Forest of Torment

In Grimskull, Promo by Grimskull

In the ageless forest, there existed two peculiar creatures.

The Siren, with a lute in hand, spilled forth a melody that could snatch the soul from man’s grasp.

His audience, spellbound, sipped on his sweet poison, each note a lullaby serenading them to an inevitable end.

His melodies, mesmerizing as they were, carried a deadly promise, each harmony a footfall echoing towards the final breath.

Across the forest, the Mercenary traded in the currency of life.

His skill as a healer was unparalleled, but his gift of life came at a cost.

Each touch that saved a life demanded a price, every life saved a transaction, a pact sealed with desperation’s ink.

But the forest’s timelessness dwarfed their fleeting power.

For the forest was the true sovereign of torment, a solemn monument to the relentless power of pain. It bore silent testimony to life’s truth: pain was an unshakeable part of existence.

Neither the forest’s lullabies of death nor its bargains of life held any sway.

It simply was.



The Siren and the Mercenary, grappled with the inevitable, sought dominion over life and death.

But they were blind to the true power that shaped the forest, the life, the death – the unyielding torment…

The pain.

And thus, the tale of El Mariache Muerte and Dr. Death unfolds, two souls caught in their macabre dance with mortality.

Muerte, his melodies a reflection of the Siren’s deadly lullabies, weaves an enchanting symphony that leads to life’s unavoidable conclusion.

Death deals in life’s commodity, extracting his toll for his services. His life-saving touch, extended not out of compassion, but transaction, echoes the Mercenary of Mercy. But he, like the Mercenary, is ignorant of the fleeting illusion of his power over life.

O’Death, you may believe yourselves sovereigns of your domains, but you are oblivious to the true power that pulsates around you.

You seek to control, to manipulate, to command what isn’t yours to govern.

You strum the chords of finality, you draft the contracts of life, yet you fail to see the forest for the trees.

The climax of your songs, the finality of your transactions, they hold no sway here.

For eventually, we all return to the forest of torment, to confront the Embrace of Pain.

My forest.

I am its god.

And in this forest, your claims to dominion echo hollowly, as hollow as your song, Muerte, as void as the debts you manufacture, Death.

You are but marionettes in the grand ballet of existence, blinded to the true conductor of the perpetual symphony of pain.


And the climax of this symphony, it will always, invariably, overpower the final notes of your songs and the hollow promises of your bargains.

The forest’s symphony resounds, a testament to the unyielding power of pain.

Because in the grand theatre of existence, pain is the lone performer, and we are all but spectators to its ceaseless spectacle.

And in this spectacle, it is the Embrace of Pain that takes the final bow.

So I bid you…

Embrace the Pain.

Embrace the Grimskull.