Every Monday night, between the dusk and the dawn, thus commences the ritual of Metal Night. I, Joseph "Blood Mace" McIntosh and Chris "Demon Scourge" Eddy, scrutinize Metal albums old and new, while drinking adult beverages and rocking the fuck out. Special guests shall be invited to our lair of despair. Can you take the heat, the fire that lives in Hell? I don't think so!
Showing posts with label adventure in samur. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure in samur. Show all posts
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.
Alas! Empires are built on the backs and blood of slaves and whores, only to crumble when the slaves and whores take over. A never ending cycle. The old Jenkabala stands in ruin, but alas, a new shining fortress arises from the blood of old tyrants. In the meantime, a lot of black fucking metal was listened to. Black metal is the music of fading castles and dethroned empire. This will be short, as a horde of nettle trolls seeks to cover me with poison burrs. Let us contemplate with razor studded blackjacks!
We ventured over to the realm of Duchess Von Doom, and she showed us the sodden delights of forest obsessed anarcho-black metal. L'Acephale's first album Stahlhartes Gehäuse kicked our asses immediately. It is an eclectic brew of necro wizardry and acoustic atmospherics. It is by turns psychedelic and psychically frought with nightmare visions of inner and outer hate. This is an album to return to for repeated listens.
And then the Duchess put a spell on us and made us kill for her bidding, which was rather unnecessary, since we would have fucking done it anyway, but you know how dramatic these witches have to be. So I can't remeber what else we listened to that enchanted evening. The following week, just yesterday actually, we heard some black metal, at the new restored and just slightly relocated Jenkabala Palace. It pretty great.
Marduk's Nightwing opus started out the evening. Considered by some to be their classic, and considered by many nerds to be a hunk of over-produced shit, it's either love it or hate it with this album. It's a pretty average by todays standards, having influenced much in it's wake. There are fast part and there are slow parts. There are dynamics. It's a great black metal album. What else do you want from me??
Adventure In Samur Part 19.1 - Swords and Tequila
We were still dematerialized in the dimensional gate when the assault on Jenkabala began. Bloodmace, Mistress Crowbastard and I had exited from the portal in Headron's castle, on the way to northern Samur to reunite with our bodies after shedding them in order to travel to Narn, but many miles south our allies had converged on the ancient fortress. Hellmaster and Lady Deathcrush had joined forces with Baron Lotar and his royal guard, crossing the Time Desert in a fearsome convoy. Lady Steel and her warrior priestesses, who had stayed on in Samur after the battle with the Wyvern came from the west, joining Duchess VonDoom and her party in the mysterious forest. Fester Blackheart and Ophelia Skullbourne roared across the eastern shore with their jeep brigade and Iron Dan emerged from his mystical hut to ride with Frostor the Bounty Hunter. The legion of heroes gathered in darkness, unseen by the gray guardians of those areas controlled by Headron. When Duchess VonDoom could sense the magic of the battle jackets unleashed in the dimension of Narn she called to the wind and it carried her message to each ear. Even as we slipped on our skins in the frozen north, Frostor was silently making a pathway of dead guards that led to the very doors of the occupied villa. By the time we had joined our powers to transport to our ancestral home, Hellmaster and Lady Deathcrush were leading a platoon of saurons into the breach. Arrows and laser bolts flew as magic blades were rending spectral flesh under the cruel moon.
Next, Satanic Warmaster's Nachzerer ravaged our anuses in a surprising happy way. On the surface, this is a pretty typical Finnish OTT black metal album, who try to out Satanize their fellow Scandinavian brethren. But the chord structures are joyous and triumphant rather than ravaging and evil. This is the music of Satan's ultimate glory over that bastard Nazz fucker, that fucking piece of shit Jesus Christ. This provoke an argument between me and Demon Scourge, one that almost ended with blood splattered on the walls of his new apartment. I conceded that there were major chords and not minor ones. He conceded that this was not a Midnight album. A truce was called. Order was restored. A winner for the evening was declared.
