Veil of Thorns… Veil of Thorns…I remember when Veil of Thorns came to my city – the Great, the old, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. I had heard of them, and of the impelling fascination and allurement of their revelations. I burned with eagerness to explore their innermost secrets.
I had sought out all their known recordings: the tapes, highly guarded, widely hunted, every compilation and the albums whose very names hinted at what experience was to unfold upon their listening. I had been ravished into transports of ecstasy by these dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodaemonical ghastliness. Yet my craving was unassuaged! The "Lust Beyond Flesh" 7" single, a treasure dearly bought from a shady character with glowing red eyes at midnight on a full moon remains one possession I rarely talk about, lest unsavoury character creep from the shadows to take possession of this dark audio sigil for the power it grants.
Ta great expense of time, money and favours best left undefined I kept on top of news and speculation about the Veil of Thorns enigma. In moments of clarity I would wish to free myself from the influence of these dark expressions, but I would always come back to my collections of prized artefacts, the strange words that were like transmissions from a dystopian alternate universe that intersects our own at points of mystery. One piece of news would seal me to the Veil of Thorns current forever. It was rumoured that they were about to bring forth a new full length CD, and I trembled with insane lust at the very thought of the possibility.
From my arcane and unwholesome researches I had determined that Veil of Thorns was the work of mainly one man, if a mortal man he truly was, yet he had recourse to mechanical slaves, strange instruments of metal and electricity known as Pandora and Ruddy Bitch, which had the power to the muffled and maddening beating if drums and thin whine of blasphemous flutes inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time. This man, who was known by the deceptively human name of P. Emerson Williams and whose very existence in this universe has ever been in dispute. Tales proliferate around this individual, speculation that taxes the imagination, flowering rumours of his dwelling outside space and time. Every person known to be connected with this demon in human form has been beset by madness and disaster. Those who dare speak may point to the few who survive his acquaintance who to all appearances retain the manner of sanity and ascend to massive power. The less said about the appetites of these few individuals the better.