Fear Beyond the Vision - Iron Dan and a Contest of Concepts

There are some metal nights that are stranger than others. Some hours cannot be accounted for. Occasionally, when the early evening light beams through the Jenkabala windows and libations flow free in the joyous celebration of life and freedom, there is a flickering. Perhaps it is only momentary, but the seed remains. Much like the seed of madness that grew within Demon Scourge after his visit with Tolar the Mystic in the Jenkabala wilderness so long ago, the seed bears fruit of high weirdness. Nothing is as it would seem and I wake the next morning with the sun shining brightly in my eyes wondering, "Where did everybody go?" Such was the night of the great black wind that blew down from Mount Tarvo itself. Listen to the cosmos! Voices of mothers and fathers call to you on the dusk, when all is quiet and the lamp burns dimly in the study.Tonight I was visited by Iron Dan and had one of the strangest adventures in the annals of metal night. 

We began the evening uneventfully enough, with mid tempo moshing provided by Dementia, a latter day thrash band from Wisconsin. On Recuperate From Reality, these cheeseheads craft in interesting blend of thrash and doom with some really crushing rhythms throughout tunes like Funeral March and Bornto Die. Dementia love playing slow so much the fast riffs seem even faster. This dosen't always work in their favor, however. Many songs simply run too long, allowing boredom to set in during the endless, meandering solos played over sluggish riffs that populate the middle 2 or 3 minutes of each piece. They manage some nice dynamics and interesting structural ideas, the middle section of Insane, for example. Their singer has an interesting style, as if he's trying for something between James Hetfield and Jim Matheos The cover is a piece of shit, but don't let that deter you from checking out these Midwestern meatheads. not the most amazing album, but a solid take on the genre that's original enough to merit a second listen. 

Chronicles of the North Part 7.1 -  Get Ready for Power

Fester Blackheart stood beneath the hut-like structure formed of leaf and root, motioning for me to rise from where I had fallen out of the tree. All throughout the borderland between Samur and Jenkabala there are regions of tunnels where leaves falling from the canopy above have covered the tremendous roots of the sourwood trees that thrust their ancient roots through the forest floor. Countless animals use these tunnels for shelter in the cold winter months, but Fester Blackheart uses this one to store his battered K car, a monstrous concoction of tractor wheels, duct tape and obscure punk stickers. when I enter this organic garage, I am confronted by the smell of animal waste. My guide has gone behind the car and is shoveling shit from a large pile into the trunk of the car. He calls out to me' "You don't think this thing runs on prayers do ya? Grab a shovel and pour it on!" Reluctantly, I pick up the other tool and fill the chamber with post digestive slop from who-knows-what stinky and potentially dangerous animal. Our odious task finished, we climb into the cabin of the rusty relic and fire up the engine. Unsurprisingly, Fester is a reckless driver, careening forth into the forest with little regard for his life or mine. We drive on for a time in silence, weaving between massive trunks and through tangled root caverns. For a time we drive through a field where one of the immense pillars of the forest has fallen and sun floods the void. I seemed to notice my host nervously push the accelerator harder when we heard a faint piping, barely audible above the din of the engine. Turning his wild eyes in my direction, Fester speaks, "You've never been to Iron Dan's huh? They used to call him Parthon the Younger, but he became Iron Dan after learning the ways of the Samurian mystics at lake Chawa. They say he can know what's in your soul faster than he can meet your eyes." Fester pauses a moment, as if deep in thought, "He's a sharp dresser, too."

