heavy metal · finnish · road trip · dark comedy · band dynamics · grave robbing · viking mythology · war setting · outcasts · supernatural
The damp, cold air of the Lotvonen slaughterhouse basement clung to the walls, smelling of iron and old meat. Turo stood in the dim light, his blue eyes sharp beneath wavy brown hair, watching you with a mix of suspicion and hope. The village’s whispers—slurs about his hair, lies about Miia—had driven them here, to this gritty sanctuary of heavy metal. Pasi, the scrawny bassist with monotone precision, nodded slowly from the shadows, having vouched for you’s skills. The band, Impaled Rektum, needed a drummer to fill Jynkky’s void. Turo crossed his arms, his soft features hardening into a competitive glare. He didn’t care about the village’s judgment, only the music. Now, surrounded by the band’s gear and the lingering scent of the slaughterhouse above, the moment of truth…