Knight Of Darkness - Of Chanthoth, Necro Baby And Metal Blade

Sometimes you just gotta kick back and let loose the dogs of wank. Actually, this is every Metal Night that is not Christian Metal Night and that is almost never. But once in a while, a lone wanderer will bring in a fifth of Grey Goose, and another will bring in a fifth of potato vodka and there will be Gatorade and there will be crystal meth and tar heroin and babies taken hostage and random strangers meeting their dooms for our amusement by way of Trollish crossbows. Bones are pumped in rhythmic fashion on tombstones and the feast of rotted flesh is underway. This is how we party, people. We get the fuck down. And we always put on some old school and obscure Metal Blade bands to drive us into a blood frenzy.

The first band, Warlord, from, LA, was the clear cut winner of the night. Their 1983 ep, Deliver Us, is tight, epic, melodic, and kinda bouncy in a medieval context, as many Maiden Jr. bands of the day were. The riffs are clear and sharp, and the songs are catchy in a somewhat commercial context, almost like early Scorpions and Priest, but with more of an ear towards the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. The lyrics have a somewhat Christian tinge to them, but this is not exactly Stryper or Bloodgood. If you a are fan of somewhat keyboardy power metal, this is a real gem of the era.


Adventure in Samur Part 20.1 - Evil Attack 

The great hall of Jenkabala Palace is quiet and dark. Walls once festooned with ornate carvings and relics of our adventures now lie bare. Even the mall that Headron erected to spite us when he took over this place has been swept away, leaving only dust. We wander around as if in a daze, shocked by the transformation of this vibrant castle into a deserted wasteland. We climbed up the main staircase, footsteps echoing in the night. So far, our new adversary had not yet shown their hand. Bloodmace

taps my shoulder as we near the landing and motions behind us, where two wolves glower up at us, “I sense powerful magic at work here,” says my brother, “A necromancer for sure, and an old one at that. “ Two more sullen wolves await us at the top of the stair and follow behind as we approach the door to the throne room. The air in this upper floor has become humid and misty. Moss grows up the walls and on to the ceiling. With a great screech, the heavy door swings open, revealing the wreckage-strewn chamber that was once the seat of power in Jenkabala. Mist swirls lazily in the light of hundreds of tiny candles that illuminate the the throne room and there upon a pile of tattered books is our enemy, Necro Baby. Though appearing to be but a child, evil shines out from its heavy lidded eyes. The maniacal face is made yet more terrifying by the corpsepaint markings of its skin, a sign of great power in the necro tribes of northwest Centon. I can see the tiny hand making sigils in the air, but Bloodmace attacks first with his Blasphemy patch , striking the creature with fire. The white hot flame turns the detritus beneath the foul cur to ash, but she emits a torturous grunt and the barbarian falls to the ground. The minute head turns in my direction then and I feel a tightening around my throat. "Your time is over, dog." the little one spits in a disgusted voice, "I am the master now, so bow before my might!" I fall to my knees, gasping for air. The child's eyes grow wide, now locking in on

my eyes, prying into my mind. Bloodmace has not finished though, and blood begins to pour out the necromancer's ears. I suck air in greedy gasps as her grip upon my neck loosens. The uncanny sorcerer, studded onesie covered with blood, retaliates without haste, pummeling Bloodmace with white hot lightning that sends him to the floor in searing pain. As I am about to act her diminutive hand turns in my direction and I also am brought down by the miniature scale tyrant. If only Bloodmace and I could link our powers...I am cursing my stupidity as I slip into unconsciousness, but suddenly the pain stops. I rise up to see a familiar face standing above the smashed head of Necro Baby.

 Next up were Dutch dagger fiends Future Tense with an ep of not quite so inspired Euro metal tunes called Condemned To The Gallows. This is poverty metal. The guitars are semi crunchy and flat. The drummer falls asleep halfway through the album. Here and there are traces of Maiden, Priest and Venom worship, if not outright theft. This album actually works best in fast Venom-mode, such as the  last song "Evil Attack'', when the drummer wakes up from his nappy and gets down to business. Best are the English as second language, Satan inspired lyrics, which are full of cheesy metal goodness.


 Adventure In Samur Part 20.2 - Child of the Damned 

Chanthoth, last of the T'Chah Karnac stands before us, bloody staff in hand. His cape billows in the wind blowing through the missing wall in the tower room. The crumpled form of our enemy lies in a bloody mass at his feet and his great smile warms our hearts. Bloodmace, rising to his feet cries out in a hoarse yell, "Chanthoth, you rascal! I thought you dead when that damn tree fell! Ha ha!" The arboreal wizard holds up his hand and speaks as we approach, "I have heard of your deeds in Narn and Dantor, you have done well." He turns to me, "You both have many trials yet, but you have many friends. You will need them if you intend to sit to the Jenkabala throne again." I look questioningly to the strange forest dweller and ask, "What of this one, the infant?" Chantoth looks down and replies jauntily, "It was just an elder of the Necro tribe trying to hijack a throne in the absence of a ruler.

Don't let it trouble you." Unfortunately for us, he was wrong. The mystic is hit with a blinding flash of electricity from the open wall. Necro Baby floats there, Cackling, "Fools! You know not my power. I shall lay waste to your precious world and expunge your filthy lineage from the book of history for all time!" I look to Bloodmace and he knows, already he knows. We join our vests together with the Bathory patch. It's more power than I have ever felt before, but focused. The child, or god, or whatever it is begins to break apart, skin sliding off the body, organs falling to the floor in a wet pile. All is silent but the wind, upon whose voice we can just detect a faint, whispered chant that seems to come from the very air around us. We help up the singed Chanthoth who looks at us and deadpans, "About that throne...I think you might be having a little more trouble than I thought."

 Lastly, before  tipping over into oblivion, we heard Tyrant's Legions of the Dead. This is Tyrant from California, not to be confused  with the one from Colorado, or the other one from California, or the one from Wisconson, and especially not to  be confused with the ones from Australia, Brazil, Finland, Italy, or any other place on Earth where heavy metal isn't outlawed on pain of death. This one is a plodder. The band is not exactly tight. They can work up quite a racket at times, but this one lacks even the speedier tunes that pepped up the previous album. They try to pull off as many Priest moves as they can, but too no avail. Too bad.


Words Of The Elders

Victory is never total. The seed of the vanquished will take root wherever the soil is fertile and so battle is inevitable. Vengeful ghosts stalk everywhere in the foggy past, spirits who possess those living to great feats of creation or destruction. These hands have reached out to touch Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, Hellmaster and perhaps even Necro Baby, spawn of chaos, the elder child who speaks for those beyond the velvet curtain of space.

Until next week ruthless raiders,

Horns