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He was a man, once, Randolph Carter. A moderately skilled writer in the dull grey world we mortals known, but too a walker through dreams, an adventurer of greatest renown in that other, grander world. But losing that ability as he grew older, he sought new ways to escape into dreaming, deeper and more desperate ways.

The prices of which turned out to be far too high.

He is still a dream-walker, still an adventurer, and now too a wizard, and a thing to be respected and feared. He is second only to the great King Kuranes for tales to tell. But even he has not escaped his adventures unchanged.