A sprawling and atmospheric work of thunderous doom metal, ferocious black metal, gentle folk, and mellotron laden prog. This piece has been a 2+ year passion project, lead by vocalist, lyricist and guitarist Tristan Bedient, and guitarist, drummer, producer Nate Evans. It showcases both the most beautiful and elegiac music we have written, as well as the darkest and most punishing. Lyrically, the album deals in a bleak inversion of a typical sword and sorcery “hero’s journey”, focusing in on themes of self importance, predestination, environmental destruction, and existential dread.
The incredibly talented artist Simon Underwood is responsible for the cover art and all internal illustration. He perfectly captured our vision for the world of Ithriel. The artwork of both covers act as a single piece when stacked on top of one another, showcasing the shift in the narrative between the two pieces.
Our hope with this project is to capture a work that is truly immersive, deeply atmospheric and thought provoking. Allowing you to escape to the world we create and experience the story from within its forests, ruins and caverns.
released November 15, 2019
Abytheon is :
Additional vocals by: Sylvia Dresselhaus
Recorded, Mixed at BoneyArts studios by Nate Evans, Tristan Bedient.
Mastered by Brendan Johnson at Time Bent Sound Studios.
Epic and Thunderous Mellotron laden Doom metal, shrouded in Black metal Inspired melodies. With Winding Progressive song
structures bisected with segments of delicate neo-folk. All Submerged in a mysterious atmosphere. Christened by a myriad of vocal styles delivering lyrics that conjure images of bleak quests, into realms of sword and sorcery....more
How foolish were the gods to think not of man.
How profoundly foolish they were to think not of those that dwell outside their microcosmic view.
They have only wrought darkness upon themselves in their ignorance, and death to their people.
For in their twilight, as the black drake's wings sundered mountains and his great jaws devoured the son of Amonn, whilst the eldritch armies marched upon their capital and lay waste to their realm, the All-mother lie locked in pitched battle with an essence of dark that she wished had not stirred memory. They battled until life began to leave her heavenly form, and with a desperate swing, she slew the entity. But before its essence was extinguished, it spat its vile darkness upon her daughter's homeland, Ithriel. In its deep amber forests lay the Goddess of Flora and Fauna, blissfully ignorant to the darkness that fell from the heavens and now lie trapped 'neath her woodlands. The darkness festered as it met with the waters, infecting its subterranean rivers with its sorcerous ichor. And from that oily obsidian basin crawled man, a curiosity of both chance and destiny: foolish and fleeting in form, but resilient and ambitious. Despite their hardship, through their blind tenacity alone they crawled to the land above their sunken birthing place and history was born anew. Elvish memory lost, dwarven lore forgotten, a new age awoke, yawning and grey.
And out from that chasm from which they crawled, ages of growth and ages of torment came with them. And there, 'neath the evergreen cloak of the whispering forest, is where we lay our scene.
Twenty years wasted in silence, sworn fealty to naught but the soiled earth.
As years passed on his heart grew cold to men who favored not but gilded stone.
Only in slumber did he find solace from his bitterness, mulled for a lifetime.
Dreams of mythic ventures beckoned through the astral winds.
The belfry toll of witching hour echoes through the misty evening air,
As dreams ride swift upon their resonant chime.
Her voice, so clear and gentle still, calls out like a whisper yet cries as a scream
To coax his heart to wander her temples of oaken shade.
His feet carried rocks across the damp cobblestone, with each passing step growing further from home
Into the murky forests of the whispering trees, to breathe in deep the lands where elves now weep.
Crawled from the prison of his complacent distress
To set forth upon this most glorious of quests.
To far feral woods and all lands that lie between,
His destiny awaits at the foot of his queen.
I have searched for one measure of jubilance in my heart when I look to my home.
I have scoured the regions of my mind, dimly lit by memory, to find what mirth is left for king or country, and I have found nothing. I look to elders and gods for guidance, but my pleas fall upon deaf ears. I look to the castles of men and gaze along their mighty towers, their golden crowns and shimmering thrones, and it seems naught to me more than a foul and arrogant collection of stone. And so I found myself again standing before the great whispering forest. The sprawling garden of oak and ash is my place of worship. The swaying of the wind seems to speak to me, it whispers of secrets long forgotten and stories that I have yet to hear in song. So I believe the wilderness claims something much more precious than silver or gold, mystery.
Track Name: Whispering Woods
The wilderness where once we walked
is shrouded now in mist and fog
And I wonder, why does nature sing for me?
In the woodlands where our fathers rode
lie songs and stories left untold,
but come wanderer, I will guide you through the trees.
Walk with me.
A song of streams
rings throughout the endless trees.
Carried on the autumn leaves,
her voice beckons me.
And I know not what lies ahead for us
hidden within this whispering wood.
The secret kept from me.
I can scarcely recall my path.
I know not from whence I came.
If I lose myself in this woodland,
was this journey all in vain?
Hear my voice and follow near.
May my guidance keep your pathway clear
and reveal to you the majesty of the wind.
My heart lies with the willow trees,
my songs ring along the fallen leaves
and my body lies within the brook
deep in the heart of this ancient wood.
Track Name: The Breath of Twilight
Time aches forth in a droning rhythm
In the wood realm where now I’m laid to rest.
For this journey, I dreamt of secrets and wisdom
Now pathless lay this pointless quest
The darkness contorts into wicked shapes
as the shadows crawl from the brush to haunt his restless sleep,
kept at bay by a weak, trembling flame.
The hounds of dusk howl themselves hoarse
to a feral canticle of the gathering gloom.
The light of the fire cast upon their visage
tar, slick through their thin matted fur.
Now I venture here unto pathways so unclear.
The fauna erupt in bitter harmony,
so I wade in deep, into murky waters bleak.
