Labyrinth by Mike Dickson

"He had no idea whence the sounds were coming, nor from what bestial mouth their utterance was formed. But he could hear it - sometimes clearly, sometimes at a turning distance within the walls of the narrow passages. His breathing was even but barely under control. The strong animal odour was all around him, yet there was no sign of the creature anywhere.

"His pace unhurried, deliberately forming slow movements to avoid running into a trap, grip upon the shaft of the gleaming metal ever tighter, the shield held ever closer. There it was again. That sound. In a distance, yet in range. The sound frightening yet also strangely beckoning, as though he were on a reel being pulled in by the game fisherman at the other end. And again. Yet somehow the word was formed in the animal sounds, a word that he could recognise only because...it was akin to his own name. It was calling for him. Willing him to become his prey. Yet around him he saw no bones or broken bodies, nor even any sign of life or of something having dwelt in this mysterious hive of passageways. Just a sound that pulled him in ever deeper.

"The guiding twine having long given out, he trusted only to his own instincts now, as he traversed the darkness with only the glimmer of the faintest light coming from the airways above his head. The raw stench of creature grew stronger until he turned that last corner and stared into a sudden and final wall in front of which he saw it - the creature he had come to destroy before it destroyed him. He fell back, sword raised and shield pressed forward. But the creature made no movement, save only the slightest incline of its head as it made another lowing sound that formed his name. But the calling was not to bring him closer to his demise. The call was one of need - a piteous request for help. And his heart welled with pity for the animal that he had so far only felt equal measures of fear and hatred.

"It moved into that dull mote of light, the monstrous head revealing a single eye as it turned to see him. Pressing forward, it thrust the bulk of its powerful throat against the silvered edge of the sword, seeking not the sustenance of flesh or the triumph of physical victory, but the sweetness of a final release from all around. No sound was made as it met with its destruction save the gasp of realisation that at last, it was the architect of its own destiny."

Independent musician located in Scotland, producing cinematic/ambient/electronic works as and when he feels like it, for little to no fee.
Early works centred very much on the Mellotron but the palette is now much more varied.
Releases made periodically and usually frequently throughout the year. If you're listening to my stuff then I'd love to hear from you.

mikedickson.org.uk
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deezer.com
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