Adventure In Samur Part 19.2 - Laughter of the Ancients
Into the chaos our trio of adventurers winged, materializing among the combatants in the shadow of the great palace. From the ground, hideous goblins arose, swinging their gnarled arms like deadly whips. Many were wounded and dying on the battlefield, both spirit and flesh. We had thought it would be over for Headron's forces when we destroyed their leader in Narn, but they fought on. Who was controlling them? At once, a vast cloud blacked out the moon and from the tower above a trollish voice rang out, distorted and hypnotic. A voice of Iron that mocked us, "you will never approach this throne room, I am in control here. You thought you could defeat me by defeating that bumbling clod, Headron? Ha! I am a thousand times worse. You will be begging for his return as I squeeze the blood from your people. Heed me mortals, go back and submit to my will or face my mighty wrath! I am Necro Baby! Hahahaha!" There is a great thudding that shakes the ground, growing louder and louder, then a cry goes up from one of the soldiers, "Aye! There she is!" Two tremendous toads lumber into view from behind the castle. Upon their backs ride five or six cloaked mummies, shrived forms cradled in jeweled seats, firing laser cannons that rain death upon all and sundry. Bloodmace has had enough. He rushes to the front of the fray, dodging the deadly blasts that send bodies flying into the air in a jumble of bloody parts. Standing before the enemy creatures, he grabs hold of the Blasphemy patch and lets out a bestial howl that becomes a razor sharp beam of power that shoots through one of the toads, rending it in half where it is suspended in the air for the briefest of moments. There is a sharp clap, then the whole beast explodes, showering the area with pulpy gore. Necro Baby, still unseen, speaks again, "You leave me no choice. Kill them all, minions, kill them!" From the castle issue fourth a legion of twisted creatures, death riders and demons who devour our forces mercilessly. All seems lost, but there is suddenly a sound that envelops all and to a slow funeral beat, the ghostly sectaurians ride on a carpet of blue light, their stallions galloping dreamily into the melee, driving Necro Baby's army before them. A roar goes up from the ranks and again we charge at the castle , this time encountering little resistance. Bloodmace and I make our way through the battalions of Centon and stand before the great sourwood door that opens into the castle grounds. Turning to Bloodmace I say, "I know not who this new adversary is, but now is the time we take back our legacy or destroy it." I hold out my arm and Bloodmace grips it. The door, with an angry groan, swings open.
Next, black metal fanboy favs Taake swept us up in it's evil flow with it's eponymous 2008 album. Lot's of fanboys constantly suck this bands dick. The Metal Archives are filled up with glowing reviews of this band, so I am tempted to bring them down a notch. Alas, they do not merit such abuse. I wasn't as taken with this album as Demon, but this very much seems to me the type of album that takes a few listens before getting sucked in for good. A worthy band, necro as fuck, many inventive riffs and changes. I can't knock 'em. I will be checking out some of the other albums.
Words of the Elders
In our next episode, Bloodmace and Demon Scourge storm Jenkabala Palace to unseat the bold usurper, Necro Baby!
Enforcer's Death by Fire started things out the right way with a retro minded blast of old school circa 1983 Heavy Fuckin' Metal. A few gentle piano strains start the album off, but its pure ass kicking the rest of the way. This band is in the vein of Wolf and other younger retro metal bands. Much attention is paid to the purity of the old sounds, the construction of old school riffs and solos, all the while retaining just enough personality of their own. Think demo era Metallica, Exciter, and all things NWOBHM. Think denim, leather, patches, cheap beer, and maybe some trucker crack. Actually, don't think. Just turn this shit up, dude.
Adventure In Samur Part 18.1 - Bells of Hades
I had used the power in the patches
sewn on to my denim vest many times. I was ready for the hot tingling
in my hands and the discharge of energy from them when I unleashed
the power from the magic embroidery. This time, however, it was
different. Before me stood our greatest foe, Headron, gray skin
covered with a business suit, lightning flowing from his fingertips.
Behind me was the rest of our party. Mistress Crowbastard, Jarkon the
Inflamer and Vecton the Bard were holding off the massive surge of
soldiers who were storming this tower and Lars the Berserker,
rebounding from a bolt from Headron's hand was running up the stair
to help me. I had narrowly dodged a searing shock from above and when
I put my hand upon my Bathory patch, I felt a sharp pain and from my
outstretched arm came a blast that took both Headron and I by
surprise. With no time to react, the tyrant caught the brunt of the
blow, knocking him back through the heavy door from witch he emerged.
