Oak and Aspen - A Tale of Demon Scourge and Evil Black Metal

There is no hope in this world and in many others. Evil spreads it's blood and viscera stained hands over many universes, devouring souls in the gaping maw of its own banality.  At times, it's best to just give into the darkness, and hide from the light, hoping that it leaves you only mildly damaged when it  finally stops fistfucking you with Satan's crimson colored rubber dildo hands. Time to put away the the happy German power metal. Time to put away the party rock. It's time to listen to some fucking black metal!!!!

First, we heard Norway's black metal occultists Kvist and their only full album, For Kunsten Maa Vi Evig Vike . This was an unusual and sweet find, an overlooked black metal gem from 1996. At first glance,  they may seem like another of  the keyboards and corpse paint ilk, a trend that nearly drowned the entire genre in the 90's. A closer listen will reveal another layer of complexity, that this band owned a fucking time machine and simply got a peak at where black metal was in 2005. The drums are oddly bass petal driven, and if you take away the keyboards and add jazz chords, this could be mistaken for 'Northern Darkness' era Immortal. The production is crystal clear and not slathered in a layer of white noise, so you can hear the thick intricacies up front, letting you dance away the night  to the death waltzing melodies. It's well produced without sounding sterile, as organic as coffin rot. It's fucking epic and fucks your face with ten thousand Satanic dicks. Winner of the night.

Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 3.1 - Cursed Earth I Go On
Jenkabala City is a teeming metropolis, situated near the Lomorian Ocean on the great River Trimpor, the largest trade route in Centon. It is the oldest human settlement in this strange realm, having been founded in the first age of Centon, the time of the Chevelargo and husketel . In the northwest corner of this bustling center, there stands a dim neighborhood whose streets and lanes are made of old fashioned oppenstone, it's greenish gray hue reflected in the faces of its inhabitants. Indeed, even on clear days there seems to be a pall cast over the ten block collection of antique storefronts, crumbling dwellings and gambrel roofed warehouses. It is here that, for generations, the last of the Centonian mystics have studied the ancient texts and music of the elder humans. It was a drab afternoon in the

month of Havat that a lone adolescent human, clad in a long black coat wandered through the stone archway on Parthway Street. Long brown hair cascaded over the worn collar of his jacket and when he took his hands out of his pocket to light a cigarette, his lanky arms protruded too far out of the sleeves. Heading north with a purposeful yet awkward gait, the youth makes his way through the monochrome landscape. From under the brim of his hat, the stranger's eyes dart furtively about, as if weary of hidden attackers. Just past the square at Anton Street, where the hundred gods were represented in sculpture, he stops before the window of a small storefront. The plain gold lettering on the dingy glass reads reads "Tomor's Books." He peers into the store, pressing his face against the pane, searching for signs of life in the darkened emporium. Wiping hands on his dirty jeans, he tries the doorknob and seems surprised when it opens into the shop with a tinkling of bells from above. Several cats scurry about as he searches the room for a clerk. The long room extends into darkness before him, two tall bookshelves in the center that split the space into three hallways. Catiously, he begins walking down the center, stopping every now and then to examine the spines of the volumes that line the shelves. From the black distance, a light appears, growing closer and closer to the squinting shopper. Slowly the flicker widens as it nears the young man, revealing a husky human in stretch pants and a T shirt. His tall blonde mane sits proudly atop his head, terminating near his belt. Staring out from heavy lids, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, the candle bearing shop keep introduces himself in a lazy Samurian drawl, "What'cha lookin' for, son? We ain't got nothin' here for you young folk, now get on." The adolescent wanderer rolls up the sleeve of the ill fitting trench coat, revealing the sacred symbol of the Jenkabala elders, "I am Demon Scourge of Jenkabala Castle, and this is what I seek." With his other hand, the prince reaches into his pocket and produces a shriveled hand, an ornate crystal ring hanging from the tattered middle finger and drops it on the thick red shag carpet before the shocked book dealer, who hastens back into the darkness. "I'm goin' now" He calls behind him with a smile, "This is gonna be a helluva year son!"

