Kobaloi

Years after our forefathers of the Sabbath, Priest, and Maiden gifted the mortal plane with sweet metal, children were born who would become men. These men would thirst for metal, and so they formed bands. And yea, these bands quested for the finest of heavy music, though they would yet fail and fall apart. For the road to metal is long, treacherous, and can be a real bitch sometimes. Undaunted by the challenges faced, the men continued to hone their individual skills. One trained himself in the ways of the guitar riff, the building block of all things metal. Another took simple words and crafted epic lyrics, giving them life with a voice to make demons weep. From across an ocean, there was one who composed songs and created visuals that would transcend time, forcing others to question their sexual adequacy. There was also a keeper of time, measuring the passing seconds with hammer-force snare strikes and earth-shaking bass patterns like the beat of his own heart. Finally, there was a humble man from the lowly caste of bass players who set out to prove that lower frequencies can be more for than root notes and doubled guitar riffs. Yet still, they fumbled in the dark, ignorant of each others' existence, until such time that fate would bring them together in a place far from home. And lo, they jammed, and sweet tits it was awesome. But it was not all meant to be. The one called Neush was forced to travel a separate path, and so he bid the group farewell. And their hearts were saddened, for Neush had touched them. Inappropriately. However, no misfortune could hold the men back as they set themselves upon the Herculean task of naming their epic group. After much discussion, deliberation, and many, many tasteless dick jokes, it was settled. The band would be named after the Greek spirits of mischief, those who delighted in frightening mortals, the Kobaloi. Months passed, and eventually their music was released into the public. While a measure of success was found, the men discovered that all the sore necks and melted faces in Minnesota could not fill the hole in their sound. Though the men did not give up hope, they asked themselves if one could be found who would join their worthy company. The answer came, gushing, in the form of a wanderer bearing an axe. Yea, the timekeeper approached him, asking, "Dost thou possess true skill, or dost thou carry thy load for mere shenanigans?" Verily, the wanderer unsheathed his mighty weapon and dazzled all with his speed, ferocity, and technique. Then, he brought out his guitar and shredded the holy bejesus out of it. The search for the men of Kobaloi was finally complete.

Brainerd, MN