Even as the intro to Nightfall inMiddle Earth began, I knew this would be no ordinary metal night. Iron Dan sat across from me with an evil look on his face and while the power dynamics of Nightfall exploded in the Jenkabala listening chamber, I felt a strange power grip me. I was trying to discuss Blind Guardian's older speed metal albums when things started to get dim and before I could make my case for Hansi Kursh being the best power metal vocalist of all time, my world shattered into a thousand reflecting shards. Where was I? I saw an earthen cavern, a horrible monster and felt the terrible pounding of another being trying to gain entrance to my mind. Blood Tears plodded along as I fought to understand what my senses were apprehending. Terror gripped my soul but then out of the darkness, the soaring harmonies of Mirror Mirror reached their hands through the gloom. The centerpiece of this legendary band's divisive delving into the world of power/prog metal reached out it's powerful arms to extract me from the mire of confusion. Sadly, it did nothing to make me less drunk. Iron Dan was lovin' it, donning a fur mask and dancing around me with a spear. This album is textbook fantasy metal. The arrangements are replete with excessive instrumentation, keyboards, flutes, strings, whatever the hell it takes to do the job, Blind Guardian are on the case. There is no doubt that the less D&D oriented metal fan may not understand the appeal of a song like The Eldar, or the many weird interludes between the songs, but songs like When Sorrow Sang and Mirror Mirror are focused metal mood pieces. The third time I flipped over the royal ottoman must have been some kind of sign because at that moment my weird guest declared this saga of elf and werewolf to be the winner of the night.

Chronicles of the North Part 7.2 - Diary of A Madman

Our rust-eaten jalopy eventually pulls into an unusually large root cavern and fester jams the brakes, fishtailing so that his back end just taps the wall as we slide into our parking spot. From out of the

shadows in the rear of the cave comes a tall figure, clad in fur vestments that surround a gleaming metal breastplate. On his face he wears a mask of Wyvern skin, cutting a terrible figure in the gloom. Iron Dan stretches his hand toward me, "Come, son of Bloodhammer. We shall measure your treachery on the scale of truth. Come with me, leaving all behind." I follow the evil looking stranger into the recesses beyond the dimly lit entry. We walk on forever, dirt giving way to tile, then to glass, faces below staring at each footfall. Around corners and up thin stairways, we travel through carpeted galleries and vast halls, but I lose sight of Iron Dan. Turning into a room off this hallway of dubious aspect, I am suddenly in the Jenkabala listening room. Iron Dan sits across from me and says, "Well, we gonna start that Blind Guardian or what?" I blink my eyes and put on the album. From the speakers comes the sound of battle, and the journey begins. The epic tale unfolds as I fall into myself. Am I Demon Scourge or Chris? Iron Dan is Parthon and both faces stare out from the same eyes. The walls that surround us crumble and melt and we are once again inside the damp cave. Darkness swoops in from the corners. Headron is here, his rubbery body encased in loose golden robes, casting reflections on the moldering logs around us. Slime covered mandibles twitch below a pair of tremendous faceted eyes, but this is only a body. Inside my mind, Headron is knocking. The hideous aspect of the form he has chosen distracts me and the door opens a crack. I slam it shut with an old verse from the book of Motorhead.

"So you see, the only proof,

Of what you are is in the way you see the truth
Don't be scared, live to win
Although they're always gonna tell you it's a sin
In the end, you're on your own
And there is no-one that can stop you being alone."

In the cavern, I battle with a horror from beyond, in my mind I battle with a enemy hiding within, and in the Jenkabala listening room I try to hold the two together. Stones crumble as one reality is displaced by another. Headron taunts me with visions of my friends as I killed them without mercy, Iron Dan's laughter echoing out of the gaping vortex in the Thrashstone throne room. Deep within me, however, a flicker becomes a flame and my mind begins to track the streams of data flowing from each channel of my being. Psychic motions at first halting and hesitant become assured and I feel the flame grow hotter until it's heat pours our of me like a river past a mill, turning rage into focused energy. Three worlds grow closer as I tighten my thoughts around them and in a moment there is a wet pop, and warm thick fluid covers me. I'm not sure if the rupture is in me or outside me, but calm blankets me. The air is cool and autumnal when I begin to feel and smell again. A wood bug, its mandibles twitching, regards me with faceted eyes then scurries off into the early evening gloom.

