Metal Reviews

yes
by kicking his big hooligan balls !

Depends on how you define survival then...

Iyzor stood waiting by the Princess Carnif’x’s Chambers, waiting for Queen Vikie. His mind was awhirl. Would it work? Could the Princess be awoken from the curse that so cruelly gripped her? Or was this hope to be dashed? Looking upwards, he offered a silent prayer to the True God Myk. Please, he begged, please let it happen. He knew that he hadn’t been the Truest disciple of the Gods, but all that would change. A voice booming into his ear interrupted him. “What in the names of the True Gods are you doing, Wizard?”

Looking around, Iyzor saw the diminutive shape of Bishop Kathaarian, in his usual black robes. He was once the Head of the Inquisition, but had mostly kept to himself, down in the depths of the Tower, after the Holy Terr’r had that cruel organisation shut for its activites. Due to the death of the Bishop, and since he was second in line to the Holy Terr’r, he had been forced to come out into the light. Rumour had it that he was even more fanatical about the True Religion than was his late master, taking his beliefs to lengths bordering on the insane. “What is the problem, Kathaarian?” Iyzor asked coldly, pointedly not using the Bishop’s title. “The problem, Wizard,” replied Kathaarian, through gritted teeth, “is that according to the Ancient Laws, I am now in charge of our fair land. So, unless you have a good reason to be loitering outside the Princess’ Chambers like a pre-pubescent schoolboy eyeing up the town sluttern, may I suggest that you continue your usual duties, and continue writing your spells, or whatever perversions you get up to?” He stared triumphantly into Iyzor’s eyes.

Iyzor had taken a deep breath, and was just about to answer when Queen Vikie came around the corner. “Oh!!! Wizard, I received your message and came as quickly as I could!!! You really think I could help end the curse on the Princess?” The Bishop looked from one to the other, and then slowly went red. “What!” he roared. “Are you suggesting the blasphemy which I think you are, Wizard?” “Blasphemy?” asked Noodles, who had been listening in respectful silence until now. “You know in the Ancient Laws it says that relations must be held only between men and women, Wizard! Our honourable Sages determined ‘relations’ to mean any act that often occurs between men and women and can lead to intercourse, including kissing and fondling!” “You know as well as I do that the Holy Terr’r abolished that old-fashioned foolishness!” Iyzor yelled back. “We are in modern times now. The world has moved on since witch-burnings and ritual Blackened Metal gatherings!” “HOW DARE YOU INSULT THE NAME OF BLACK METAL!” screamed Kathaarian, foam forming at the corner of his mouth. He lunged at Iyzor, but recovered his composure, and stood straight. “The Ancient Laws have been re-established, by my word, on my command,” he informed Iyzor, breathing heavily. “Any sort of sexual contact between man and man or woman and woman is forbidden. The Inquisition shall be reformed, also. It is apparent that some people need to be retaught the lessons that our forefathers learnt. You’d let the slime into your heart, wouldn’t you, Wizard? Well, all this is no longer your concern.” He turned to Queen Vikie. “The position of Queen is no longer recognised by the land of Latt’m,” he informed her. “ ‘Woman Was Made to Serve Man His Ale, Give Him Company in Bed and Scratch His Back, in the Places that are Difficult to Reach’, as the Prophet Vikernes wrote.” He turned to Noodles, ignoring Queen Vikie’s outraged gasp. “The Wizard will no longer be requiring a bodyguard. You shall resume your regular duties as a Guard of this Tower.”

