Revenge of the Mongrel - Shred Metal and Dangerous Spells in Dantor

Masturbation is one of the most exquisite pleasures that Satan and the Elder Godz bestowed upon humankind when they made us in their spaceships 500,000 years ago. Nothing like spewing gobs of jizz all over so many imaginary faces. This is especially true of musical masturbation. The metal guitar shred genre is the absolute highest realization of Space Satan's intentions for the human race. A combination of gigantic ego displays and fantastic finger dexterity make the shred genre the guitar the ultimate musical phallus, spewing hot jizz upon the masses ever since Richie Blackmore decided that he was the next Mozart. The following is a crusty sock of musical reportage.

 
In any genre of music, snobs will be snobs, and much abuse has been cast upon guitar virtuoso The Great Kat pretty much from the outset of her career by the metal community at large. But in listening to this album and letting its delights settle in like a nice heroin addiction, I have to say that this album, Beethoven on Speed was our favorite album of the night. It's just fun. Her songs are packed with nice bouncy thrash riffs, are fast as fuck, and are nice little spurts of aggression and speed, like grindcore for shredheads. The lyrics are goofy in a Sodom kind of way. Her abundant guitar solos are unsubtle and proceed at amazing speeds. But to me, the whole album says, "Hey, I went to Julliard", lights a crack pipe, and shreds along its lunatic way. Definitely marketed to wrong crowd back in the day. It's just a speed metal album, nerds. And the lady has a huge dick upon with which she feeds were devoted cult. Must be something there, folks. She's been around for over 25 friggin' years.


 Adventure in Samur Part 13.1 - Ultra Dead

Thirteen black candles glowed dimly in a circle around four robed figures in this underground room. Thirteen candles protecting the shape shifting mistress of the night, injured in a recent battle. Heavy footfalls of the enemy issue from the hill above, shaking dust from the concrete ceiling. Bloodmace, Lars the Berserker, Jarkon and I were each standing at a corner of the table where or injured comrade lay. Fragrant smoke poured fourth from the brass censer that hung from Jarkon's hand as we stared silently at one another in the flickering light. The weird sorcerer thrusts his arm into the middle of the circle, hand curled into the sign of the horns. We follow Jarkon's lead and he begins the galdr.

"Heyri jötnar heyri hrímþursar,

synir Suttungs, sjalfir ásliðar,

hvé ek fyrbýð, hvé ek fyrirbanna!"
I can feel the power coursing through our outstretched arms, the spell has begun to take effect. Lightning crackles around us as the world outside the magic circle us falls away. The candles are burning brightly now, their flames leaping aggressively from the wick and obscuring whatever moves just beyond them. Jarkon's incantation is slowly rising in pitch and tempo and I see that the Black Sabbath patch we each have on our denim jackets has begun to glow. Something is watching, our spell has attracted some presence that even now struggles to breach the protective barrier that surrounds us. The chant has now reached a fever pitch, it seems to go right through our bodies and shake the air around us, as if we were in water. In the midst of the chaos I hear Jarkon's voice yell out "Now, use it now!"

The next album was more polished and traditional that the others. Borislav Mitic's The Absolute. Mitic is a furious yet tasteful shredder with a tasteful sense of composition. His style is Satriani meets Yngwie, his compositions are neo-classical with a thrashy edge. But over all it is too restrained, too refined, too predictable. The first song is pretty amazing, thrashing to and fro with virtuoso flair and as many classical licks as you can throw into one song. But it gets old as the album goes on. You already heard your guitar heroes make these moves. That's when you realize that this dude has pulled out his dick and is jizzing his licks all over you. You might like his jizz. It might always taste good to you.

Adventure in Samur Part 13.2 -  The Prize of Eternity

The four of us, psychically connected by the spell, simultaneously bring our hands up to the glowing embroidery of the ancient vestments. From our outstreched hands, the energy we have harnessed in the patches comes pouring out and in a moment, the form of Mistress Crowbastard is obscured by a blinding light. Demonic screams assault us from outside the circle of fire, tentacles and claws eagerly search for a way to tear us to shreds. We are at the most dangerous part of the spell now, for the protection of the circle is weakening and we must return from whatever bestial realm we have traveled to by using this dark magic. Jarkon, acting quickly, begins to chant the homegaldr.