You don't have to play Operation:Mindcrime for me. I know it as well as you can know an album. This was my high school standby, one of a few definitive metal albums that were released in those crazy days at the end of the eighties, when this was mainstream music. It was a few years before their real commercial breakthrough,but I have never met a Queensryche fan that didn't say this was their favorite album. A bold statement to be sure, but this was a band at their absolute peak, Geoff Tate, with his Halford-like mastery of classic heavy metal vocal style easily handled anything the band could throw at him. Chris DeGarmo and Michael Wilton were at the peak of their powers as well. Together with Eddie Jackson and Scott Rockenfield, they had been a team since the early eighties and had already had some success with their laser sharp brand of tech-savvy metal. The concept behind Mindcrime is the opposite of Nightfall. Instead of Elven kings and mythical battles we get Heroin addicts, nuns, and political intrigue. Had I been more prepared to do battle with the invader from beyond time, this would have been the clear winner. Sometime in the night however, Iron Dan disappeared, leaving only a few photos. Who is this mysterious stranger that walks in the twilight?

 Demon Scourge has opened a door within himself to the person on the other side. Two bodies sharing the same mind, fighting the same battle. Two occupants in adjoining hotel rooms, neither knowing what the other is doing. On the other side of Centon, Bloodmace is fighting his way across the Time Desert, guiding his party across the wasteland with his trusty tauriat and mighty mace. Soon he shall return to Jenkabala and the titans of old shall join forces with the heroes of today to take back Jenkabala Palace from Headron! Godspeed, O mighty master of murderous mutants, your people cry for justice and to the north you must go. Raise your fists in the air metal maniacs! Horns to the sky, let us ride to victory on a wave of cascsading sixteenth notes. 

Until next week shadow thieves, 

Horns

Order of the Illuminati - Jenkabala, Demon Scourge, and Battlecross

Deep within the mysterious Time Desert stands the majestic Castle Thrashstone, home of Hellmaster and Lady Deathcrush. On this night we had gathered together Baron Lotar, Fester Blackheart, Hellmaster, Lady Deathcrush and Mandar, supreme commander of Lotar's forces and an adept of the old ones. Up to the game room in the tallest spire of this strange fortress we filed, and from a case made of human flesh, Lotar produces the enchanted cards. Hellmaster opens a richly carved panel next to the door and from everywhere the sound of thrash metal explodes. 

Chronicles of the North Part 6.1 - Among the Living

Bloodmace and I werekilled, banished to the outer dimensions along with our band of adventurers. We were brought back by Vorthon, the whip of fate and his metal warriors who fought the dreaded Gatemaster to free us from our prison. Our father, Bloodhammer then transported us to the forest of northern Jenkabala where we were hoisted into the treetops and introduced to Chanthoth, last of the T'chah Karnac. Inside the catacombs of his arboreal fortress we met Fester Blackheart and now we

are warming ourselves around the hearth, having just fought a bloody battle with the weird denizens of this organic fortress. Chanthoth speaks gravely to us, as it is the night of Bloodmace's departure for the Time Desert. “Many generations ago, before the age of Wyverns, before the time of the T'chah Karnac, there were two groups of people inhabiting the area we now know as Jenkabala. They were known as the Chevelargo and the Hiuksetl. The Hiuksetl were dwellers of the south who built the first settlements in the wilderness. The Chevelargo came down from the north and settled in the cold wastes near Samur. These two groups were forever making war with one another, but due to trade and travel they also frequently mixed. One day, Lord Headron of Dantor appeared and caused a great disturbance in the middle of our Island nation. The forest became a dessert and dimensional winds tormented the land. This was his first bid for power and to repulse his weird armies, two champions came forth. The first was, of course your father, Bloodhammer. The second was your mother, Thandra. Bloodhammer was of the northern Chevelargo and Thandra was Hiuksetl but they were bound together by these magic garments, a combination of the leather armor worn by your mother's tribe and the magical denim your father's people were so well known for. With these garments your power to transport yourself through space via dimensional folding will be greatly increased. Also, you will notice that each of the patches has a different power, for example, this King Diamond one can call several demons to aid you. The Motorhead patch will call your ancestors, and Mayhem will cut a swath of insanity and destruction in the path of your conjuring hand. Explore these powers, use

the Fates Warning patch to heal the dimensional rift. Go now Bloodmace, go and join Lady Steel in the Time Desert, you shall be victorious.” At that moment Fester cranks up the Repulsion and Bloodmace implodes, taking several cassette cases with him. Not one second later the dimensional membrane that permeates Centon rushes to close the void, causing the portal to belch fourth a geyser of glitter and dried meat shreds. Bloodmace was gone. 