The Queen found her voice. “Wizard! How can you let this horrible little fiend speak to me like this? Is it true, that he is now the ruler of this land?” Iyzor slowly nodded, hating himself as he did. “Yes, he is master and ruler, as the Ancient Laws state,” he said. He couldn’t rebel against the True Gods, and nothing that Kathaarian had said was untrue. Bishops were higher than Wizards, and if he dared to attack the Bishop, it would be an act of war, making him an outlaw. Even if he somehow managed to escape the combined wrath of all the country’s forces (and he wasn’t that good a Wizard, anyway) there was still the Tower itself. It wouldn’t let him survive such a deed. “Bow to me, Wizard!” crowed Kathaarian. “Bow to your new master! And the master of all Latt’m!” He threw his head back and laughed, as the others looked on in horror, and Iyzor slowly bowed to the new ruler of the land.

*

Rio sat down at the table, and ignored the curious stares he received. He had left Radagast’s bedside over an hour ago, and wandered the warren-like caves in a kind of daze until someone kindly bought him down for something to eat. There was an air of controlled anarchy about the place, people rushing around, meals seeming to take place constantly. They were a friendly bunch though, were Radagast’s relatives, and each stare was accompanied by a smile. Where they had all come from, and why they had settled here (looking around, he realised that he did not know where ‘here’ was, not having been outside since he had become unconscious) he had no idea.

His stomach rumbled, interrupting his thoughts, and he turned to see what was in his huge bowl. A rather thick red stew lay there, with lumps of meat sticking out, and what seemed to be whole potatoes floating in it. He gingerly tried it, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was quite tasty. “Cholent!” Norris said cheerfully, dumping himself next to Rio with a plate of his own. “Traditional dish, takes bleedin’ hours to make. Worth it though!” He started eating hungrily, and Rio followed suit. Somewhere in the depths of his tired mind, a thought arose asking where Bastard was, but the rest of him squashed it remorselessly. He intended to finish eating, then go and rest again. Everything else could wait.

*

Ztef’n toiled. He had always been blessed by the True Gods with extreme powers, but never had their use been such a drain on him. The spell he was setting up required many ingredients, and gathering and mixing them using repeated castings of his telepathic spell was tiring, to say the least. But he knew that it was vital, and so he didn’t sleep. He worked. On and on and on.

To be continued...

Kathaarian, you asshole!

Hey, don't hate the player, hate the game. I'm just doing what the gods told me.


Haha, Zad read me like a book. Conservative, short tempered, bigot, asshole, krieg... I'll probably be killed or dethroned in a disgraceful way, so let me enjoy this moment.

This story is great.

Diggin' it.

i wanna kill someone

Lemme guess, me?

nah, you're cool.

Presumably Noodles is going to kill Iyzor, or he'll get killed himself trying to assasinate the Princess...

*intrigued*

very enjoying reads..makes me wanna write again myself, but i don't have the time, keep it up zadster!

That's fine. I thought Latt'm was a shitty country anyway.

Ha ha ha.

Keep up the good work, Zadfrey.

Increasing in wierdness but still very entertaining.. Keep 'em coming.

He was in another place, another plane of existence.

The blue mist hung over him yet again, and he couldn’t help but breathe it in and out, in and out, constantly struggling, trying to escape, but he was enchained, enthralled. He couldn’t escape the bindings that held him whilst the mist came. His lungs ached; his throat was raw. At first he had tried holding his breath so that it would just pass over him, but whatever wind bought it to him in the start would not blow again to carry it away, and so he had to breathe it in, swallow the blue mist, and feel it inside him, working at him, kneading him, moulding him anew.

Again and again and again and again he screamed, but it changed nothing. Once in a while, he thought he felt a coolness on his brow in response, but before it could do any good the blue mist attacked again, and he was carried off into the darkness. It made no sound, but the buzzing pulse in his ears became clearly audible when it was near, and he learnt to use that signal to prepare himself as best he could for the mist, knowing that whilst it may seem endless, it would end, as the others did in their turn.

