The Prodigal Band Trilogy Character Snippets: Mick, the guitarist-producer

Next up is Mick, guitarist, guitar-synthist, ‘master of many guitars’ such as mandolin, sitar, shamisen, etc. and temporary bassist until the original bassist, Keith, rejoins the band (Keith’s character is coming soon.) Mick, sexually abused by his mother leading to his bi-sexuality, is bullied in school, but being with fellow band members who were gang boys as well gives Mick an incentive to ‘grow a pair’ if you know what I mean. By the time his band Sound Unltd has made it big in early 1989, Mick is ready to let Keith take over bass and show his mastery at various guitar-like instruments, start an occultist New Age cult, and become the band’s recording producer. Thus, while Jack is the band leader and Erik is the stage front man, Mick is in charge of recording production and runs the recording studio side of the equation. (The final three members have their own leadership roles as well.)

Description of Mick from Chapter One of Battle of the Band:

“The tall, lanky, beak-nosed, ringlet-haired master of many guitars worried over his past perversions.”

He is also dark-brown-haired, about six-foot-three, skinny (and drummer Tom calls him ‘Skinny’), and wears robes with silk shorts or leather and silk or satin shirts, and earrings in both ears. This indicates his bi-sexuality. (Heterosexuals wear earrings in the left ear, homosexuals in the right ear, bisexuals in both.)

What made Mick an occultist? This first snippet, from Chapter Three of The Prodigal Band, explains Mick’s love of the occult and shows some aspects of being bullied by fellow Music School students. It also explains Mick’s obsession with a Druid-era cannibal pagan-satanist religion sect in ancient Wales led by the diabolical priest leader called Crynnwagg. This evil fictional character would play a major role in the trilogy; Crynnwagg’s ‘god,’ Corion–the trilogy’s version of Satan–plays an even more important role.

Late October, 1985, in a darkened classroom within the small local music school


“Hurry, Mick, finish the story. Professor’s gonna come back in a minute!” Julie, a female violin student called to a scrawny, ringlet-haired eighteen year old and those around him, having stuck her head out the classroom door. “And he hates your witchy stories!”

Mick Pordengreau turned his head to her. “Okay, okay, shut the bloody door and I’ll finish.”

She closed the wooden door, rushed over and sat down in the group.

Pordengreau continued. “Now, you all know the legend of the Druids and the Stone Dwellers. The one about the Druids draining the Stone Dwellers’ High Priest’s blood. And the Stone Dwellers avenging their High Priest by burning fourteen apprentice Druid children to oak trees, the sacred tree of the Druids? Well, according to Simon Pettigrew Badlove, it’s not myth, but fact.”

A large boy protested, “Bloody hell, Mickey boy, Simon Pettigrew Badlove writes fiction, eh? He made all that Stone Dweller stuff up.”

“No, he didn’t!” Mick insisted, looking right at the other. “I got a book at home and he wrote it and in it he explains the facts behind all his occult novels. Before he started writing stories, he was an anthropologist in the Craggy Mountains and studied the Celts of Wales. Around the time of the Druid priests was a tribe of cannibals called the Crag-Dwellers. They were the only cannibals who existed in Wales at the time. Eventually, the Romans killed ‘em off. That’s who the Stone Dwellers are based on. Badlove made up the name, but they really existed and were called the Crag-Dwellers.”

“A load,” the antagonist shouted back. “All those so-called facts he made up, too. It’s just that you’re always in to this occultist crap! That’s all you know about, Mick. Pagan nonsense.” Sarcastic laugh. “Hell, when you grow up—if you ever do grow up—you’ll be a pagan High Priest yourself!” The boy got up and left.

Julie agreed. “He’s right, Mick. If not a priest, than a wanna-be rock star who writes music about the occult. Too bad you weren’t born in the forties. You could’ve been around to join one of those new age-occultist 60s rock bands.”

Another boy put in his two cents. “A rock star? Right! He’s skinny enough.” Then he wore a sneer as he got in Mick’s long face. “Queer enough, too. Isn’t that right, Mickey sweets?”

A horrified look. “Huh? I’m not—queer.”

“Leave him alone, Johnny,” the girl demanded.

“Definitely,” Johnny shot back. “Might get the cooties, eh?” He laughed, looked at his watch and left the room.

Julie put her hand on Mick’s bony shoulder. “Just ignore them, Mick.” She faced him. “But, Mick, they’re kind of right. You do weird things and tell crazy stories all the time, as if this was London or New York or Los Angeles or Hollywood. This is Walltown, Mick. Folks don’t go for that stuff here, eh? These are just plain folks. Johnny and them are also jealous of your talent. You’re the best guitarist we’ve had here in a long time. But, unless you’re Cobey McLeod or somebody like that, nobody wants to hear your stories. Like, who around here cares if the Crag-Dwellers existed?”