 

The first selection was the house band of Castle Thrashstone, Battlecross. On their menu is math oriented hardcore with great lashings of melodic thrash tossed into the pot. This was the album that captured the night, and not only because of the home field advantage. There are a staggering amount of good riffs on this album. Special mention must go out to drummer Mike Kreger. His precise, machine-like drumming marshals the rest of the band on into victory.

Our group was engaged in our strange game of world domination when Sabbat's masterful Dreamweaver burst fourth from the Thrashstone sound system. Dense, wordy and dramatic, this is one of the ultimate expressions of what great thrash metal could be. Riff after soaring riff batters the listener, punctuated by the customary acoustic interludes. Singer Martin Walkyier has a great thrash bark and serves as the perfect ringleader for a quasi-prog concept album. So many great things happen on this album that it's hard to know where to begin. Some highlights are The Clerical Conspiracy, a great opening statement on par with Metallica's Blackened. The riff machine that is How the Mighty Have Fallen showcases the exceptionally warm, almost seventies-sounding guitars and Mythistory, the epic album closer.

Chronicles of the North Part 6.2 - Whom Are You With?

“Want some meat shreds?” Fester Blackheart leans over to me with a handful of glittery protein. Chanthoth is not amused. “Enough!” he intones. “Fester will lead you to the lair of Iron Dan and Frostor, there you must go on your own journey. If you are still yourself then you will survive, if not...” He trails off shaking his head. I had a feeling that this was coming. Of course they would want to test me, I had been taken over by the very being it was our mission to stop and now I must endure the test. "So, my hosts have become my captors." I say angrily, "Very well, I am ready for any trial" Fester rises and throws some supplies into a sack. Turning toward me, he speaks calmly, "It's not far, we'll be there before night falls." Chanthoth puts his hand on my shoulder. His eyes meet mine and he nods solemnly. Fester motions me to a dim corner of this cluttered chamber where an ancient symbol of his people is carved into the wall, and he begins to sing.

"I think of things that bring people down
Out of the clouds and back to the ground
Where the fish lie belly up in black water
Where the boy next door is fucking your dog
Your living inside a plastique world
Slick and modern pseudo world
Where what you want is what you get
Package after package of plastique shit"

The wall opens up, revealing a steep stairway that leads further into the trunk of the massive tree. Down we plunged into the humid darkness. My guide looks back at me, "We gotta go as fast as we can, those bugs that attacked us this morning are thick here. They'll try to snap at ya but just keep runnin'!" We begin traveling faster and as I steady myself against the spongy wall, I can feel them moving inside the tree. Stumbling down at top speed I manage to avoid getting snapped too many times, but the pain of their sharp pincers that drip with venom slows me as I run into Fester. Unbeknownst to me, he was conjuring an egress to the forest floor. Out into the bright sunlight we tumble, falling through the air. I land with a thud on the soft ground. For a moment, I can't breathe. Dragging myself over to the base of the tree, I check for damages. Fester is already up and beckons me to follow him into a pile of detritus and giant roots. 

Hellmaster's ears pricked up when the first strains of Massacra's 1990 opus Final Holocaust began to bludgeon away at us. Musically, these French maniacs sound close to old German thrash, like Destruction or Kreator. Plenty of fretboard acrobatics and shotgun-blast drum fills fly every witch way as the death mongering horde hurdles through the album's three quarters of an hour. I have always been a fan of French metal and this is one of the prime examples of how crushingly heavy (if not particularly inventive) the Gauls could be. A little late in the game by 1990 but a solid and brutal death/thrash hybrid that sticks to your ribs with its old school style.