Lars and I rush up to the landing, where the smell of burning flesh
hangs heavily in the air. Dust clouds obscure everything as we
cautiously approach the wreckage. Before we can even peer into the
inner sanctum of our enemy, he leaps out form the darkness, but Lars
is too quick for him, the barbarian's fist smashes what is left of
Headron's face and I send a deadly spell from the Exciter patch. The
body goes limp and crumples to the ground before us. We lean down to
examine the flesh bag, but at that moment we are both caught off
guard when our foe rushes us in the body of one of the intergalactic
businessmen who were about to buy Centon from him when we showed up.
Now a stout, amphibious looking humanoid with tremendous bulging eyes
on either side of his aquiline face, Headron bellows, "Fools!
Your world is mine now. Already my troops are hunting your friends on
Centon. Your legacy shall be expunged from history!" He draws
his cutlass, I feel it draining energy from me as soon as it is
unsheathed. My heart sinks knowing there are more bodies for him to
inhabit in his chamber, but from outside we hear the buzzing and
chirping of a thousand flying insects. Rangar the Sectaurian has
come.
Because thinking is what is required to engage with the next masterpiece by avant-garde weirdos The Meads of Asphodel. Time to get out the Wikipedia folks, cuz this is a head trip that will require repeated listening and much studious inquiry in order to absorb what's happening. The Meads have always been an eclectic band, with one foot rooted firmly in black metal and the other the music of the world. But most notably this is their most technically accomplished, displaying more musical proficiency than ever before besides their artful and bizarre meanderings. This time, the Meads explore the Holocaust with as much iconoclasm and intellect as the Gnostic religious musings of previous albums. This got my vote for winner of the night, though Demon Scourge digressed and he did so with a gore-soaked knife and Mistress Crowbastard put a spell on him and taught him a lesson he will never forget. Feral babies were slaughtered and women and children and menfolk, too. Too many sidecars.
Adventure In Samur Part 18.2 - Mesmerized by Fire
A look of panic crosses Headron's face
as a stream of tiny nsects pours through every opening of his
fortified tower. Below, we can hear the terrified screams of his
ghostly legions as the insect men rend their legion with mandible and
pincer. The shape shifting king turns from us and runs into the
throne room. As Lars and I persue our quarry I feel a tingling at the
base of my skull that turns into the voice of Rangar, "You must
use the patch...use the patch." My hand reaches into the inside
pocket of the
leather beneath my denim. Headron is running for the
gate to Centon but before he can get there Lars has tackled him. I
pull out the Mournful Congregation patch and hold it to my denim.
Rangar's voice comes out of my mouth, "I hold you Headron, Ankra
t'chmala dentoich!" The two warriors struggle on the ground
before the portal. Headron throws Lars from on top of him, thrusting
at him with his sword. Our enemy's power is great, but Lars, in his
anger, calls fourth the Berserker from the slaughtering void and his
ax rains down destruction on everything before it. Headron lunges for
his escape, but the ax falls on the body he in inhabiting again and
again, but this time there is no escape, he is held within that form
by Rangar's spell. Lars the Berserker tears the head from the body
that still contains the dying tyrant and lets out a victorious howl.
I watch as he runs to the balcony on the other side of the throne
room and holds the bloody head aloft, then hurls it down into the
throng of retreating demons. Rangar, perched upon a magnificent
battle wasp hovers nearby, "Demon Scourge!" He calls to me,
"Let us go on to Centon, we must also destroy the gate he built
in Jenkabala Palace! Take your friends there now, we shall follow.
Onward to victory!"
Words of the Elders
So it is done. The tyrant has been
defeated by the oppressed, but Centon is still in danger. Is the
father of Bloodmace and Demon Scourge really in league with Headron?
What secrets that lie buried in the past will rise from their
mouldering tombs to confront the metal warriors upon their return?