The breath of this twilit woodland glade
recoils as the moonlight wanes
From the shapes of the hounds grew mocking shadows,
looming above the wanderer with depthless scorn,
blaring the horns of judgement through the still evening air.
Encircling their camp, the trumpets still cry
as the wanderer arose and called out into the fog,
“Reveal thyself or begone wretched phantom,
the dawn threatens to rise!”
I felt the first breath of twilight caress my cheek as wind whistled through my hair.
Winter is nigh. I can feel it in the air, I can taste it in our game.
I wished, only then, that sleep might return to me before this night is through.
The Welkin shall gather at the roots and conspire
as the sun falls frail at the toll of the hour.
Midnight rides swift on its leathery wings,
bringing forth sorrow and madness this eve.
As their shadows skulk the woodland by dark,
all souls flee from their feral procession.
Their voices all chime forth in foul harmony,
choking out omens of tempestuous glee.
Leapt to his feet and grasping for his blade,
the flickering campfire spills into ash.
By the moment he grasped the hilt and drew his sword,
his faint anxious breath now contort into roars
as a frail figure emerges from the trees.
The winds seemed to wane and eventually to cease
as his eyes stared blankly at the elder in fright,
for his terror now stand revealed in the moonlight.
Track Name: A Voice Amidst the Pine
With their blades at their side, they awaited reply
as the elder explained why he stalked them this night.
His cottage lie northward, just short of a league,
whence he curiously followed their somber ballads.
He grew curious to why they wandered these untrodden paths
and inquired of the travelers lest he meet with their wrath.
To her gentle voice, I am bound by oath.
I meet my destiny where the old oaks grow.
So by winter’s glow, I go where winter knows my name,
so I may learn what calls me.
Fool art thou who answers the call of the wind.
The woodlands now grow darker still than sin.
I’ll meet the voice that sang,
the one that knows my name.
My quest lie further still,
so on we go, such is my will.
Track Name: At Cauldron's Bottom
Lurking through the misty morning hills ‘neath the shroud of branches.
Weary steps sink into the leaves as the dim sunlight dances through the veil
upon an ancient bridge, clasped in the grip of moss.
A stone laden body erupts from the soil.
Roused from its slumber, awake now, the troll,
swinging with the fury, tearing root from earth.
In frightened recoil from the stone splitting force,
the pilgrims all split into the tree line to flee.
Unto unknown paths led their fast anxious feet.
Lost in the onset of cold as the snow falls softly into the winter bleak,
where trees seem to murmur and speak
In my panic, I sought through the thick underbrush for signs of travel from my companion, fear growing with my fruitless search. But still, I wandered forth, unsure of what lie before me in this treacherous wood. Calling out into the calm air, I was met with the howling of the wind whistling through the leaves. I felt the brisk chill tighten its grip upon me. Without food or rest for what must have been hours, I felt as though I may fall and succumb to the cold. And suddenly the paranoia of what might have been my frigid death was enough to drive my exhausted body forward.
No longer calling out for reply, I came to a large clearing in the woods. The tall grasses covered in steel and blood from what must have been a great battle. At the heart of this glade was an ancient husked ash tree, with a great miasma of branches grasping eerily toward the heavens leading down to thick gnarled roots that held an iron cauldron in their tendrils.
To the brim of the cauldron, filled with a viscous black ichor.
His thirst grew too strong, he longed for its bitter nectar.
As he dipped in his hand to clasp forth a sip,
the fetid potion chilled when it crawled past his lips.
Vision grew dim, and his stomach began to churn
as he lapsed onto the cold soaking ground.
Until the lights had gone dim and he couldn’t bring himself to his feet,
He lay in the grass until the poison restrained him and forced him into sleep.
Waking at the mouth of an obsidian lake,
clinging to his wits and what sense he can make,
the pungent swamp air wafts up to his now throbbing head, reeking of carrion and untended death.
And now just above the tempestuous mire drifts the soft incandescence of dim candle fire.
The black waters lie still as flowers unbloomed
as he rises and walks toward his watery tomb.
Entranced by fair voices surrounding the lake
chanting a spell that his wit cannot break.
“Though our powers grow weak and frail we’ve become,
three sisters united by darkness are one.
And now, in our hour under moon, we arise
to snuff out all sunlight, so night may survive.
Hail to our lord of a thousand years night.
Hail be the darkness that drinks from the light.”
In a moment of strength, he then grasps for his blade
and swears to himself that these crones’ blood shall spill.
The weight of the sword then suddenly relieves
as the steel drips like wax onto the shores of the lake.
The sun seemed to choke from the foul ancient smell
as darkness arrived mightily upon the esoteric hymn of their spell.
Track Name: AlltidVinter
My romere in shame
Even-light skyre thy name
Lete the forest cruel and derk
Don thee none harm in my grace
Lete dim raies of the winter light
Releve weght of thy lunar plight
The frost covered soil of bestli wode
Renounces derknesse fro thy blod
Wher the swou-inge of the wind envyron you is loude
And the air of hervest morne dryftes en your lokkes
Piren upon the winter lond that lye further north
Your houth-sithe has geminte, as you venture forth
Where mistes of morn stable upreke
Underneth the ciel of walnied skie
Nither thee wofare in bedes mos
Your stie eth-sene shal not be lost
Slomber anou and neshe drem
Even-light iselle liveresoun and lune
supported by 4 fans who also own “The Mists of Ithriel (Part 1)”
This album is absolutely gorgeous. It has the exact measures of avantgarde approaches, atmospheric passages, excellency in the various vocal takes, and the sheer brutality of well thought and better executed Black Metal. It never fails to impress me at each listen. One of my fav from this year, to be honest. Me, an avid avantgarde BM guy. Nuno Lourenço