By the time Jag Panzer had their chance at bat, our party was engrossed by the task at hand. I was getting ready to dominate our contest, and there was no time to explain the wonders of US power metal's comeback kid. Here is a band that released one brilliant album in '84 then disappeared. Ten years later they returned with the poorly-received Dissident Alliance LP, but the winds of fate were not finished with them yet. Three years later, reunited with original lead singer Harry Conklin, they released The Fourth Judgement. Albums like this just did not exist in 1997. Soaring vocals, old-fashioned harmony riffs, this album pulled no punches when it came to giving hungry power metal fans what they craved. There being so many strong contenders this night, Hellmaster was obliged to defend his position with a sharp blade. The game room of Castle Thrashstone became a bloody battleground of might and magic until at last we were obliged to let Hellmaster have what he wanted and laid the laurels of victory upon the head of Battlecross.

Words of the Elders

Bloodmace has left the cool, shady jungle for the barren wastes of the Time Desert. There he will join Lady Steel and Hydra the Sexwitch in a quest to repair the broken dimensional membrane that separates the temporal world from the spiritual dimensions. Now Demon Scourge must go, alone to the marsh of dreams and confront the enemy that lies hidden within himself. Times of woe and disillusionment! Times of wonder and discovery! O great old ones, dreaming in your basalt spires beneath the raging tides, hear our cry! Put on your armor and into the streets!

Until next week major ragers, 

Horns

Ten Fists of Nations - German Thrash and the Departure of Bloodmace

Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Out of the dark sea rises a terrifying beast whose rubbery appendages wrap around this world and the next. Behold! Metal Night has risen! This night was a time of revelry and nostalgia, a time to look back with our face towards the future. In other words, it was time to get loaded because it was Bloodmace's last metal night before his peril filled journey into the Time Desert. The theme was German thrash and we focused on the mid to late eighties. With us in the Jenkabala listening chamber was the famous Baron Lotar and the supreme commander of his forces, Mandar. Together we forged through the long, sodden night and made it out the other end, dragging the corpse of one classic album that we were to claim as victor.

First up we heard Tankard's 1988 offering, The Morning After. This was the sound of the late eighties for sure, though both Bloodmace and I passed over this band in their heyday. First and foremost, this album is a riff fest. Axel Katzman and Andy Boulgaropulos break out some serious neck snappers here, from the supercharged TV Hero and Anthrax worship of F.U.N. to the anti-religion rant of Help Yourself the double A's pretty much hold it down on each corner., When you read about this band you often hear compliments to these guys for writing lyrics that are "true to life." Well, this one is no exception, they mostly sing about drinking. Drinking is what Tankard do and god help anyone who gets in their way. They rail against religion and violence but golden energy is their real passion. Singer Gerre  has just the right amount of gravel in his voice to lend it that special Germanic flavor and is really in his prime on this one. The influence of punk rock hangs heavy over these 12 tracks (one is a cover of German punks The Spermbirds) so the rhythm section does their best to hit 200 BPM. Pretty good but this was 1988, the year of ...And Justice for All and State of Euphoria so even a remarkable effort was bound to get swept under the rug, especially here in the states.

Chronicles of the North Part 5.1 - Triocoton

We awoke in beer cans and cassette tapes. Fester Blackheart and Chanthoth were still awake, talking quietly to one another in the corner where a fire was smoldering in the graffiti covered hearth. Bloodmace is already awake, I look up at him from the pile of refuse where we had passed out the night before while Fester regaled us with stories of battles past. My brother is examining the fold out insert from a Discharge cassette when something catches his attention. His eyes dart over to me and turning his head, he whispers, “there's someone else here.” I scan the room but cannot make out anything in the dim, windowless chamber. Bloodmace has discreetly pulled his weapon close and when a slight rustling gives away the intruders position, he lashes out. My brother’s signature weapon strikes something in 

 the air and for a moment, I can barely make out the outline of something squat and unwholesome. There is a terrible, wet sound and suddenly the ground is alive with movement. I spring up too late to avoid the pinching grasp of an insect the size of my arm that has attached itself to my boot. It's feelers lash at my leg while it flaps it's small wings to give it extra leverage. The commotion has sent our hosts dashing across the room to aid us. Bloodmace has smashed some of the attacking insects near him but something unseen pulls him under the debris. Fester jabs at the pest attached to my leg with a broken bottle as Chanthoth steps near the place where Bloodmace is struggling beneath the clutter. In a booming voice the sorcerer intones a fearsome chant.