Next, French Canadians Sui Caedere  fucked our unholy faces with an atmospheric and slightly more necro approach one their single album, 2009's Threne. This is a mid-tempo evil with tasteful keyboards, Burzumy drone guitars, and also hellish crossfire on wooden coffins double bass approach, although not nearly as proggy as the previous album. All the songs bleed into the next, average 7-8 minutes in length providing the perfect atmosphere for lazing away the day in a stinking crypt. Good stuff for the tough.


 Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 2.2  - Shoe of the Dead

Night had fallen on the River Trimpor when Demon Scourge choser a place to camp. He pulled his canoe ashore and pitched a tent. Lighting a small oil lamp, he began to examine the book he had traveled so far to obtain. Though this mark on his arm had been a burden to him up to now, he found it made him very interesting to people in Jenkabala City, sometimes too much so. For the last day he spent in the crowded city, he swore he was being followed by an elderly sauroped. Perhaps word of his presence had gotten back to the elder council of the great city. They had many reasons to be

concerned about his presence among them, for as Demon Scourge had learned in his seventeenth year, he was the true heir to Jenkabala castle and all the lands around it. The book was bound in red with an ornately crafted spine and the angular lettering was in old Samurian. Upon the cover was embossed a pattern of fruit bearing boughs twined with five fanged serpents. To his surprise, the frontispiece was a portrait of his father with two young boys. He recognized himself and his father from portraits his uncle Vod had given him when he was of age, but what of the other boy? Obviously it was his brother, but why had his guardian not tell him of this also? A twig snaps nearby and instinctively the hand of the Jenkabalan heir grasps the handle of the short sword on his belt. A rasping voice comes out of the darkness behind him, "So, they have sent you after all, the fools." Demon Scourge leaps forward and whirls around, sword drawn. Into the dim light of the small lantern steps the mysterious sauroped he had seen before, "I am unarmed, son of Bloodhammer, let me speak." The youthful warrior sheaths his blade and the two legged lizard continues, "You have no Idea of the things you have set in motion, and that is good for you. All you need to know right now is that you will venture south to Castle Thrashstone" Puzzled, Demon Scourge shoots back, "What is this Castle Thrashstone and why should I listen to you? Even as we speak your brothers are rounding up humans to be enslaved for the building of

temples to their infernal masters." The long snouted elder becomes aroused, "You must go now. Go south until you reach the hills of Samnor and find Krem Argoth in his keep, he is a friend." The elder takes off his cloak, revealing a leather jacket covered by a denim vest, sewn everywhere with embroidered patches. He reached out and touches one with his scaly hand. Everything goes dark and suddenly Demon Scourge can see a bird’s eye view of the landscape. He can see the spot where his body stands with the sauroped then moving to the north a great number of torches. As the bird swoops closer he can identify the armor of the elite city guard. They have found him out. In a blink he is on the ground. "Go!" Yells the sauroped standing across from him, "Go while you have the chance!" The hunted teen, terrified now, grabs the book and the canoe and shoves off into the river, heading south. "Bloodmace!" Calls the voice from the shore as the figure grows smaller and smaller, "Bloodmace!"


Lastly, Gallowbraid crushed our collective nutsacks with their slighly folksy, rather upbeat black metal ep, Ashen Eidolon.(It's strange that 40 minute albums are considered eps these days.) This is the sound of celebration after warlock goblins eat the flesh of white wizards. The rhythms have a slight disco feel, some acoustics are strummed and the occasion piano is tinkled. Reminds me of Nargaroth. This is a pretty good album, but failed to capture our attention as our drunken antics progressed beyond the point of no fucking return.


Words of the Elders

Demon Scourge! Master of the starways and evil defiler to sacred temples of all and sundry! The orphaned youth who spent his youth in a fantasy world has awakened into the realm of possibility and power. Prepare world, prepare for the return of the vanquished! Prepare for the coming of the brothers three!

Until next week, hammerhead hellraisers, 



Horns