"I traveled to a distant shore, I felt I had to go
an inner voice called me there, but why I did not know

I saw the evening star rise up, shining out to sea
And now I understand what it all means"
Soon the walls and floor return. Once again we are in the underground lair of Jarkon Crowbastard sleeps peacefully on the table before us and we repair to the other side of the room so as not to disturb her. Lars the Berserker is still angry and in hushed tones he growls at our host, "You are still responsible for the deaths of our people. One day I will kill you." Jarkon, exhausted from the sorcery he has just performed answers in a weary voice, "It is true that the beast that destroyed our village was one of my creations, but I did not send it. It was taken from me in a raid on the other side of the mountains by the Vorm, who you just met in battle. Lars, Headron knows you are here. He may not have been able to pinpoint your location, thanks to Parthon's cloaks, but now that the riders have spotted us it will not take them long to report our position. We must move from here, and fast." He stares into the eyes of the vengeful warrior and for the first time since we arrived here I see Lars' brow unfurrow. Bloodmace though, spurred on by his friend's skepticism steps fourth to question Jarkon, "Where are we going to go? We can't carry her for long." Bloodmace gives Jarkon a

searching look and the underground dweller answers, "She will be coming to any minute. This is a powerful spell and now even the demons of Mangar know of our presence. She will be disoriented for an bit, but I know of a place where we can shelter, and of someone who can help us gain entrance to Headron's palace, you see now is the most dangerous time for us because he knows that we will be 
much stronger when we enter the castle so he wants to stop us now. If he finds out that one of us is 
injured, he will know that we are not able to cast another Tabethian spell until we are able to rest. We will travel to the Sectaurian settlement not far from here, for the Vorm are terrified of the insect riders and their spider king, Rangar." Suddenly, the light in the room begins to flash red. "We've been breached, grab everything, follow me!" quickly, we grab our satchels and the groggy Mistress Crowbastard and head out the door of the concrete fortress and quickly down the hall. We can hear the sound of explosions from the further reaches of the grey catacombs as we climb upward and into the light. Exiting the passage we find ourselves just the other side of the battlefield, facing a rope and wood suspension bridge that stretches over the yawning canyon before us. While we hurry over the bridge, we see on the other side a huge spider, crouching above the entrance on the other side. I open my mouth to tell the others , but my words are cut short by silken cords that suddenly entangle me. The last thing I see before it goes dark is Jarkon motioning to the terrible spiders holding us prisoner.

 The last album was lots of fun, but in a completely different way. The compilation, Classical Metal Vol. 1, is an insanely pompous collection of mostly power metal bands covering classical music. Packed to the gills with arias, chorale arrangements, symphony orchestras, cheesy keyboards, and of course, much neo-classical shredding. This album features compositions by Vivaldi, Mozart, Dvorak and all the usual suspects handled and sometimes mangled by bands like Manowar, Uli Jon Roth, Therion, and At Vance. It's all almost to much to handle. This album is a gigantic fountain of jizz that rains down upon the earth, drowning the lowlands and destroying the crops, causing famine across the land will wine sipping aristocrats blather on about free market economics, causing the seeds of bloody revolution. It is awe inspiring. It is terrifying. It may not be the winner of the night, but I'm gonna get the other 8 volumes.

 Words of the Elders

What fate awaits these travelers in this land of untold horrors? Has Jarkon betrayed the party to his friends in the insect and spider kingdom? The gaping void calls out to the heroes of Centon with a sweet siren's song. Will the hammer of fate strike upon Bloodmace and Demon Scourge or Headron? Join us next time for a journey into the lair of Rangar and his cruel minions!

Until next week, brain thrashers






Horns