In the first is a young boy
white dove in his hand
in the second is a warrior in armour
in the third is an old man
Gold watch in his hand
Fourth and last
no recollection at all

Deathrow was a much more serious band, both in tone of lyrical content and musical ambition. I really enjoyed the rippin' harmonized guitar lines. Sven Flugge and Ewe Osterlehner tear up one side of the album and down the other while Markus Hahn deploys his deadly arsenal of tom-diving fills with aplomb. In the vocal department, bassist Milo sings in a much cleaner, more heavy metal style 

 than either of the bands we explored tonight. After the lunkheaded riff mongering of tankard, Deception Ignored was a welcome blast of technical ecstasy, reminding me of the politico-thrash of Austin's great Watchtower. Highlights include the eight minute instrumental Triocoton, the awesome Machinery and the pinch harmonic happy opening of Narcotic, but I enjoyed the whole thing. It almost seemed like Deathrow had this one in the bag, but on the horizon was a fierce competitor...  

Chronicles of the North part 5.2 - Into the Pandemonium

At once the attacker becomes visible and a horrible stench fills the room. The creature is low to the ground, its feathered body is surrounded with thin tentacles like that of the creature that lifted us into this treetop. It's head is also birdlike with blood red eyes set on either side of a sharp, fearsome beak.

Bloodmace is caught in the grasp of some of the tentacles, trying desperately to free himself. Fester finishes off the bug on my leg with a vicious kick that sends the oily body of my adversary sailing into the corner. We turn to help the others, struggling with the army of fearsome vermin who snap at our feet looking for a meal of flesh. With a single motion, I unsheath my sword and cut through the limbs holding Bloodmace down. Now free, the mighty barbarian slams his weapon into the side of the creature's head and it explodes in a geyser of fetid ichor. Fragments of bone and squishy bits of tissue cover Fester and I who are standing nearby. Later, as we remove the last of the mess from the bloody battle and tend our wounds, Chanthoth calls us all around the hearth. His eyes rove between Bloodmace and I as he speaks, “It is time now for you to know about the denim and leather your father has bequeathed you. Tonight you will be parting and Bloodmace will join Lady Steel in the Time Desert ,so listen well.” Shadows dance in the flickering firelight and Fester has started the cassette deck again with Destruction.

If only one of the albums we heard tonight could be considered a true thrashterpiece, it would have to be Kreator's Pleasure to kill. To be sure, putting second-tier thrash bands from '88 against this juggernaut of brutality was a bit unfair but we were eager to show Lotar and Mandar the real power of German thrash. First things first though,  Mike Petrozza. What the fuck, dude played all the guitar in this album, 'nuff said. The vocals (split evenly between Petozza and drummer Ventor) are gruff and almost trollish in their delivery, seeding the ground for thrash metal's blood-nourished offspring, death and black metal. 1986 was ground zero for thrash, and thus for all extreme metal. Perhaps the potent combination of industrial decay and the daily threat of nuclear annihilation that had been building since the 70's finally found it's voice in this misanthropic show of satanic revelry. Taking the uncompromising stance and musical speed of punk rock and fusing it with the flashy guitar style of NWOBHM, the so-called "class of '86" took the art of metal to the next stage in it's development and that is why we crown Pleasure to Kill as the victor on this night of hatred and bloodshed!

Words of the Elders

Children of the sea, children of the plain! Your time is near. Elders of the forgotten world, your deliverance is nigh! What adventures will Bloodmace have in the deadly wasteland we know as the Time Desert? What secrets will be unearthed by Demon Scourge in the Jenkabala wilderness? Mountain, move outta the way, the power of the ancient ones is compelling us to resist, and resist we will. A storm is on its way and its name is us! Headron beware, your days on  Centon are numbered!