Wave after wave after wave after wave came, and he began to imagine himself as a beach, constantly being violated by the sea, as it lapped away slowly but surely. Each wave carried away part of his sand, and deposited other, strange sand on him. He tried to envelope the new sand, make it part of himself, but it was impossible. The new material carried memories, pictures, sounds of things that were new to him, and impossible to understand in the snatches that each granted. He made stories, sagas from them, tales of kingdoms that lasted a million years, each second resplendent with detail, right up to the dirt on the floor of the poorest hovel and the most precious jewel in the storehouse of the king. Civilisations were created and destroyed on him; he was the architect of life and death.

Eventually, he came to see the sea as a friend, not an enemy, and he relished the limited company that it provided, similar to knowing that a loved one is in the next room, even without physical proof of their existence whatsoever. He spoke to it, and it responded silently, calmly taking and giving in its lunatic cycle. Mischievously, he tried to swap the sand around, trying to force it to take the new sand back instead of taking his own, and for a while it worked, the sea carrying the fragments away silently. He was insanely pleased at his success for a moment, like a child learning to walk, but then the sea wreaked revenge, by carrying his sand back, but in a new form. Looking, he saw that the parts of him they contained were twisted out of shape. A childhood memory of a family gathering was turned into a nightmare, monsters devouring him. His father on his deathbed, slowly rotting away into nothingness as he watched. Friends playing innocent games changed to ugliness, as they beat each other with sticks, poking them deep into eye sockets and tunnelling new pathways, exploring new worlds.

On and on and on and on. And he couldn’t stop it, so he screamed again, finally giving in to the sea and letting himself be taken away forever. Travelling along the seabed, looking for anything clear in the murk. Feeling the sand of others swept past his face, opening his mouth so that he could draw it in and catch a moment of them in him. There was nothing whole in that sea, not even him. Fish heads swept past, singly and in pairs, glassy eyes watching him. He caught one, and tried to swallow it, but it came alive and snapped at his tongue with tiny sharp teeth, so he let it out, and watched as it went.

There was no goal, no end to his journey. He moved on, released from the clutches of the sea, and in the distance he saw a light. It winked in and out of sight, and curious, he tried to propel himself towards it. At first, something held him back, reluctant to release him, then suddenly it snapped, and he was hurdling towards the light. Uneasy now, he lashed out, seeking something, anything to grab onto, and he caught, and hung on tight, as he cannoned into the light…

…And Radagast awoke. All was blurry, but he saw that he was holding Rio’s arm, and he let it go, suddenly realising just how weak he was. Trying to speak, nothing came out but a croak, and focusing hard, he could just make out the figure of his Ma, holding some warm object to his lips. It was a wet cloth, and he sucked, recognising the once-familiar taste of chicken soup. The brew gave him immediate strength, and as memories of his ordeal slowly flowed back into his mind, he saw his addiction for what it was – a parasite, living in him and making him perform like a puppet. He would have broken down and cried, but he didn’t have the energy, and as his Ma took the cloth away, he fell into a deep, exhausted but relaxed sleep.

*

“He’s gunny be alright!” exclaimed Norris to the cavern, and everyone cheered. Rio was hugged by at least three strangers, and was given several huge mugs of beer, which he quietly passed on. He was pleased that Radagast was over the fever, but was worried about Bastard. Having slept at least twelve hours, his whereabouts had been the first thing on his mind when he awoke, and upon asking around had learned that his companion hadn’t been seen for several days. He couldn’t believe that they had been so long there, and knew that as soon as Radagast was able they would have to continue their quest, to get to Opeth and see the Wizard. Where the hell was Bastard?

To be continued…

Damn it, with all that sea talk, I thought Dago the Sailor Man was in for a visit.

Same here.

Ya har! I be a scurvy junk addict no more!

This one was well written Zad, sort of reminded me the end of book 1/start of book 2 to The Dark Tower.

You are one strange little cookie Zad. While the whole thing is pretty silly overall (obviously) there are a few sentences that crop up now and then that are suprisingly well written. As if every once in a while, you dare to venture out from under the shield of humor to try and write something serious and manage to end up with the odd gem or two.

