to become close to Comrade Kollontai and report monthly on your conversations and observations. But understand that she’s not suspected of anything. The State Political Directorate simply wants to make sure that our delegation in Oslo is run smoothly and that Comrade Kollontai is neither listening to dubious people or is nurturing any old foolish ideas. Your reports will go through me, so send them to this office. And don’t tell anyone, I mean anyone about this.’ Litvinov looked at Svetlana sternly, ‘do you understand?’

‘Yes, Comrade Litvinov.’

‘Perfect. It will take a couple of days to arrange what’s needed for your journey. One of my assistants will contact you regarding the details. Make sure you’re ready to leave within a week.’

‘Yes, Comrade Litvinov.’

The Deputy Commissar came around the desk and shook her hand. ‘Svetlana Nikolaevna I have the outmost confidence in you. Good luck and have a safe journey.’

‘Thank you.” She exited the office and walked swiftly back to her department. It would be hard to concentrate on her work these last days. She couldn’t wait to get out into the world again.




* Women's Section of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union
 
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So, we have a diplomat and an agent. One who is well educated, self-confident, fairly tactful and quite unlikely to be particularly suspected for anything. Certainly less so than Kollontai (who, despite Litvinov's assurances, is certainly suspect--otherwise there's no reason to spy on her!) An interesting character with an even more interesting background, to be certain.
 
Dunno why but this look as if somebody is reserving a room for Kollontai in the "Siberian Grand Hotel", by courtesy of the NKVD, if you know what I mean.:D
 
Having just read James Palmers book on Urgen Von Sternberg, its very interesting how much occultism, eastern mysticism and religion penetrated many levels of Russian society before, during and after the war.

I really like where this is heading.