The Birth of Konrad
Please note that the following text is Konrad's account of the circumstances surrounding his birth. The story is extremely violent, more akin to a horror tale by Clive Barker than a traditional subplot of Roger Zelazny. As such, I don't recommend you read it unless you have a taste for horror fiction. Konrad's birth, at its most base level, is an abortion metaphor. At the same time, nothing should be inferred from it regarding the opinions of Konrad's player, the GM, or the campaign in general. This is not a statement on abortion...it's just the story of one character's twisted birth. That said...enjoy....Channard's tutelage was, in truth, a double-edged sword. He taught me more about myself than I really wanted to know...first and foremost, he helped me to discover the truth of my birth. He was an extremely skilled surgeon, but his talents in psychiatry were even more formidable. He was brilliant, so much so that was able to help me unlock the barriers of my own mind. "A mind like yours never forgets," he insisted. "All your answers are there...encoded in brain synapses...waiting in those dark corridors for the light of exploration." And so through psychoanalysis, hypnosis, and drug therapy, he helped me to unlock those long-buried memories. Thus I learned what a monster I really was....
I cannot know their motivations...how Mandor and Dara came to cooperate...how she was persuaded...but I know they did come. At the furthest reaches of my mind I found memories that weren't my own...those of my mother and her perceptions...and strangely...those of Dara...and some librarian named Konrad, who was not me at all. I had touched their minds each in turn...and through them I came into being. I remember this...I remember the events of my birth.
It began in a dark house on the edge of the Abyss...this is where she fled to after completing the ritual with Karl. She was pregnant, and already her stomach had begun to swell lightly. It would be only a matter of days before Hastur was born into the world again...this Channard and I were able to posit. But then they came...Mandor and Dara...to stop her, slay her, and more importantly, slay the child. I do not doubt that my death was their original intent...why allow even a chance at father's coming into our world? And so they fought...and I remember my mother's pain...as she burned...and was stabbed repeatedly by spell and blade. She was already weakened from the ritual...and from me. I saw them through her eyes. And I saw as she looked down and saw the gaping wound that was her stomach...saw the blood...and felt the inability to heal herself....
Dara came forward to finish the job...but then I was free of mother and her pain. I was independent, following my own desires...making my own destiny. How hard for a child to leave the womb prematurely, denied comfort and support, unready for the cold reality of the world. No surprise that my first act was to re-establish that connection with a suitable host. I felt myself dying, and needing...attacked. And then I was a part of Dara and heard her screaming, "Get it off of me!" I felt her fear and pain and reached deeper into her, drawing forth the nutrients that I needed...fighting for control of this new body...growing from her tissues.
What must I have looked like? So unformed...so unrefined...so vague and hungry, and that's what I was...hungry and feral. But Mandor couldn't save her, for already father was extending himself into me, and so he began spells of binding, and I felt pain again. A point of blackness appeared on Dara's forehead...and extended...and the point came to be a line...the line, a curve...the curve, a sigil. And burned into her flesh was the yellow sign, a rune of binding. I would never forget that mark and its pain...though over time I would come to view it as my salvation. Over her flesh the mark extended and surrounded me as a circle of binding, and father's power was halted. Dara collapsed, and I watched through her eyes as Mandor used magic to transport us away to the Library. How strange he looked...bloody, disheveled, frightened, and at the same time, ecstatic...he had foreseen a new possibility. I did not see mother...she had already fled or been obliterated.
In the Library there was noise...distraction...men rushing about giving Dara wide berth. Mandor turned to give orders, and I found my opportunity to strike. With her mind unconscious I had assumed total control of her body, and in a flash struck Mandor, sending him flying into one of the bookcases. And then I was shifting into shapes only a prenatal mind could create...murky...primal...singularly horrifying to the civilized mind. I approached him and saw fear in Mandor's eyes, but then I felt her begin to reassert control. With father's power I could have beaten Dara, but alone I was nothing, and so I looked around to find another when one of the librarians came running forth to defend Mandor. He tried to shout warning, but it was already too late.
I was on him in an instant, having torn myself free of Dara...launched through the air...wrapped about his head, pushing into his mouth and nose, into the very pores, a metaphor not unlike rape. I reached his mind in as little time as it took him to recognize the feel of my touch. And then I absorbed his cerebral tissues...made his body my own forever. But I was tired...my understanding flawed...and so I did not erase his memories...but made them my own...and so undeveloped I was that I became confused. The body I inhabited twisted...becoming taller, slender...my hair fell out...the eyes became silvery grey, and I fell to the ground cold and weak. Across from me on the stone lay Dara...horribly twisted...sobbing. To this day I wonder how Mandor restored her...how he caused her to forget...for nothing else could have restored any semblance of sanity. I had violated her as nothing else could. And I looked to Mandor...and smiled...and lost consciousness.
By the time I awoke, I had already forgotten who I really was. Whether this was my doing or the result of his sorceries, I cannot know. I remembered myself as Konrad...a librarian...a servant of Mandor's. The episode of my birth was buried deep...a necessary act to preserve some kind of human development.
That is the story of my birth...and knowing this I understand now why I reacted so strongly to certain stimuli...why the movie Alien so disturbed me...why I found myself so repelled by the actual medical processes of abortion. How could I feel any differently.... My head hurts...I do not like reviewing these old wounds...and so I'll let it end here.