Saturday, February 09, 2008
I remember the womb.
I remember thinking how strange it was to have such long limbs and not be able to fully stretch them in the cramped space that my mother allotted me. Bones were malleable in those days, my form mutable. It was the ability to experience the world through my mother’s viewpoint that convinced me to settle upon a bipedal from, though I’ll admit that I put in the extra joint and the hooves for the sake of tradition. Most demons try to make their true form the most frightening for mortals as a last-ditch effort to be freed, for when a mortal discovers your True Name and calls you by it, all glamours fall away. If then he can stand and look you in the face he has power over you.
Personally, from those earliest days, I worked out that the greatest weapon a demon had was his intellect. What use are all the loathsome tentacles if you’re reduced to carrying out the orders of a mortal mage? Better by far to smile and bow and introduce them to non-Euclidean architecture and watch their brains dribble out through their ears.
They weren’t daft, those ancient beasties from beyond space. What’s a sanitarium between cultists? I tell you now, if Nyarlothotep still made house calls, his physical presence would make your milk curdle after you’d drunk it, but I’d prefer to explode your synapses with intellect. Guess which one of us has the girlfriend, and which of us has a collection of porn.