Ermintrude
I can only relate these matters as fragments, I'm afraid. The dreams ... ahhh, the dreams. It had been over a year since the last dream, the one I hinted at when last we met. I hadn't told you in full for I well knew how disbelief would take you.
The horror of it! Even now I can barely bring myself to describe what I saw. What sane man could?
It was last December, a month you well know to have been one of unusual chill. And yet that night I rolled in sweat, my muscles knotted, as my mind was assaulted by a vile creature emanating a tide of hate. I saw it then in my dreams that night, though it wasn't the first time I had encountered its mind. It appeared as a hulking beast, a pink putrescence oozing from its skin. Purple eyes that fell away to nothing entranced me, their bottomless pits echoing that Void I wish never to see again in waking hour or dream.
It held me in its gaze, waves of malevolence washing over me as I struggled. I was unable to break free, unable to wake, sure only that this foul creature of the abyss would rend my mind from my corporeal existence before the night was through.
And then mercifully the beast suddenly bellowed and I found myself released. That was the night you walked in and found me in that hut. I said little of it that night, for I was shaken and unable to articulate the magnitude of what I had experienced. But also I knew that even then you would have trouble accepting the true import of that mental invasion. And so, in seemingly roundabout fashion, we discussed the cane you brought with you. For I believe now even more so than then that the staff of Snok that you held when you crossed the threshold of that hut was all that kept me from madness that night!
In the ensuing months I delved deep into the lore of Snok, that ancient god of myth from the darkest depths of Africa, where Her name and countenance have been lost since before the language of man. And yet I found tales, handed down orally amongst the tribes there. Just fragments ... and yet when put together those fragments painted a most horrifying picture.
For Snok, it was said, had many children, horrifying nightmares of children that in the forms of beasts roamed the earth as it was. They took what they wanted, and what they willed was done, for they were without peer. Nothing could breach their hide, and with their mental powers they could reduce any foe to madness.
The tales were ... brief; conflicting. That these children of Snok were few in number was certain, and yet for the most part the tales could not agree on form let alone name. But there was one. One of Snok's children that had common description. A picture of a beast more loathsome than any could imagine, so pink it veritably sparkled in the darkest depths of the starless nights. Quadruped it was, stomping throughout forests and making the earth shake, with giant all-hearing ears and a twisted parody of a goat's tail attached to its hind-quarters. But most hideous of all was said to be a great appendage upon its visage; a lone tentacle, as of a giant squid. I'm sure I have no need to tell you of what that suggests!
This child of Snok ran rampant through Africa, destruction left only in its wake. Beasts rent or devoured. People fleeing in terror. Tales of stork sacrificing themselves in some unfathomable devotion to its madness. And yet that chaos of mind became its downfall, as it angered its Mother, and it railed against Her. In its madness it challenged its Mother and was struck down and bound, a spiked amethyst collar clamped hard against its neck. And in its binding it cried out to its Mother, but in vain, for Snok was without pity, and without remorse, for none could daresay Her. And so Her child lay dormant, bound and buried deep beneath the uttermost layers of the earth. And Her child's name was Ermintrude.
Alas, for my inquisitiveness! It seems I dug too deep into things that were best forgotten, and in my prying I disturbed this nightmare incarnate and drew its gaze more fully upon me. Bound and buried Ermintrude may yet be, but still she writhes tendrils of shadows out beyond her gaol and into our world.
I said earlier that it had been more than a year since the last dream. Had, dear friend, until last night. For once again Ermintrude visited me through the power of its Pachydreams, the brilliance of its pink visage bursting forth from cracked blackness. Its face twisted with hate, it glared upon my soul and I don't mind telling you I quailed and recoiled in terror. I had never wanted to see that face again, framed as it was by sprouts of wretched black hair shooting out from below that tentacular limb.
Its mouth soundlessly opened in longing to once again walk this earth, something it planned to accomplish through my own mind, even if it had to tear it apart in the process!
I told you I had hoped to never see Ermintrude again, nor suffer the assault of its Pachydreams. That is true. However, I was not unprepared for the possibility. For in my travels I come across many items, and not all have been made by the hands of men. So it was with one item, whose making was so long ago I cannot fathom it. But I determined that it was of a disassembling nature, and had powers over more than matter. How I was able to learn this I cannot reveal, even to you. But I have kept this by my side for many months now, hidden from others for it is of a strange hue, and would attract undue attention.
From my sleep I held onto it that night, as I have held onto it in my sleep for many nights now. And in my dream I was able to draw this item out, this black titanium spork that endured simultaneously in more planes of existence than you can comprehend. And with this spork I struck out at that maw, my arm passing through that writhing tentacle, past that one triangular tooth and deep into the gullet of Ermintrude. In pain it roared, a hideous roar that blasted waves of pain upon me though it was silent. Deep within the creature, within this spawn of Snok, I released the black titanium spork, disabling its defences. Breached and wounded, it sought now to flee, its plans in disarray, its mind in turmoil. It no longer sought an entrance back to earth through me, but only to seek refuge, for it had been millennia since it had tasted even a sliver of pain.
But I was not done! No, for the spork granted the wielder many powers of a supernatural form, and though I had not the opportunity to practice wielding such powers, I employed them now. Steady in my fear, determination overriding the horror and revulsion that welled up inside me, I brought into being an amethyst hat of binding, enchanted with runes from Snok's own language, a language She shares with Her children. And this purple hat I brought down upon the head of Ermintrude, binding it more deeply even than the spiked collar upon its neck.
The Pachydream was broken. Ermintrude is more tightly bound than ever, unable to breach the earthly realm and the minds of men. To the darkest foundations of the earth and beyond it now resides, and I deem that to be something of an accomplishment.
However, you see me now, before you, shaking yet with fear. After what has been accomplished? After the banishment of this beast?
Yes, I shake still. For as I bound Ermintrude and cast it away, I caught a glimpse of something behind it. Vast and overwhelming, I saw it but for an instant before returning to the waking world. And yet, even without description, without name, without reference, I am sure of what I saw in that last moment.
For in the darkness beyond, revealing Herself to me in Her wrath, was Snok in all Her vengeful glory.
