Under the Sign of the Ax Mark - A tribute to Quarthon with the magic of Vorthon

Let me tell you something.........Satan shall never be defeated!!! In the arsenal of death, great powers of musical hell have been bestowed upon the damned few who dare tread in such demonic waves of goat terror. With great trepidation and and bestial facination, Metal Night presents.............BATHORY!!!!!!!!!!!

SAGA OF THE GATEMASTER PART 2.1 Vorthon, the Whip of Fate.

Demon Scourge ready to strike.

Vorthon the Whip of Fate was a grizzled desert hermit whose dark beard rolled lazily from his chin. His weathered cloak concealed his jeans and leather jacket and his strange, piercing stare concealed his youth. A master of the now forbidden art of necromancy, his mentor in adolescence was none other than the legendary Bloodmace who trained him in the dark arts beneath Mount Raven in southern Waylor. When their fortress was destroyed by the Waylorian emperor, Blun the Magnificent, they were separated until the day Vorthon heard of the great tragedy in the Time Desert. Many mistook it for an anomaly due to the constant intrusion of neighboring dimensions into the burning wasteland that was the domain of Hellmaster the Brave and Lady DeathCrush but Vorthon knew that this was a bad omen for the world of Centon and headed for the place he knew was at the heart of this madness…Castle Thrashstone. When he finally found his way through the devastation, it was too late. Thrashstone was in ruins, the gods of metal were banished into the unspeakable realm of chaos and the roads had appeared in the barren dunescape. His guest knew only some of this though, Thantor the Bard knew that he had crashed his desert van on the rampart of this castle and now he was stuck here. He also knew that this was the place he had been hired to locate by the tyrant, Baron Lotar. As Vorthon led him down the dark passage that terminated in the bright courtyard ahead, he tried to keep a mental note of any dangers he might encounter on his return.

Vorthon goes into his mystical trance.

The thing about understanding what all the fuss is about early Bathory is that absolutely nothing sounded this evil back in 1984 and most of the 80's as a matter of fact. Slayer came close, and did not surpass Bathory in the evil dept. until Reign In Blood. Hellhammer came close, but were more of a blunt instrument, exploring the low ends of the hellscape in primitive fashion. Bathory was just as primitive, but with a completely different feel. They were, in fact, a direct ancestor of Venom, taking their trebley din and Satanic aura to its logical extreme. Bathory first eponymus debut is a regression of the Venom formula, eshewing the tongue in cheek approach and hard rock feel for some more ludicrously serious yet lacerating. But the best thing this album has going for it is its evil ambiance and a mysterious aura. The production is sub-demo shit, the musicianship non-existent. Don't get me wrong, I love the shit out of some primitive, three chord, regressive black metal, it's just that at this point in time, I have heard much better. This first album is mainly valuable as a historical document, ground zero for Scandinavian black metal. The next three albums are a refinement of this approach.

Nactan the Wanderer with the magic ax

2.2 IN THE CASTLE

This time of year, Centon passes nearest its second sun. As Vorthon and Thantor enter the courtyard the blinding light strikes them like a hot tidal wave. The huge courtyard that once teemed with life and magic now sat quiet and foreboding. Stern busts of Druid priests and snarling dragons looked down from the crumbling balustrade above. The giant beetles who traveled with Vorthon were already here sunning themselves near the castle door, antennae waving slowly to a

nd fro as if in a trance. Vorthon again waves his hand before the castle entry and the immense stone door opens to reveal the great hall of Castle Thrashstone. They step through the precipice into the blasted interior of the once great monument of occult knowledge. Light shows through the western wall, almost completely destroyed in the catastrophe that shook the Time Desert. Books, maps, strange talismans, and Random items are scattered throughout the piles of rubble that dot the spacious floor of this shattered oasis.  After silently surveying the ruins, Vorthon speaks in a low, raspy voice. “Sit over there.” He motions to a rough chair pushed against a pile of rubble next to the hearth in the middle of the cavernous room. “I will prepare our victual and we shall discuss your part in the fate of our realm.”  Thantor sinks into the wooden seat, puzzled and a bit alarmed, as he remembers his blaster in the dash holster of his crumpled vehicle outside the castle walls. Unarmed, he might fall victim to any number of nefarious actions by his host. Thantor’s unease increases when a low rumbling issues fourth from deeper within the fortress. A grinding howl that increases pitch and sings a forlorn melody before plunging into its agonizing buzz and dying away in a low hum. “You must not be afraid. I am the Fatewhip of Vor, Keeper of the magic words, which is why they call me Vorthon. Soon you will meet the others and we will begin our preparations.”  Thantor, who has remained calm through his ordeal, can no longer restrain himself. “Look. I don’t know what thing you have goin’ out here but I just need to get my van on the road and get where I need to go. I don’t really have time to fool around out here. If you would just…” His words are cut off by another wave of Vorthon’s hand. For the second time in as many days, the black hand of sleep comes out of nowhere to draw a heavy velvet curtain around Thantor the Bard. From the shadowy recesses of the wrecked compound, a tall monk in silver robes calls to the dusty wizard. “Vorthon, I think it’s ready!” A smile grows under a long beard, and the mystic glances at his guest. “I think all is ready my brother” He intones quietly.

Bathory's second album, "The Return....." is better. The songs are a little more complex, the riffs a little more discernible, which enhances the terrible aura evil and foreboding. 'Bestial Lust' sounds like a Venom throw away, though. If anything, by 1985, the are sticking a little too closely to the Venom sound, and a new generation of thrash bands like Possessed and Dark Angel were threatening to knock them off their cryptic throne.

Tolar the Mystic in battle gear.

The came 'Under The Sign Of The Black Mark', featuring a more muscular production, and a songwriting approach that is more epic, without sacrificing the blazing evil. Bathory is forging ahead, exploring new territory, and further defining their classic sound. Many songs featuring slower tempos, and a feel that foreshadows their later Viking metal period. There even a few keyboards used, tasteful and spar. Lyrically, this is less explicitly satanic, and delves into some Viking territory.

DeathCrush materializing a druid.

And the comes my favorite Bathory album, "Blood Fire Death'. This album is thrashier, but features the first decent production job on any Bathory album. Historically, this the first Viking metal album, the lyrics explicitly referencing Viking mythology. There are acoustic guitars, longer songs, and some clean vocals used, though Quorthon mostly sticks to the troll vocals. The riffs are hammer you with clubs and rips your guts out with axes. There are some brutal, scalding thrashers on this album, such as 'Dies Irae' and 'Holocaust'. This album is just fucking brilliant.

2.3 WORDS OF THE ELDERS

At the top of Mount Raven in Waylor, there stands a stone. A stone unseen by human eyes, unseen by the mighty Bloodmace and his protégé, Vorthon the Whip of Fate and unseen by the conquering troops of the emperor Blun who drove them to the Time Desert. On this stone is carved the secret name of the gate that can reach even the farthest dimensions, beyond the multiverse whose gateway is the world of Centon. Beyond the chaos that lurks outside and to the other side, the other bubble of order in the churning chaos. Chaos that even now is leaking into this world from the place where Demon Scourge betrayed his companions and became Lord Headron of Dantor, ripping the thin wall that keeps the formless, inky nothingness at bay. O evil gods of old, O mighty pantheon of forgotten deities whose voices echo down the corridors of time, Hear us now! IA IA  Let us call upon the black fire to aid these fools who would tread the path of knowledge!  Until next week metal brethren…

Horns.