Deep-seated impulses make people react certain ways to different situations. Whereas, for example, one person may stand frozen in silent awe as, in front of him, a car hits a child, another will immediately run over to see if there is any hope for the victim. You could point to this as an example of evolution at work, the one standing still perhaps knowing, deep in his or her subconscious, that by endangering their own life, they are putting their families in danger just to help someone who may well be a rival in later years. Is this bravery, or just plain cowardice? As for the one risking everything, are they to be applauded or not for their selflessness/stupidity? After all, it’s a well known fact that people are having less children now, in modern times, than they were in years past, perhaps due to a lessening of the religious cultures that took “go forth and multiply” to mean quite literally that.

Perhaps it’s due to the advances in medical technology, cutting down on the number of stillbirths and disease-related deaths that assisted a low life expectancy rate. Perhaps it’s due to the increased emphasis recently on the dangers of paedophiles and others who, due to their own sickened minds, gain pleasure from abusing young people, without defences, without the natural impulses to flee from danger, who trust strangers naturally, and will unquestioningly accompany a stranger who claims to be a messenger of the parent, unable to come to fetch the child for whatever reason, and has sent kind uncle Bob here to bring little Tom or Katie back.

Going back to our first example, there is, of course, a third type, completely different from both the bystander and heroic figures. This person will stand and watch, not out of fear or bravery, but out of cold interest and not a small amount of amusement, as the car, travelling with that huge amount of kinetic energy, hits the human figure and immediately causes bones to snap, organs to rupture, and blood vessels to be torn. This person will stand and watch as life is ripped from the person, and what was once a living, breathing child with a great future ahead of them is transformed into a flying lump of meat, not so different from those hung in a butcher’s window to advertise his trade. Blood and gore splatter over the urbane concrete jungle, in one second creating a canvas more modern, more experimental and outrageous than any pampered artiste could create in a year. And the focus of our attention watches, as people scream and gasp and panic, as Authority in the form of Police and Ambulance arrive and set about scraping the remains into plastic bags, as nothing is left of the victim but a red stain.

Yet for the family, and the hapless driver who caused the tragedy, the world is wrenched out of reality, and into some nightmarish land of horror. That small, tragic figure will haunt each of them for the rest of their lives, and nothing, from subsequent, 'replacement' births to vast amounts of alcohol or drugs can mend the ramifications of that point in time. Maybe our forefathers had the right idea, dealing with the loss of a child far better than the generally desensitised population of today.

Maybe that time was better than now in other ways as well, thought Rio, as he felt the wind in his face. He had been taken above the surface by Norris, and was surprised by how strange it felt, after being underground for several days. They had retreated beneath the surface originally, several hundred years ago, he learnt, because of oppression from the then monarch, who had set most of the land ablaze in his quest to make the country racially pure. And had enjoyed it so much that they didn’t see the need to return to the surface. Why live up there and be at the mercy of the elements, Norris pointed out, when beneath several hundred feet of earth such things meant nothing!

Rio knew that eventually massive inbreeding would lead to this small community becoming just another group of monsters in a world full of them, but he said nothing. Maybe the monsters had it right; maybe the next evolutionary step was reserved for the murderers, psychopaths and deviants. Just as the ancient Mayans saw the conquistadors as gods, so would the ones who saw killing as equal to eating, breathing or any other natural human characteristic be the ones who transcended and became the deities that mankind spent so much of his limited time on this earth chasing. He looked to the south, where the sky was nearly completely black, and felt afraid.

*

Zad dug. He was already several feet below the surface, and had struck rock a few hours ago, but this didn’t stop, or even slow him down. He carried on, cracking it with his fingertips, and then lifting it out with his unearthly strength. Searching. Searching for the Answer.

Under the rock, he broke into a small layer of fine earth, which he carefully brushed aside, knowing that his goal was close. Several minutes later, he felt wood beneath his fingers, and carefully brushing off the last of the earth, uncovered a coffin.

To be continued…