In a Metal Warriors loins holds the future of mankind. Yes, ahhhh, the stench of sex. We propagate our seed all over the landscape and all over the computer screen. Wench's bow before the unholy alter of our carnal lust. Our axes....our raging hard-ons!!! And upon this night we thrust thusly into the wicked carnality of........Sex Metal!!!!!
The crystal canyon in the wilds of the
Dantorian Mountains, home of Vecton the Bard and the gate of light.
The walls that rise from near the banks of the river Asdid are aflame
with blazing colors and impossible shapes. From every quarter,
strange geometric configurations jut from smooth surfaces in a kind
of insane perfection. Mistress Crowbastard, Jarkon the Inflamer, Lars
the Berserker, Bloodmace and I, Demon Scourge have made our way
across the treacherous plains of this hostile dimension to defeat
Centon's greatest enemy, Lord Headron. Hovering in front of us as we
make our way down the polished floor of the canyon is Vecton the
Bard, long armed, winged sentinel of this secret passage into the
belly of Headron's fortress. Turing to address us, he says, "When
Headron
drove the people of this land into the mountains, he never
expected that we would thrive here in this rocky wilderness. This
canyon is the secret jewel of our new kingdom. It is the power that
drives the Sectaurian empire and provides it with a natural gateway
to the adjoining dimensions." Mistress Crowbastard pipes in,
"How is it that Headron cannot detect the magic from the gateway
here. Surely it is close enough to his fortress that he could easily
find the source of such a powerful emanation." Bloodmace,
thoughtfully tapping his signature weapon against his hand speaks up
as well, "Indeed, how can such a powerful wizard not detect the
magic that must be very hot in proximity?" A smile breaks
across Vecton's face and he gestures as he speaks, "This is the
mbeauty of the crystal canyon. The gate is naturally occurring, that
is to say that there was no magic involved in opening it and thus,
none to detect." Lars the Berserker looks around in wonderment
proclaiming to no one in particular, "This is it, I thought it
was only legend but..." He trails off as our attention is
commanded by the great flapping and hearty caw as the raven haired
mistress of the night turns into her animal form. Leaping
into the
air, she soars high above us, perching upon an impossibly distant
outcropping in the translucent cliff face. Again, our host speaks,
"Ha ha! The healing powers of this place are known to our
people. You each will feel an increase of your powers as you travel
through this strange grotto. Come now," He says, motioning with
his hands, " the gate is very near." We follow Vecton as he
squeezes through a small opening in a massive quartz, Mistress
Crowbastard turning back to her human form as she reaches our
position. Inside we behold a breathtaking sight. We are standing
inside what seems to be a geodesic enclosure of light emitting
crystal, whose shade and brightness fluctuated wildly, creating a
bath of multicolored luminescence. The smooth floor of the impressive
chamber was barren save for a black stone statue of Rangar, first
emperor of the gate of light. Vecton, speaks loudly, in a commanding
voice, "Ready yourselves, my friends, we are about to begin the
final battle for the liberation of Centon. Hai!"
We next listened to Japan's Sex Machineguns and their 1998 self titled debut pretty much because they had sex in the band name. Nothing about this band is really remotely sexy or deranged, for that matter. What we got a was a competent if long metal album that skulked rather blandly between power metal and thrash. Nice chunky guitar sound, but bland in the vocal department. Nothing really awful about this album, just nothing really special about it either.And it deeply disappointed on the perversion level. Come on, Japanese Metalheads!! We Americans depend on you to be innovators of squick! More tentacle porn, less heroics, please. Thanks you.
We quit Rockbitch halfway through the album and, in desperation, threw on Faster Pussycat's first album. We were hoping these LA sleaze stalwarts would give us an old fashioned rockin' good time, but their collection of hackneyed ACDC riffs, whiney punkified vocals, and uninspired song writing hurled us further to despairing flaccidity. They are worthy of the moniker 'the poor man's Gun's N Roses'. The lyrics show some wit, but it's clear that these douchbags were simply riding a gigantic wave of hairspray in the late 80's.
