Stone of destiny - The magic of Absu and Waylor

And I was alone with Demon Scourge. A truce of sorts was forged from the dust of our former conflict. Only a strong magic could rid us of the blood lust, channel our rage. Under The Sun Of Tipareth, we travel to the Temple of Offal, to do battle with the bitch goddess Tara. Time to drink vodka and have fucking Absu night.

 Saga of the Gatemaster part 6.1 – Low tar, great taste

Baron Lotar was not pleased. Already tonight there were unexpected visitors. Lotar was a stout warrior who had spent his life subjugating the valleys below his mountaintop stronghold. His flowing beard, often stained with blood, was said to possess magical powers and many had lost their lives staring into its tangled depths. The leather armor he wore, studded with large, sharpened spikes also bore the stains of battle. Dry bits of flesh hung from the gleaming barbs that covered his body and the tooled hide was stained a deep wine color that blended in with his skin, giving the impression of a great insect, poised to strike its death blow.  The strangers disturbed him. One he recognized, Thantor the Bard, whom he had become acquainted with during his dealings with tradesmen from the north who traveled in his caravan through the Time Desert. He hired the driver to be his guide in his quest to discover the ruins of Castle Thrashstone, but who were the two strange travelers he showed up with? The soldiers who tried to stop them were mad with pain and fear; he had to kill many of them just to stop their awful wailing. Lotar was concerned about the strange powers these interlopers commanded and yet he was curious about the instruments found in their vehicle. When the knock at the door told him the prisoners were ready, he sprung up officiously and hurried down the black stone corridor. 

Absu are one of the greatest fucking black metal bands to walk the face of this scorched, hate festered earth. Natives of Texas, they were the first black metal band to be taken seriously in America by the European hordes. Aging hipsters may remember them from the soundtrack of the weirdo film 'Gummo'. The driving force, drummer, and main lyricist of the band, Proscriptor, is a dynamo of metal achievement. Acknowledged as one of the finest, fastest drummers in all of metaldom, he is also its mystical force, writing lyrics that achieve a rare occult poetry, requiring hours on Wikipedia to understand the Celtic lore that it seeks to illuminate.

The first album we heard was the 1995 album The Sun Of Tipareth. This is old school Norwegian style black metal, complete with keyboards and corpse paint and oodles of evil atmosphere. Most impressive are the lyrics, which read like the mystic chronicles of dark age, steeped in the mythology of Scotland, quite nearly poetry, quite nearly beautiful. You will spend many hours on Wikipedia trying to decipher these. This is a great album, though not as perfect as the album to come.

                              Saga of the Gatemaster part 6.2 – In the white room with back curtains

Three prisoners sat in an alabaster room, surrounded by sow-faced guards and the flag of Baron Lotar, the most feared tyrant in all Waylor. Three prisoners on a mission to convince their captor to accompany them into the feared Time Desert to resurrect dead heroes. At the other end of the long white room, a door swings open and the fearsome despot strides into the inquisition chamber. Approaching his captives he addresses them in the curt tone of a master scolding his subjects, “You are very stupid. Did you think you could challenge me here at Keep Vorn? What is your business fools?”  Vorthon the Whip of Fate speaks first, “We seek your help Lotar. To the north, the Time Desert and Castle Thrashstone are in great danger.”  Lotar raises an eyebrow for a split second then shoots back, “And what business is that of mine, or yours for that matter?” Vorthon comes back just as quickly, “Do not try to deceive me. I know of your quest and I already possess the object you desire. The Bloodmace.”  Lotar’s eyes light up, but he restrains himself. The Whip of Fate continues, “I am now the sole resident of the place you were about to pay this young man to help you loot for its sacred relics.” He motions to Thantor who shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

 A smile breaks across Baron Lotar’s grim visage, “Then you must be Hell Wraith.” He directs his gaze to the emotionless physicist, who closes his eyes as he nods. “Well the players are all here aren’t they? You have brought the guitar I see, a very nice one as well.” Lotar motions to his personal guards, who hand him the instrument and its leather strap. “Release these men.”  Guards rush to remove handcuffs from Vorthon, then Hell Wraith and finally, Thantor the bard. Baron Lotar bids the three travelers to follow him down the dark hallway, past windows draped with tanned skin of those foolish enough to have challenged him and into a vast dining room, empty and unlit. The Baron snaps his fingers and disappears, but soon servants appear with dishes of cold meat and bread. As the party eats in silence, Lotar returns to the dining room. “Vorthon, the only reason you and your companions still breathe is your connection to the Bloodmace. I know what you want from me, but I will have the Bloodmace, be it from your living hands or dead. I have heard talk of you and I know your magic is strong, but unless you desire your own end and that of your companions, do not try to cross me. We set out in the morning for Keep Trawston to retrieve Lady Steel correct?”  Vorthon nods and turns back to his dinner. With a rush of wind, the baron is gone again.

But then, we heard a bunch of demos, chronicling the pre-Proscriptor death metal days, ranging from sub-garage recordings to professional. The best of these demos, Temple of Offal, is serviceable death metal; ferocious, but nothing special. That's it, that's all. They would have to change genres to ultimately carve their niche in the blackened soundscape.

The next and last album we heard, Tara, is a masterpiece, one of the most devastating pieces of music committed to space and time. A lyrical classic and as well as musical wonder, it is a true incantation, an honest and authentic commitment of occult ideals, a literal collection of spells. The lyrics approach a poetry resembling Ezra pund and TS Eliot. The music is fast, precise, brutal, and eclectic, peppered with thrash riffs and black metal atmosphere, yet transcending mere genre. It's a true work of art that merits much study and appreciation. Jaws agape for most of the listening experience, it fucking kicked our asses, enraptured by its raw beauty, mystery and authenticity. Winner!

As the Waylorian night swings into full bloom, as beaks caw and snouts snort the song of the predator triumphant, three worn warriors hang their bodies in wooden beds. Three dreams that are one. The wanderer appears three places and the second one is in the tree! Like a whisper that gets louder until it drowns out all thought and obliterates self this message comes to the tossing trio until the dawn’s rays break the spell of darkness that calls to them from deep within the mysterious forest. Bloodmace, do you hear? Hellmaster, can you penetrate the shroud of death and guide these mortal madmen on their insane quest to save this doomed capital of interdimensional commerce? A wall of green rushes at the sleepers and they wake up with a gasp. Vorthon, Thantor and Hell Wraith, hear now the words of the elders! Heed the signs sent to you from beyond! 

Until next week metal maniacs,

Horns.