Feeling empowered, you decide to tap directly into the darkness that constitutes the avatar of Hastur, the King in Yellow, because you realized you really haven't spoken "directly" to anyone for quite a while now, also for a given value of spoken, given you're a vase with no vocal cords or mouth.
I, the vase of iniquity, the embodiment of fine ceramics and exquisite exteriors, have come to make a deal with you, great Hastur.
"Oh?"
Vanquish your slimy half-brother in your full power, and I shall be yours to use.
"No. You have fled from me once; I have no guarantees if you're engaging in your typical brand of trickery, whelp. Besides, I could use this opportunity to force you to a checkmate."
Hastur braces to emerge from the darkness surrounding his avatar. He's getting serious.
Crud. He's not caving in. Cthulhu approacheth however, and he now towers over what was once a bazaar for Indonesian cuisine. The cats arrive with him, are dead, killing people and worshipping Cthulhu. They're not on your side either. Being a vase, there's little you can do. You're not even sure if you can directly control Cthulhu yet, unless you barrage the guy with shards.
For now, you decide to run. Or roll. Or whatever vases seem to do to move from one place to the other. You briefly muse running, but your thralls are too valuable to scatter again. Rolling? That's going to dirty your exterior. You only do it when it's tactical or strategic. Two giants of supernatural origin standing right there utterly undermines any kind of reason for you to roll; the supernatural is already displayed prominently.
Thus, you decide to direct the wind currents under your base and direct your path away from your foes.
Then you, from your thralls, hear a magnificent, fearsome roar from the towering aquatic giant. He smashes buildings apart and creates a wide circle around the area he is in. Hastur looks in awe, as the end of the world approaches today. Runic portals appear in mid air, from which the Star Spawn of Cthulhu descends, accompanied by great gushing of extraterrestrial water. Los Angeles rapidly devolves into a blasted wasteland.
Larger portals appear in mid air, and all of the Great Old Ones enter through, engulfing the sky in eldritch horror.
From the distance, you sense a malevolent aura from one seemingly ordinary businessman; beckoning you to come closer.
You are flying aimlessly in the flooded wastes, dodging any and all flying debris and eldritch bolts. Your thralls have been rapidly drowned, and your shards within them grow powerless. What do you do?