Adventure In Samur Part 17.2 - Devil Wing
Carried away with the rush of power
from the extraordinary crystal canyon, we follow Vecton the Bard past
the gate of light and down a small stair at the other end of the
great hall. Down and down we went for what seemed like an eternity
until we finally and unceremoniously reached the bottom of the stair,
a dank cavern, pitch black. Our guide turned on a light ahead of us
and we silently made our way to its mouth. Sliding out a crevasse
barely big enough to fit through, we found ourselves inside Lord
Headron's domain. Everything here is greenish gray and drips with a
foul slime. Making our way quietly down this passage, we peer around
corners and duck behind statues, but there is not a sign of anyone
here. Slowly making our way to the tower, where we know we must end
up, a feeling of dread begins to settle in the group. We are not
hindered by a hellish wolf wasp or fanged orc and this is indeed a
cause for alarm. Where is Headron's army? Sneaking up the last flight
of steps, I happen to get a look out one of the small windows that
dot the walls. Down below, the sight of a galaxy of torches silently
closing in on the bottm of the compound causes my heart to sink, I
turn to the others, but they already know. A great battle cry goes up
from the spectral battalion below and the door before us blasts open
with a great gust of unwholesome wind that knocks us down the stair.
I look up to behold the enemy, clad not in battle armor, but the
vestments of an intergalactic businessman. He regards our party
sternly then turns to the shocked table full of salesmen and
accountants, "Excuse me gentlemen, this will only take a moment.
In the meantime, feel free to have something from the bar."
Turning back to us he wordlessly unleashes scorning blots from his
fingertips. Down below I can hear the sound of soldiers crowding up
the stairs below. I yell out to the rest of the shocked party, "Lose
the cloaks, let's give this motherfucker what he deserves!"
Shit was about to get ugly in Dantor
Arcatas dectorium! Myoskis Charven! The
battle has begun in two dimensions, for the followers of Headron have
shown themselves. Danger lurks at every turn for our heroes on both
planes! Stay tuned for the desperate battle with Headron, taker of
souls and lord of real estate!
Agent Steel's Omega Conspiracy tore threw the Jenakbala airwaves like a mighty wind.
Sleeker, downtuned, but armed with with the same worthy songcraft and
weirdness that made their 80's output such a pleasure. Out is original
vocalist John Cyriis, he of the shrillness, and in comes John Hall, a
vocalist of similar air raid qualities, though more polished. There are
some forgettable songs, some of the riffs reek of 90's grunge and nu metal, and the new line up would not completely gel until the Order of The Illuminati, but this is a worthy comeback.
Adventure In Samur Part 16.1 - Awaken The Swarm
On raven pass,
high in the black mountains of Dantor, there is a small camp for the
few travelers that wander here. Just a stone fireplace and a small
piece of flat ground, but for aeons it had served as a temporary
home for the occasional wanderers that pass this way. On this night
there was a fire in the hearth and Bloodmace, along with
Crowbastard, Jarkon, Lars and I had camped here, hoping to find the
lair of Vecton the Bard, but it appears that he has found us. He
stands before us in his billowing pinstriped suit, wings flexing
slightly as he chuckles at our state of alarm. Having introduced
himself,
he walks toward us from the rocky precipice where he landed
out of the darkness. "You seek the crystal canyon?" A
smile crosses his face and I answer him from my place near the fire.
"We were sent here by Rangar, he says you can show us the way
to Headron's fortress." Vecton now throws back his head with
hearty laughter. "I bet he did! That old scoundrel. He finally
found someone to carry out the mission he cannot. Well, good for him
and good for you for helping an old man's dream come true. We shall
embark in the morning." One by one, the others filtered off to
bed until I was once alone with the long armed stranger. He says to
me, in a low voice, "You are the one who was made by Headron to
destroy your friends, are you not?" I feel my eyes tense into
slits, "I am. What is that to you?" He reaches into his
coat pocket, "I must give this to you, it's from Rangar."
He hands me an embroidered patch that sparkles in the bright
moonlight. I recognize the lettering from the walls of Keep
Trawston and the tree prison of the T'chah Karnac. It is a Mournful
Congregation patch, one of the infamous lost works by the Huiskitel
masters of long ago. He puts his hand upon my shoulder. "Tomorrow,
my friend, all will be explained." He turns, stretches out his
wings and gracefully leaps over the side of the mountain, flying
into the mysterious darkness.
