Down to Hell - A Story of Crowbastard and Cacumen night

Every now and again, there comes a metal night that cruises smooth, like an iceberg drifting silently along its deadly path, crushing all who defy it. This cold October night was just that kind. The temple was filled with a warm glow as Vecton the Bard arrived in his carriage and strode through the great sourwood doors that led to the inner sanctum. Blazes were lit in the hearth and offerings were made to the hundred gods. It was decided that this golden twilight deserved some German hard rock to see the boat of day into the ocean of night, so without further ado we give you a peek at the mighty Cacumen!

I can't remember where I first heard Cacumen, but the self titled first album from 1981 has gotta be one of my most played albums to this day. The lyrics are charming in the way that German bands seem to be so good at, the riffs are monster and the vocal harmonies add just the right amount of sheen. I can take or leave the slower tunes, but the rockers are smokin'. Riding Away and On the Rocks, the two songs that close out this obscure hit factory are beasts of Scorpions worship swagger and questionable translation. Winner of the night by a landslide!

Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 6.1 - Magic Spell

The Heraea Agoge in northern Samur was a dismal place, a fearsome kind of boarding school that was forced on the women of the Samurian court. From a very young age, the girls would become wards of the school, competing against one another daily in war games and learning the dark secrets of their people's magic. The cruel instructors routinely incited the pupils to deadly violence against one another, for the very purpose was to create warriors capable of defending their land from the T'Chah Karnac and their servants, the Wyvern. To this end, generations of northerners created and upheld this institution that provided them safety in the form of the most fearsome army on Centon,

but at the cost of their childhoods. By the time Nithsa Crowbastard reached reached school age, the unthinkable had already happened. Samur had been dominated first by the T'Chah Karnac, then later by the Wyvern. Many ancient traditions were lost during this transitional period, but the Heraea Agoge survived, a proud and scornful relic of times past. Nithsa stared blankly out the window of the inn, watching the fluffy snowflakes float gently to the ground, hands wrapped around a rustic bone mug of marlyroot tea. She was on a journey home to meet a family she barely knew, a ritual performed by all students the year before they graduate. By rail the journey took one day, but the station was down the mountain from the school and the only way to reach it was by foot. Halfway down the rocky path lies the village of Turig, a small, charming place where many of the teachers found quarters. It was here that the pale young woman stopped to board for the night. Through the thick, warped glass of the window, Nithsa could see the path coming out of the woods, passing before the door of the inn and disappearing again into the gloom of the mountain pass. Down this narrow walkway came a hunched figure, cloaked in black and carrying a woven basket of the same dark hue. Slowly, the lurching traveler came to a halt before the window of the inn. When the old man took off his hood and hat, she glanced briefly to the side, in case he saw her looking, but when her eyes returned to the window, he

was staring directly at her. When their eyes met, the student saw a flash of bright light, followed by just a glimpse of herself, much older, perched atop a great edifice of bleached bones, staring out at the great mountains from some sort of throne room. "Here's your porridge miss." A voice startles her out of the waking dream and she looks up. The gray-haired innkeeper is handing her a bowl of lapid porridge, topped with perfect slices of hard cooked bafa egg and royal nectar cut into a fine dice. She smiles silently at the middle aged woman, admiring the flowing ruffles of her simple dress. "Will there be anything else?" The lady of the house regards her anxiously and hurries off when Nithsa shakes her head. When the black clad student turns to glance out the window again, the man is gone.

Bad Widow, the second full-length from the furious five, comes out swinging with the NWOBHM style face melter, Ain't Got No Woman. The sound is very much more metallic, the guitars more focused and aggressive. In my mind this band can do no wrong and I like this one as much as the first. The songs, though heavier sounding this time around, carry over the smooth twin guitar riffage and sweet harmonies that make the first one so listenable. The title track is a real highlight, with some nice talkbox guitar throughout and You Are My Destiny makes me feel like I'm at the roller rink in 1983. It is also of note that once again they load up the end of the album with some of the faster, heavier tunes. Now all I need is a cassette of it to jam in the car...

Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 6.2 - Riding Away

The snow continued to drift lazily from the gray sky above as Nithsa made her way down the pass that morning. Although she was nearing the bottom of the mountain, she was still high enough to get a good view of the plain that spread out before the foothills below. She was stopped before one of these little clearings, observing the tremendous birds wheeling in the sky, when the little old man from that morning appeared, laboriously making his way back up the trail. From beneath her hood, the curious youngster made a closer examination of the strange character who seemed to have transmitted some sort of vision to her. His clothes were nothing more than rags sewn together into a rough cloak comprising many layers of tattered fabric scraps. Atop his head, however, sat a

magnificent wide-brimmed hat. Squared off at the top, the band was made of interlocking metal circles, each with a rune that even Nithsa, with her knowledge of magical symbols from all over Centon, could not recognize. When the stranger had hobbled close enough, he lifted his head. Radiant blue eyes shone out from the worn face around them and she was hardly surprised when he began to approach her. Peeking out from below the hat, the elderly wanderer's mouth was moving, speaking something quietly. Nithsa could easily have killed the suspicious stranger but she was curious about the vision and his strange appearance. She readied a spell as the man walked into striking range. "Gatemaster, gatemaster" The haggard forest dweller whispered, "Gatemaster Crowbastard" He did a shuffling circle dance before her. Her annoyance growing, the dark-eyed Crowbastard intones gravely, "Fool! Who are you to speak my name?" Her fingertips begin to tingle as she focuses the magic. The beggar falls to his knees and lifts his hat off his head in a gesture of submission, but as he looks up the blinding flash strikes Nithsa again and she sees a tremendous crow flying into the peaks of the Kradiken Socrat and a ghostly castle of bones where phantom soldiers drifted in and out of bleached

turrets. The vision of the throne room returns to her mind but this time, she is not alone in the cavernous chamber. On the floor below the massive seat of skulls, hundreds of white robed figures chant, "Gatemaster, gatemaster" There is another flash and her vision returns. The old man is still kneeling and he takes a feather pen from the band of his hat. As the confused young woman takes hold of the black quill, the bearer falls to the ground, struck by arrows. Behind him, in the woods, the warrior's sharp eyes catch the sight of two sauron archers, mounting deadly shafts on to their bows for her. Without hesitation, her hand releases a bolt of energy that knocks the lightly armored lizard men to the ground. In a flash Nithsa is upon them. Perhaps if she had not been so hot tempered about the interruption, she would not have just killed the interlopers, but the deed was done and the perspicacious youth already knew what to do with the feather. Drawing up her sleeve, she deftly marks out two complex symbols and throws the instrument off the cliff before her. Making percice motions with her fingers Nithsa Crowbastard closes her eyes and pronounces "E'amat tercata! Serasarat!" Flying above the valley, Crowbastard had a feeling she had never known before and it terrified and exhilarated at the same time. She headed north, up the mountains, following the inner compass that led her into the snowy peaks, to the palace of the gatemaster.

Finally, we came to Cacumen's last album, the awesome Down To Hell. Magical fires were burning in the braziers and voices of the spirits guided us on the last leg of this journey into the B-side of Teutonic hard rock. Anthems of youth unheard, strutting blues rock and dramatic heavy metal riffing were the bread and butter of this great band and they delivered the goods in spades. Yes, they sound too much like their more famous counterparts, but these guys have a knack for writing songs in that style and frankly, having recently listened to the full discography of those German giants, I can say that some of these tunes out scorpion the Scorpions. A great night all around.

Words of the Elders

Behold, children of the night, the glory of the moon and sky. Celebrate the glory of the perfumed darkness where dreams and spirits collide with flesh in a hothouse of strange fantasy. The skull throne sits there among the peaks of the Kradiken Socrat, waiting for the one, the next gatemaster. Hail Mistress Crowbastard, shape-shifting dweller at the top of the world!

Until next week, star riders,

Horns