Vaughn The Sizzler sat in his Tone Room mussing. It had been 20 years since he first picked up a PRS and he was thinking of the Fenders and Gibsons he had personally slain in his long dominion in BirdArm. His own body covered with victory etchings, each depicting a fallen foe, Vaughn’s dominance in the local vale was unquestioned.
But there were rumblings of unrest to the North. In MitchAgain an older tone warrior sat with a Northern Lights Private Stock and pushed a campaign through an HXDA. Lestiban The Ancient had seen many come and go. He often invited the unwary into his own Tone Room only to blow them away with The Hammer Of The Gods. He wielded a somewhat different hammer today, but no less lethal. As he noodled and practiced for the inevitable next challenger, he thought of his son, Jay Me The Younger out on his own quest in the Park Of Babes.
Aristotle (no, not that Aristotle) wasn’t thinking of either of them. He had just finished inspecting his massive castle at AmpFort. There was more tonal destruction at his fingertips than 30 other Tone Kings had at their disposal. Once, Aristotle turned them all on at once and the steam turbines at Calvert Cliffs whirled so rapidly to try to match the current draw that several nearly took off. A frantic call from the local utility was the only thing that prevented a very messy meltdown.
Sir Gio The Hip was in his garden polishing his axes with the sweat from champagne bottles. There were several axes and thus several bottles. By the third he found he was having ambivalent thoughts about blue guitars instead of his usual repulsion. The fourth bottle brought him back to his senses and he renewed his vow to hunt down and destroy every blue guitar on the planet.
And each of them knew the Tone Wars were coming, they could feel it.
But there were rumblings of unrest to the North. In MitchAgain an older tone warrior sat with a Northern Lights Private Stock and pushed a campaign through an HXDA. Lestiban The Ancient had seen many come and go. He often invited the unwary into his own Tone Room only to blow them away with The Hammer Of The Gods. He wielded a somewhat different hammer today, but no less lethal. As he noodled and practiced for the inevitable next challenger, he thought of his son, Jay Me The Younger out on his own quest in the Park Of Babes.
Aristotle (no, not that Aristotle) wasn’t thinking of either of them. He had just finished inspecting his massive castle at AmpFort. There was more tonal destruction at his fingertips than 30 other Tone Kings had at their disposal. Once, Aristotle turned them all on at once and the steam turbines at Calvert Cliffs whirled so rapidly to try to match the current draw that several nearly took off. A frantic call from the local utility was the only thing that prevented a very messy meltdown.
Sir Gio The Hip was in his garden polishing his axes with the sweat from champagne bottles. There were several axes and thus several bottles. By the third he found he was having ambivalent thoughts about blue guitars instead of his usual repulsion. The fourth bottle brought him back to his senses and he renewed his vow to hunt down and destroy every blue guitar on the planet.
And each of them knew the Tone Wars were coming, they could feel it.
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