Hirax's New Age of Terror
is a bit of a disappointment, in that the punkified power violence guys
have polished up a bit, and the glorious thrash cheesiness has settled
into a more power metal vein, but there is still lots to like about this
album. Vocalist Katon W. De Pena balls seem to have dropped, and the
nasally tone is gone. But, this is a thrashy riff beast, and quite
satisfying in it no apologies old schoolness. Highlight of the album is
Hostile Territory, a speedster that demonstrates that this band operates
best at high velocities. Alas, I do pine for the days of yore with the
one minute songs about Satan. And Katon was always the best yodeler in
metal.
Adventure In Samur Part 16.2 - Shadow Thief The morning air
was thick with fog as we set out along the yellow rimmed path. It
was hard to imagine as we were walking among the clouds that we
would soon be fighting for our very lives in the valley below. Up
here everything was silent, frozen in time like a painting. Mistress
Crowbastard was walking on her own today, recovering from her near
death experience at the hands of the Vorm when we arrived in Dantor.
We followed Vecton up a steep climb up an almost sheer rock face and
hoisted ourselves up into a cavern. When our eyes became accustomed
to the dim light, we realized that the same moss carpet we saw in
the lair of Rangar and the Sectaurians also covered the walls and
floor of this very passageway, except there were no brave he heroes
depicted on this living tapestry. Here, scenes of their gods and
demons battling for souls and bloody scenes of torture glared out at
us from every side. Our stretch-armed, winged host motions us on,
"Hurry, this is no place to tarry. I always say 'don't mess
with the Sectaurian curse.' It's not far now, come on." we
hurried down the cursed rock throughway until we came to a large
gallery, with tunnels leading in every direction. Across the eerie
chamber we skittered to another, smaller cave, then through a
labyrinthine series of twists and turns that left us feeling
disoriented and lost, but on we went into the darkness, following
our strange guide. We finally end up at a small chamber with a pool
in the middle . in the center of the pool is a statue of Parthon
with an obscure inscription on it's base. Vecton turns and speaks to
the group, "We must dive in. When you get under, swim to the
light and we will enter the crystal canyon. Quickly, we dive in to
the pool, swimming past the sculpture of our friend from Narn and
toward the bright spot beyond him and on the floor of the spring. I
swim down and into the aperture where I see Vecton going, but as
soon as I swam into the lightI started falling as if what was once
below me was now above me. With a thud my body slams into the hard
ground, then one by one, my comrades fall through the same hole in
the ceiling. Shaking my head I peer out of our landing spot and,
with the others gasp. Looking down into the canyon, we could see
that it truly was made of crystals. Shining, faceted stones that
concentrated the light into a glittering beam. Suddenly, Vecton
flaps up from below the egress that looks out on the canyon. Be
careful here kids, the plaza of errors is almost finished."
Jag Panzer's -Age of Mastery was the Winner of the Night. I have to admit, I never was fan of this band, especially their much lauded 1st album, 1984's Ample Destruction.
I never cared for 'The Tyrant's' hoarse, slightly atonal caterwaul. But
that dude was long gone by 1998, replaced by the confident power metal
wail of Harry Conklin. Oh wait, same dude. Well, I guess his balls
dropped. This is simply a great heavy metal album, full of majesty, meat
and potatoes riffery(though there are some symphonic tinges here and
there), and inspiring melodies. It kicked our asses, dude.
Words of the Elders
Tears of gods fall
upon the barren dirt in this wasteland of fate. There, above, do you
hear it? The call of the wyvern, the smell of sourwood! The power of
Centon shall rise! Stay tuned next week to learn the secrets of the
crystal canyon!
In the dusty pages of heavy metal's
hallowed history, there has always been a special place reserved for
the obtuse blending of classical and pop forms that we know as
"prog," or "progressive." Many of the genre’s
influences spring from the primordial muck of the late sixties and
early seventies, heyday of the international prog rock phenomenon.