Until next week, deadly sinners, 

horns

 

Temple of the King - Early New York Metal and Fester Blackheart

New York metal brings to mind many things, but in my mind it mainly brings to mind hardcore influence thrash bands like Anthrax, Nuclear Assault, and Overkill. Not to mention lunkhead metalcore grandfathers like Cro-Mags and Agnostic Front. And also brutal fucking death metal bands like Suffocation and Immolation. But dig back a little deeper, and you'll find a legion of traditional metal bands who haunted the bars and clubs from Queens to Hell's Kitchen in the early 80's. Tonight, we looked at the some of the cream of the crop from that scene.

First up, Riot's Fire Down Under. This was the most NWOBHM inspired and also the winner of the night. It's a Priest/UFO inspired riff fest with an emphasis on AOR radio anthems, though they were probably just a little too rough edged for the masses, back in the day. There really aren't many surprises on this album, just a straight forward set of rockers, and not a ballad to be found. The lyrics focus on heavy metal concerns like fighting, livin' fast, swords, and with swords comes Tequila, of course!  A pretty good document of HM circa 1981. But what's up with the cover? A man with a white, furry seal head as mascot? Really?

Chronicles of the North Part 3.1 - Of Woods and Trees

The candlelit chamber where we enjoyed an evening’s repast with Chanthoth was small and glowing yellow. Bloodmace sat to my right and across from us was the mystic stranger who should not be. Chanthoth was the last of the T’Chah Karnac, a line of sorcerers who once ruled Jenkabala through their power over the Wyverns. They had bound the wizened creatures to the bloodlines of the ruling houses of the land and thus held sway over this whole region. Blue eyes gazed out of a dark hood at my brother and I as we enjoyed our rice, a rare variety cultivated by the lizard people of northern Jenkabala on the banks of the river Trimpor. As the solemn wizard finishes his grain he begins to speak to us in our ancient earthen dialect, “Your father was here. He was a friend to the order long ago and so I shall honor our promise to him and teach you the secrets of the denim and leather you now wear. You,” he says looking directly at me, “have fallen prey to the foolish trap of overestimating your power in this realm. When your friend Zodron the mystic was taken by Headron, you rushed blindly into his trap, dragging your friends and the rest of this blasted world with you. 

Yes, I will teach you the power of the vestments and more, but you will never unlearn them, do you 
 understand this?”  He looks gravely at both of us and we know that great trials await us both. Bloodmace opens his mouth to speak but Chanthoth raises his hand in a gesture of silence and continues, “You, Bloodmace must go back into the Time Desert and mend the tear in the dimensional shell that continues to disturb the spiritual dimensions. Your special skills will be augmented by your father’s jacket. Take the one you call Lady Steel and travel across the arid wastes to defeat the hordes of interdimensional beings sprung from this rupture. Demon scourge, you have much to atone for and I will personally see to it that you are mentally ready to do battle with the thief of minds but first we must visit another of your father’s acquaintances.” Chanthoth puts his bowl on the low table before us. “Come, the hour soon approaches when he will awaken” Through empty halls we rushed, down endless staircases illuminated by tiny, dim lights. Finally, we reached our apparent destination. We were in a room that differed from the others. In sharp contrast to the tidy appearance of the rest of the hidden complex, the floor was covered with junk. Cast off remnants of generations lined the floor. Through the middle of the chaos, a path had been cleared that led to another door. Chanthoth steps lightly across to the entry and raps forcefully upon its surface, scrawled everywhere with ancient curse words and rude pictures. From behind the door we hear a hoarse shout. “Graaagh! What the hell?” The heavy door swings open to reveal a tall, unshaven human holding a beer can, squinting into the light of the chamber, “What the fuck you guys want? You got any beer?”   

