The Mists of Ithriel (Part 2)

by Abytheon

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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 :

Tristan Bedient

Nate Evans

Additional vocals by: Sylvia Dresselhaus

Recorded, Mixed at BoneyArts studios by Nate Evans, Tristan Bedient.

Mastered by Brendan Johnson at Time Bent Sound Studios.

Cover & Internal artwork by Simon Underwood.


Gina Hendrika Eygenhuysen: Violins on tracks - 4,6 (PART 1) 2,6 (PART 2)

Keely McMurry : Violin/viola on tracks -1,6 (PART1) 6 (PART 2)

Male Choirs : Noah Pegg, Bob Bedient, Brenden Johnson, Tristan Bedient, Nate Evans.

Female Choirs: Cate Derscheid, Sylvia Dresselhaus, Sara Pittman, Natasha Cimmiyotti

Spoken word on track 5 : Alex Teyen


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Abytheon Portland, Oregon

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

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Track Name: Cloaked in Oaken Shade
Thee I once saw in thy dreams
Now tainted by these wretched trees
A mystery filled thy bones with a desperate longing
For the light cast upon this barren wood
Ages before I left its grounds.

Thee I call to thy feet
I pray do not give up on me
A tale untold, waits ahead in the woods before thee
Take your strength, hear my voice and follow me,
for truth lies lost within thy dreams.

Leading northward, her gentle voice acts as our guide.
An anxious ache grew in the pit of my stomach with each passing step.
The crackle of our footfall through the freshly fallen snow grew louder as we sauntered on.
After what felt like many hours of our journey, we eventually came upon an opening at the foot of what must be the northern mountains. The edifice of a face, carved into the root of its stone hills, staring back at us. It was clear that this was the moment in which our journey begins to make sense. And so, into the mouth of the earth, we march.
Track Name: The Paradise of Ancient Kings
Through the stone gateway lie our destination.
‘Neath the dripping stone, we wandered down dark pathways with naught but faint light ahead;
a gentle curiosity tugging forward, while my anxious mind did much to halt.
Behold, through the sickly emerald fog blanketed across the depths of the cavern,
the grand sunken kingdom of Ossuaria.
It’s unsettling calm beckoned our weary hearts with a familiar call.

A song of streams led me far beyond the trees
to kingdoms deep, where even twilight dare not breathe.
A fragile call rang throughout the pitch black void,
a summoning I’d be foolish to avoid.

Stenches of rot thicken the air as they wander the cobblestone path into the keep.
The cavern heaves a great yawning vortex of nether winds, whispering omens of death.
Far voices wail dirges, following a sorrowful procession in the shade of the broken spires, amongst a court of putrid nobility.

Seated on the throne at the end of the chamber, a withered old king with a great heavy crown.

Christened by stones colored black as the night,
so obsidian in hue as to drink from the light.
As his hand grew closer, the body lurched forth
Grasping his wrist in the foul, dripping gore
while it’s crackling voice bade them leave this city,
lest the darkness ensnare them in the dungeons beneath.
Track Name: In Chambers of Sorrow
Toward the labyrinthine depths below the castle,
down eroded stairways clothed in sprawling vines.
Turning a corner, the corridor stretches on for dizzying yards.

A wrought iron gate faces across the dim hall.

The wood etched walls surrounding the chamber
tell stories of kingdoms risen and fallen in this citadel,
hidden away from the prying eyes of the gods.
The king took a queen from lands above.
Locked in devotion, the two fell in love
and championed a people who adored their sovereign lordship.

As the years passed on, their marriage grew distant
and the king felt the icy hand of death grip his shoulder.
An heir had yet to be born to take up the throne after their twilights had come.

So into the castle, the couple retreated for ages away from their people.

And out from whence betwixt her hips, her children born brought funereal mists,
their bodies clogging the shallow crypts below the city.
So alas came the ages of her discontent,
held beneath oceans of tears which she wept,
longing to gaze toward the sunlight above.
An edifice of sorrow, bereft of their love.

The cities foundations grew into the earth as its peoples grew hungry, sick and lame.
The king grew mad from the isolation, left to rot in his kingdom of shame.
Betrayed and dejected, they crawled to the surface to bask in the light of the morn.
So, alone and untouched, his city lie hidden ‘neath grey, craggy mountains above.
And there it has remained, until the grey age dawned on the world.
Now pale light shines through cracks in the cavern as snow drifts lightly
down upon the forgotten keep of Ossuaria,
the first great kingdom of man to rise from the primeval darkness
that gathered in the depths of the still young land.