Our albums tonight hailed from the formative years of death metal,
when this burgeoning scene was poised to take over from its parent,
thrash metal. Many DM bands took the route of grinding out Celtic Frost inspired sludge, slowing it down to a near Sabbath-like crawl
while other bands played ultra fast, but there was also a faction of
bands who took more chances. Represented here are three of the early
pioneers of technical death metal who pushed the boundaries of with
an uncompromising take on what, at the time, was one of the most
extreme forms of metal available. With Pimm's cup in hand, we tread
down this meandering path of virtuosos, violence and victory, seeking
labyrinthine riffs, jaw-dropping rhythm sections and mind shattering
solos. Here is our report.
Atheist’sPiece of Time was,
appropriately, the first contender. This was, after all, ground zero
for tech death. People really get on their knees for this one and
with good reason. Their monstrously tight rhythm section, Steve Flynn
(drums) and Roger Patterson (bass,) are completely merciless and
their incredibly fluid interactions are really impressive to behold.
Guitarists Kelly Shaefer and Rand Burkey reel off one insane riff
after another while leaving just the right amount of space to
highlight the tastefully busy drumming. A perennial favorite among
egghead metal fans, this is a band you need to check out.
Adventure In Samur Part 15.1 - Disincarnated
The stronghold of
Rangar and the Sectaurians lies under the Karlac mountains of
Dantor. A massive complex of rooms, passages and halls where this
reclusive society carries out its business beyond the reach of the
tyrant Headron, who has brutally usurped this dimension from the
spider, insect and lizard humanoids. Inside a plush bar at the heart
of this great maze, Rangar the spider king sits at a moss covered
rock table. Surrounding him is our ragged party, Lars the Berserker,
Jarkon, Mistress Crowbastard, Bloodmace and I. Together, we are
studying a brittle old map of Raven pass, a treacherous but
secretive way to gain access to the mountain fortress of the evil
lord Headron. The arachnoid king, pointing out a small pathway that
threads the peaks, explains our route, "You will leave here by
the ruined tunnel in the old town. The path is hard to follow, but
look for the yellow salil flowers, they grow along the edge of the
pass. When you come to the first peak, look for Vecton the Bard, he
will show you the gate of light in the crystal canyon." Lars,
looking in the direction of Jarkon says, "I will not go with
this traitor." A rush of voices rises from around the craggy
table, trying to talk the bold barbarian out of his rash words.
Rangar holds his hand up and pronounces, "Lars the berserker, I
know of your pain, and the loss of your village but Jarkon is not
responsible for this. His creations
were taken by the Slib riders
and used against your village in a desperate attempt to stop your
mission from being completed." Lars says nothing but follows as
the regal spider leads us out of the bar and down a hall carpeted in
thick mosses, expertly cultivated to form an exquisite pattern of
vines and filigree that surround portraits of heroic Sectaurians,
noble insects, brave spiders and haughty lizards. The walls of the
passage were impossibly smooth, polished rock, like the walls of the
bar. From above our way was lit by a swarming mass of luminescent
insects. We traveled on in silence until Rangar took a sharp turn
into a doorway. We followed him up steep, roughly carved steps and
down a passage almost entirely blocked by a cave in. Exoskeletons of
fallen warriors and their weapons were everywhere among the debris.
When we finally emerged into the daylight, we found ourselves in a
small outcropping along the thin path that snaked along the side of
the steep, rocky peak. some stunted trees grew near the misty
precipice before us and a small altar with burning incense and a
likeness of Eddie the 'Ead was carved into the rock near the pass.
Rangar turns to address us, "when you reach Headron's lair, use
your magic. We will fly down from our stronghold and attack while
you take control of the gate." Looking around him wistfully, he
adds, "It is fitting you should leave from here. This is the
place where our people made their last stand against the forces of
Headron, the place where we were slaughtered almost to extinction."
Hands behind his back, he wanders to the edge of the path, and
looking out with his many eyes into the fog, calls to his ancestors,
perhaps the very beings we saw on the carpet earlier, or the ones we
saw in the tunnel. Wordlessly and without fanfare the spider king
turns and walks back into the darkened passage and one by one, we
make our way along Raven Pass
Our second outing was a very different
kind of death metal. For The Security by the Swedish outfit, Carbonized
took us down the punk side of the mountain, ratcheting up
the speed and intensity to grindcore-like levels of brutality.