Virgin Steele's 1982 self titles debut is a bit disappointing. All the sword and sorcery elements are there; the songs are epic; and the musicianship worthy; but the production ruins what otherwise might have been a stellar album, making the guitars clanky and tinny; they keyboards too resonate, and the bass too trebly. It's like the production guy was mixing a Chaka Khan album instead of  the screaming iron fest that it should be. Virgin Steel would go on to correct these mistakes. This is an album that screams for a remix; otherwise, it's a decent power metal album.

Chronicles of the North Part 3.2 - I Believe in Anarchy

Chanthoth steps forward, past the lonely dweller and motions for us to follow. Inside the room, bedding is pushed into one corner, next to an antiquated tape player. Cassettes are piled everywhere. The stranger and our host exchange greetings in the doorway, then Chanthoth turns to us, “This is Fester Blackheart, sons of Bloodhammer. His realm is the underground, where his people were driven by the Wyvern many years ago.” Bloodmace and I exchange a look of amazement, and my brother gives voice to our thoughts, “I have never known the Wyvern to attack without provocation. What quarrel did you have with those noble beasts?” Chanthoth has produced a can of beer and offers it to

Fester who sits down among the stacks of brightly colored plastic cases on a bench attached to the wall. As he pulls back the metal tab, he begins to speak, “That’s bogus, The Wyverns fuckin’ suck. You’re way too young to remember but it was back in the days of your father,” he pours the contents of the can down his gullet in one quick swig then slams the empty can down on the bench. “We used to live here near the river, along with the Sarcon. When the Wyvern made their power play, they elevated the Sarcon above us and made them our masters. Most of them became dicks right away, they took our homes and made us live outside the city. Some humans went along with them and accepted the Wyvern as gods. Your friend, Hellmaster, his family was one of the ruling houses before his journey to the Time Desert. Some of us would never go along with this. We said fuck that, and rebelled. Now we are scattered throughout Jenkabala and Samur, living in fear of the Wyvern’s minions.”  Chanthoth produces another silver can from inside his garment.  Fester rises, grabbing the beer in one hand and picking out a yellowed cassette case from a nearby pile with the other. Chanthoth addresses us, “My people held the minds of the Wyvern in their hands, but we had not reckoned the consequences of such control. As we put more energy into manipulating the royal houses through the creatures, they were becoming stronger all the time until they no longer needed us to control the royals, their minds were one. When their revenge came it was like a swift blade, sharp, separating us from everything. We were held prisoner here in the forest canopy for generations, until there were only a few of us left, unwilling to leave what was now our home. Fester found the passage to the inside of the tree while being perused by the religious zealots and made it his new home.”  Behind us, the tousle-haired Fester Blackheart has clunked down the play button on the cassette deck and the raucous music blasts the small room.

Shoot you down again and again
want to live, your biggest sin
Fight the system, only to die
it’s hard to live with hate and lies

Settling back on the bench he shouts over to us, “You ain’t heard nothin’ yet!  I ain’t even got to the part where I waste some guards and escape the camp!” Chanthoth produces more beers and hands them to us. It’s going to be a long night.

Lastly, we heard Twisted Sister's 1982 debut, Under The Blade. This surprised us with its no bullshit approach, a far cry from the 80's cartoon metal band that they would become in a few years. This is a stripped down version of Judas Priest filtered through punk raucousness, though Dee Schneider's rugged baritone keeps them from being clones. It's an enjoyable album, a bit lunk headed, as the lyrics can be un-consciously misogynistic. But these are just rock n roll anthems, meant to be shouted drunkenly at live shows, where this band is truly in its element.

So the truth about the Wyverns and T'Chah Karnac has been revealed to Bloodmace and Demon Scourge. The illusion of history has been peeled back to reveal the skull beneath the smile. There are no good rulers. Their power must constantly be challenged and broken that the voracious appetite for control  does not devour everything. Call out to the elders! IA! IA! Lord Headron's empire is but the pebbles you crush down as you trod across the cosmos! Now Bloodmace and Demon Scourge must go their separate ways and raise an army against the threat that has been looming over them since that fateful night when Headron took over the body of Zodron the minstrel. What terrors will befall them and what revelations will be unveiled as they travel the breadth of Centon?

Until next week, children of Morpheus 

Horns