Review Summary: Descents Into Dismal Darkness
A foul stench penetrates the pitch darkness like a knife. The stench of wizardry. Dark wizardry. Cries of tortured souls plague the grasslands, with many close to forgoing their own. A black gloom hazes the vision among piercing shrieks from our terrorizer.
It started yet again. Rumbling bass and primitive drumming are the mere foundation of the spell. I grit my teeth as the guitar violates my ears. It may not be as treble-heavy as his peers, yet the power was undeniable. The compositions were simple yet varied; balancing between dark tremolos and uptempo melodies.
Even his lyrics showcased his complete disregard for human life. Descriptions of monsters, evil spells, and the perceptual gloom that he helped create. But, the darkness thickens. A keyboard is the sole instrument, putting out depressive and sorrowful melodies. Hypnotic and saddening, the tone changes as his words ring out: Worship me.
A long silence lets his words set in. But much to my discouragement, Count Grishnackh starts again. With a rather… head-scratching composition. Featuring a stolen riff and a sloppy, lighthearted tone. It’s over and done with quickly, transitioning to yet another sorrowful melody. Less than minute and having both guitars harmonizing, it’s a quick intro to the real second half of his dark spell.
The temperature dropped, the dark and gloom reaching a climax. Its fast tremolos and gloomy melodies are still deeply ingrained in my memory. Grishnackh shrieks of the world standing still, a grave, and it’s soul condemned to wander endlessly. It’s an accumulation of everything established before and done at it’s best. Before the finale, he tells his own story of grasping eternal power with the stars.
I felt it soon afterward. The ground is still, the air consumed by a still silence. Once the grass visibility shakes and trembles, I finally realize what this performance was for. Quickly, I rush out of the vicinity of the violent ground. Fissures split as dirt crumbles before my feet. Then, in an instant, it stops. As I search for the evil warlock, Grishnackh vanishes yet again.
I write this a day after this event, and I can feel the effect of his elaborate ritual. I feel as if struck with an illness, a cycle of perpetual suffering in my moist hut. I do not know how much time I have left. My own pleas to the gods and subsequent rituals have all been in vain. Losing strength in bed, I shall utter my last curse to the warlock that has caused my suffering.
For my own failing memory, I shall write it: Painful agonies I send forth for Count Grishnackh, lest his reign of terror be neverending.