Again, however, the drummer stole the show. Piotr Wawrzeniuk, while
not as fluid as his counterparts on the other albums we explored,
shows off some serious chops as he lays down a thick carpet of double
bass and crusty fills that drive this maniac masterpiece. Another
aspect of this album that I enjoyed was the slightly murky production
that bathes the music in a grimy tub of underground cred. For me it
was a nice change from the surgical precision of the Morrisound
treatment that lent sheen to the other two albums. This was my
favorite band of the night, but Bloodmace had other plans...
Adventure In Samur Part 15.2 - Reflections of the Dark
The day had
slipped away. We were closing in on the spot where we were
instructed to seek out Vecton the Bard, but the light was quickly
fading. I knew we were on the right path, for the yellow flowers
grew abundantly along the edge of our route, but we were getting
restless looking for a spot to bed down for the night, for we had
been warned against traveling too late by Rangar. Higher and higher
we climbed into the frigid sky until finally, in the dusky purple
twilight, we came upon a flat spot among the midget trees and porous
volcanic rocks. There was no sign of Vecton here, but we set up camp
and prepared our rations. The night crept over us and Jarkon used
his fire magic to create a small blaze to illuminate our little base
as we each took guard duty. It was my shift, deep in the lake of
midnight, when there came a great flapping of wings from the
darkness. I grabbed my sword instinctively and searched the night
sky for any sign of the enemy. The commotion woke up Lars and
Jarkon, who sprang up, weapons in hand, ready to confront the unseen
attacker. "There are only two more things you need to do"
a voice booms out, "that you should not do." Into the
light steps a tall, wraith like human dressed in a pinstriped suit.
His beard and mustache are groomed into points, long brown hair
cascades over his shoulders. From the back of the suit protrude
wings that curve up above his head and down almost to his feet.
Inordinately long arms terminate in sharp black claws that come
nearly to the ground. Crowbastard and Bloodmace have awakened from
their slumber and have also armed themselves against the startling
night visitor. "What do you want from us?" I inquire of
the stranger. "What is your name?" A smile breaks over the
his face and he replies, "To some I am the polisher of grain
who walks by night. To some I am the voice that speaks in the wind.
This mountain is my heart and the raven is my sight. Some call me
the lurker in the twilight, but you can call me Vecton, Vecton the
Bard."
By the time Gorguts' first slab hit the
platter I had begun to have second thoughts about my idea to spike
our tennis cocktails with extra gin. Vecton the Bard had gone off on
a Colonel Sanders tangent, Bloodmace was smashing out the windows of
the Jenkabala throne room (again) and all around us the spirits of
the dead gathered, crooning their seductive chant like sirens and
waiting for us to smash into the rocky shore. We made our best effort
to listen carefully to Considered Dead, the Canuk Quartet's debut
long player, but I have to say that I feel like I'm hearing it for
the first time as I write this. This was for sure the most
traditional death metal album we heard, looking at it through the
prisim of the twenty two years. Back in '91, however, this was the
cutting edge shit. Guitar pig squeals were not yet the death metal
cliche they are today and there was no Nathan Explosion. In short,
though these guys were the band we discussed least, they were the
ones who wrote the most chapters in the book of the way you do it
now. The end of the evening came and Bloodmace, drunk on gin and
power, mounted the golden throne and donned the mask of judgment. He
held aloft the jeweled scepter and lightning came down from the sky.
With a terrible cry, he made his pronouncement, "I declare the
winner of metal night to be...Athiest! Tremble before me mortals!
Hahahahahahaha!"
Words of the Elders
The voice of
midnight calls dear, gentle readers. The voice of the wolf is the
voice of our people who cry out for freedom from under the yoke of
commerce! Headron must be stopped in his quest to sell the world of
Centon to religious zealots all over the galaxy. Night is ours
though, sweet children of the timepiece world. The shadows will
forever hold fear for those with evil in their hearts and from the
pure, inky black of the star spattered sky, judgment comes, swift
and silent as a tempered blade!
