Bringing Madness...

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Symond’s stare seemed to intensify as the three cloaked figures scanned the room and quickly sat down in a shadowy corner. The green eyes rimmed in yellow did not soften. I glanced at the three shadows that interrupted the story. The tallest one seemed to be the leader. He pointed and the other two followed. The freckled angel in blue floated through the crowd to bring the three new patrons their beers.

Milo continued playing as Symond fell silent. The chords and tones that Milo was shaping under his nimble fingers seemed to ease the crowd. Few noticed that Symond was visibly stunned due to Milo’s ability to take the crowd over with his music.

The halfling stroked the guitar strings with both hands that seemed to alternate between strumming and plucking notes to either create harmony or discord, depending on what he thought was needed. Milo never looked up from his guitar. As I had said before, he was a master bard. The halfling seemed to instinctively know what was needed for the crowd not to get lost into reality.

“The Nameless One was born out of the chaos of the Schacté as well as his children, his children’s children and all of us.” Symond continued in his gravelly voice, instantly drawing me back into the story he was telling. “He was the first of many, the father of a most Divine ancestry.” Symond licked his lips with a thick tongue.

“But he was not the only one to be born on that day.”

Silence reigned within Benak’s Blue Monkey. For an eternal second no one in the tavern spoke or even breathed. Symond grabbed a cup from the nearest patron and drank deeply. I could see his hands shaking. A slight tremor rumbled across and through his left eye. Symond worked in a lightning-fast glance towards the shadows in the corner who were sipping cautiously on the chilled sour beer before he continued.

“The Nameless One was. The Nameless One is. The Nameless One shall ever be.” Symond continued. His voice was strong, but a little shaky. The dynamic of his story changed with the presence of the unknown shadows sitting in the corner. “But he was not the only one born out of that chaos.”

I flicked my eyes to the three shadowy figures in the corner. They were dead still and silent. I think I knew at that time that they were protesting silently but didn’t have the authority to do anything. They were here to observe, just as I was.

“The Nameless One,” Symond chuckled loudly. It was a deep baritone reverberation that seemed to echo off of the walls in spite of the filled room. “The Unspeakable One was not the only thing that crawled out of the chaos of the Schacté.” Symond frowned to the crowded room. “The Great Church doesn’t speak of the other Great Old Ones that were born in that eternal storm of the Schacté .hey do not tell you of the Glaaki or Eihort. They do not speak of Mordiggian or Nodens. You do not know of these and the other Great Old Ones. The Great Church forbids it.”

Symond lifted one of his arms and pointed out to the crowd and then brought his finger to his temple and smiled that ugly, snaggle-toothed smile of his.

“But I know of these Great Old Ones. These are the brothers and sisters of the Unspeakable Nameless One.” Symond’s grin seemed to expand and take up the lower half of his face. “But who was the Unspeakable Nameless One born of? Who are the parents of the mighty One? It wasn’t simply the Schacté. That was an after-effect of the cosmic union of Azathoth, Shub-Niggurath and Yog-Sothoth!” Symond was screaming at the top of his lungs, “This is what the Great Church holds back from you! This is the ancient and secret knowledge that you have been forbidden to know. This is why you are here. This is the story that you do not know. This is why I am here.”

Milo’s playing took over as Symond withdrew back into himself from his near ear-splitting tirade about unknown Gods. My mind was racing. I scrambled quickly to find my journal and a pencil in which to capture the strange and unusual names. I tried to say them, my tongue twisted around the alien words. I butchered them until I recalled how Symond yelled the syllables.

“From the union of Azathoth, Shub-Niggurath and Yog-Sothoth came the Schacté.” Symond took his seat back at the fire pit. His voice was no longer screaming, but instead scholarly, as if he were hosting a lecture at any of the Great Church’s Libraries or Scriptoriums of Tinel. “The Nameless Unspeakable One was the first, but not the only of his siblings that came out of that powerful force.”

Symond licked his lips again and paused. The room seemed eerily silent as Milo’s masterful fingers had ceased strumming and plucking on the guitar. There was a tension in the room that was almost palpable. I desperately wanted another cold beer from the freckled serving angel. She was lost in the crowd and no longer moving.

“We have not been granted the knowledge by the Great Church and its maddening conspiracy to hold our minds hostage. They speak of the Word being the most holy and divine. I know the true power of the Word. It is only the one Word that will unravel all of reality and align the stars to the right configuration.” Symond looked up at the ceiling apparently seeing things beyond the wood of the rafters and roof, nails, pitch and tiling.

“When the align themselves,” Symond whispered as he scanned the skies beyond the Blue Monkey, “The Great Old Ones, the parents of the Nameless Unspeakable One, Yig, Nodens, Mordiggian and so many more, will be free. At that time, we will be destroyed as the Nameless Unspeakable One utters his final Word.”