Hid beneath this ancient keep, in dungeons old and deep,
still I long to hear her voice lead me softly through the dark.
Track Name: Weeping Wilds
I-come, lete your spirites reste,
Fortired heortes from your noious queste
My victoures, your hardiment
Beserved me well
But you mote stable ofhere my tale
Whistered in middes the wodes in my youth
Songen to the ride windes of somer blou
Forth-passed the coumb and glen
The riveres and berghes
In my oken hom, my herte lay stille

I-comed he in hervest chille
He stole my herte with wordes of leuthe
But I awok alone, ech yonder morn
In love and lore, to my hom i was sworne
My armes, empti in the tristi deu
My bed loken in this clustred mirke
My voice honi-swete as ver
Anou crones to fordille my gref

For unfeue yeres, convenes acomed
And overslided as sesounes passed
But my herte don longed for his hand
For oure love to hed in my woden land
For demi-yer, I was unvesited
No word fro my lovere, our promise keped
Alas, he returned to my woden hom
With milthnes and wordes of loving sorn

Our colling was warm
As the mone-light gleme
Yet enflauming fire upwaked me
To find my hom was broiled holwe
Awested by fire, umhiled o-dead
My armes,
Empti in the swithed lefes
My bole aberned with fraude flaume
My voice, som-whan ride as morninge deu
Quieten, as my herte fell wrakeful
Track Name: Primordiale myrkrið
Through bridge of the castle, they entered the tower as the grip of the cold reviled in its power.
The darkness that gathered seemed stronger than before as they uncovered the truths that lie behind the croaking door.
Spellbooks all lined with runic sigils of hate and hexes of plague that lie beyond astral gates.
In realms of undeath, the king wished to create a way to prolong his life that now waned.
A scholar of magicks both archaic and grim, the wizard Valravyn dwelt deep within
his tower of sorcery to study his art, unearthing wisdom so powerful and dark.
The days grew long as his years began to wither.
To keep himself alive, he ingested potions bitter.
No closer to the knowledge that he sought endlessly,
to the voice in the shadow he wretched forth a plea.

Oh great darkness, I call to thee.
From these frail mortal binds, I beg to be free.
Grant me my wish and your reign I shall serve,
entrancing the world in our great funeral dirge.

The sorcerer king of Ossuaria wished to claim revenge on divinity.
For human life, marred by brevity, weighed heavily upon the elders sanity.

Pouring over tomes, through the spells that he’d written
of the whispers that ride on the shadows, he listened.
And in that fell voice, he learned what ritual he sought:
it lie lost in a grimoire wrought in years he forgot.

The ritual of undeath, so eloquently scribed,
in a spell book discarded to the annals of time.
To cast the wretched spell, he drank an acrid poisonous brew
as its powers consumed all that lie between him and his foretold earthen doom.

And it was there, seated deep within the chasm, that the king spoke to things much older than man, dwarves, elves or even the gods. And in their distant murmurings did he learn much from their primordial and dark ways. And we had found ourselves in chambers of stone much deeper than the city or even his hidden tower of sorcery. I believe that within this dark passage, that I have found the answer to my query: what lie just beyond this door is what whispers in the trees.

Deeper now than fortresses laden with vine,
much further down than even kingdoms forgotten in time.
A darkened path lie before him and its shadows now stricken him blind.

“So, tell me wanderer, was your journey worth its conclusion?
Was your quest fulfilled in this sunken city?
Is your curiosity satisfied with its findings?
You may leave now, but I will take form once more
and I will walk beside you through that forest.
Perhaps in days, weeks, ages could pass before I see the sun once more,
And though I may grow old and decrepit and die like men are cursed to,
will you sleep now, knowing I am but a stone’s throw away,
hidden in the woodland, cloaked in its oaken shade?
You have only brought darkness for yourself in your pilgrimage here.
Some stones, wanderer, are better left unturned.

The shadows swell in this chamber of stone,
embellishing the dark betwixt his porcelain bones.

The forests shall scream as they writhe ‘neath his feet
when the wicked day comes that he abandons his keep.
When amber dost melt and his darkness escapes,
he shall cast his enveloping shadow across the autumn landscape.
And in the time when his power comes to swallow the sun,
know that still more bitter days have yet to come.
Track Name: Drømmeløs
I still wander, now in shame. Let nightfall forget my name.
Lost in the lands where the mists still rise, ‘neath a shroud of evergreying skies
The morn, still cold, is unlike before: not a grievance of slumber found in my scorn.
As the snow cloaks the lands, I have lost all but will.
Let not aimless existence crush my strength to rise.

Lay me down in beds of moss.
Let the autumn wilds, weave their hemlock shrouds.
Make a place for me to rest among the leaves
and bring me sleep, or grant me death and peace.

Through howling winds and crackling flame,
I heard her voice, call me by name.
Into the night, I walked alone through ancient trees and elder stone.
I long to feel that strength once more,
O’ winterlands that I adore.
For I know not what lies ahead,
for now my dreams lie past my grasp.

A song of streams rings throughout the endless trees, carried on the autumn breeze.
No voice beckons me, and I know not what lies ahead for us.
Hidden within this whispering wood lie secrets left to dream.

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