From my son's blog...
The Origin of Metal
May 13, 2008 by terminusest13
In the beginning, there was little.
The world was a vast, frozen wasteland, walls of ice replacing ocean and mountains of snow smothering the land. The wind was tumultuous and merciless in its fury, whipping around like rag dolls anyone foolhardy enough to dare resist it.
In this world, however, the call of adventure still thrived. And so there were vikings. Ancient raiders that knew no mercy, pity, or care. They defied the whims of the world, and dared not only to survive, but thrive in face of the furious elements. All of the blood they spilled in their conquests only fueled them further, and they could taste it coming back up again, dripping out of their mouth as they gritted their teeth.
Determination not only to survive others, but to survive the world, only to further their love of killing.
One day, however, a god smiled on them. Or perhaps it was the world itself, or simply fate. Whichever it was, the vikings would change themselves and the worlds forever.
They were few in number now. Five vikings, closely banded together by a bond deeper than loyalty, deeper than trust, deeper than blood. Daily they slashed themselves and brought their hands together, letting the red mingle as they swore they would survive.
Pirates, other vikings, ninjas, zombies, and foul demons threatened this oath, their only desire to break the bond between the five. But they conquered, and eventually made their way to yet another vast mount of stand, satisfied that they could survive for ten minutes longer.
The sky crackled.
The earth rumbled.
The winds roared.
And the ice shattered, waves rising up and crashing back down.
Animals screeched in horror, taking flight or feet away from the scene in terror. The vikings stood up and flung their capes to the side, gripping their axes and preparing for combat.
What happened, instead, shocked them. Lightning erupted down from the sky and slammed into the earth like a comet, snow erupting into the sky as if the mountain was a volcano, smothering the five vikings in feet of snow. The vikings, however, had battled far worse than this and effortlessly hacked their way back to the surface. And then what they saw on the mountaintop where the lightning had struck caused them to drop their jaws in awe.
A lead guitar. A rhythm guitar. A bass. A synthesizer. And a drum kit. Each of which crafted from the finest metals, tuned impeccably, and glowing with an awesome energy.
One viking’s eyes grew misty at the pure beauty that lay before him, and he stepped forward to grip at the handle of the lead guitar. A voice erupted into his ears, “Truly, I say to you. You have lead your men through bloodshed after bloodshed, and you will be justly rewarded. You will be blessed with leading your men even further, your face will be the most recognized and your work will be the most appreciated. Women will flock to you in droves, begging for your penetration. People will praise your name. For you are the lead guitarist."
One viking gritted his teeth, still expecting trouble, and stepped forward to gaze upon the rhythm guitar. In an instant, the battle axe was flung out of his hands, replaced by a better axe, superior in every caliber. The same voice erupted into his ears as well. “Truly, I say to you. You have supported your leader, following his footsteps and adding your might to his. You have never questioned his orders, have never played with thoughts of abandonment, have never even considered that your method may be better. He will continue to need your support now, as you lay down the musical mat with which he will walk along in compositions. For you are the rhythm guitarist."
The third viking grinned upon sight of what his comrades had been granted, and slung his axe into the ground to pick up the bass. The voice pounded out in his mind as well. “Truly, I say to you. You have taken care of your teammates, nursing their wounds and healing their hurts. You have stitched their cuts and bandaged their bruises, carefully putting every fallen organ back properly inside of their body. You have made sure your team has never permanently suffered ill, and they will need your help now more than ever before. You will keep time and tone for them, overlaying the background with guidelines as to what every member should follow. For you are the bassist."
The fourth viking stroked his goatee as he stepped forward, brushing his fingers across of the synthesizer in front of him. The voice turned to him, as well, “Truly, I say to you. You have always been the wild child of the group. Formulating strategies, ideas, and plans, the best way to execute them, and effortlessly patching up any weaknesses and problems. In combat, you were always at the forefront, screaming in both agony and ecstasy as you cared little for the arrows in your body, caring far more for the axe you planted in skulls and ribcages. You will once again be at the forefront, making melodies and following them–though you will still be at the whims of your leader, following in his footsteps, you will be parallel in your own path. For you are the keyboardist.“
The fifth viking let out an unintelligible grunt as he stepped behind the drum kit, lifting up the sticks and twirling them around in his hands. The voice visited its final charge and stated, “Truly, I say to you. You were always the muscle of the group. There was no armor you couldn’t break, no mountain you couldn’t bring down, no castle you couldn’t shatter simply with your hands. Unfortunately, you are a blithering idiot and thus can do pretty much nothing else than that, and I’m not sure you can ever understand me. But you will enjoy this, as you get to hit animal skins with sticks repeatedly to express some Neanderthal concept of ‘beat’ and ‘time’. For you are the drummer.“
The five vikings offered up praise to this unknown voice. They bowed down their heads and got on their knees for all of three seconds before standing back up.
Fingers plucked, pressed, twitched, and gripped as they first got acquainted with their new instruments of might.
Then, the first viking raised his hand up high. With the first and the last finger extended, the others hushed as they looked upon this symbol. This was an ancient sign of war declaring, which the vikings would always lift just before massacring towns and districts.
Blood was going to be spilled with these new instruments.
The first viking then swung his hands down and erupted out a mighty chord from his guitar. The chord echoed across the entire world as men screamed in agony with their faces melting and women squealed in pleasure. The viking erupted another chord, and the snow melted from the fire that spontaneously burst across the plains.
The snow turned to water and cascaded down hills, rushing to get away from this menace that threatened its very existence, pounding into the layers of ice and shattering it all into more water. Oceans rose all across the world, and floods claimed the lives of many.
The viking erupted another chord, and the world shook in terror, shuddering in fear as the power of this music claimed control of the globe. Earthquakes devastated continents, splitting towns and castles and devastating wildlife. The viking erupted another chord, and the other four followed in suit, stringing together notes and weaving melodies into what would change the world forever.
Together, these vikings graced the world with Death Metal.
Fri May 16, 2008 9:23 am