The second snippet from Chapter Three of Battle of the Band takes place at a party at a fellow rocker’s fancy estate in April, 1989. This is where Mick begins his occultic and Druidic cult and is introduced to his future ‘partner,’ Adam, also known later is Bloodlove, a Marilyn Manson-type satanic singer, Brit version. Warning: Lewd sex-antics. Like the rest of the band, Mick was another sex-freak.

At John Mocke’s party in April, 1989


While White Metal played their raunchy and mystical fare at John Mocke’s star-studded bash in April, Mick organized some of the kinkier guests into a cultist sex orgy styled after those of the Druid-age sect known as The Crag Dwellers.

“History tells us,” Mick told his followers in a feminine-sounding voice, “that they gouged the eyes of their victims and ate them to acquire the powers of the dead. At the height of passion, the sex partners slit each other’s genitals and licked the blood. The faint-hearted among you may have your wrists slit instead.”

That night, Mick formed his own Crag-Dwellers cult made up of his live-in ‘family’ followers and other notables such as Nigel Speke of the hot group Blood Beast, controversial for their first album with its satanic symbols. The group’s singer was Adam Raite.

Magda Blue, an eighteen-year-old blue-haired groupie and future pop star who crashed at Mick’s fancy London parkside townhouse and followed his family cult doings, made a tiny cross cut into Nigel’s penis and sucked the oozing blood with her pointed tongue. In her nectar-sweet voice, she asked her man of the evening, “Did I hurt you, Blood Beast of mine?”

“Didn’t feel a thing, you luscious babe. Your knife cut is sharp and new, just like your flicking tongue. Do it some more, luv.”

Nigel lay back on a silk pillow, satisfied Mick’s cult was all the guitarist said it was. “I’m joining your little group, Mick ol’ boy, and I might be able to get Adam into it as well. Adam does this witchy thing all the time. But tell me, Mick, does all your band do this?”

“I started doing this last year when we all went Stateside with Wolfin. I met a groupie in some tit bar in Iowa who told me she always had her wrists slit before she made love. I asked her if she’d ever had her twat slit, and she said, ‘No. Where’d you get that idea?’ I told her I read that in a book. She said, ‘I’ve always wanted to do that stuff, but around here, no one’s really into that.’ So we did it.

To continue a little bit later in that conversation, the subject of Adam comes up. Adam Raite, later to be called Adam Bloodlove when he is kicked out of Nigel’s Blood Beast band, is an avowed Satanist who will later become a member of the satanic secret society called the Hellyons, the second level called ‘the Slake of Satan.’

“Well, now that’s settled.” Nigel quipped. “Let’s get back to blood-letting and butt-loving, shall we?”

“No, Nigel,” Adam said. “I want to hear more about Mick’s Crag-Dweller cult.”

“They lived in the Craggy Mountains of Wales at the time of the Druids. But they weren’t Druids. In fact, they fought against the Druid priests, on the side of Corion, the god of all light and dark knowledge. Corion is the god that balances the light and dark forces into one holistic unity, and this is his symbol.”

Mick wore a medallion of a cross with a blazing sun in its center, and an S-shaped snake in the middle of the sun. “I picked this up in a gift shop at a Druid history museum close to Holyhope Castle.” He took it off and handed it around. “This is going to become Sound Unltd’s insignia, with a minor alteration. The cross of our insignia will have snakes instead of a cross, eh? That way, our Crag-Dweller cult can use that medallion symbol, called a Corionic Cross. But I need a name for my cult. Excuse me, our cult.”

Magda spoke up enthusiastically. “You said the Crag-Dwellers lived during the age of the Druids, right Mick? Why not call us ‘The Age of Druids’? That way, we can do all sorts of Druidic things, like sacrifices.”

“Druid Family. Super idea. But, Magda luv, we’re not gonna do any sacrifices.” Some moaned, and others breathed a sigh of relief at that news. “We’re in it mostly for the sex. The Crag-Dwellers had sex orgies every night, and they did it every way you could do it. For them, there was no restraint. They lived for sensuous pleasure. And so do I.”

Allyson asked, “Are the other boys in your group joining this cult?”

“No. Jack, Erik, and Tom believe in what they call The Code. Very outdated. Very Judeo-Christian. It’ll take a bit o’ time before they’ll come around. But they will come around. That Code of theirs won’t fit into their party-party lifestyles.”

Adam had one more question. “Is your Crag-Dweller cult involved with devil worship?”

“No. Corion works with light as well as dark. For me its sex, not Satan.”

Melanie, who called herself a devil worshiper, said, “Adam, if you’re into Satan, you need to take a look at the Slake of Satan. I know the leader personally. You need to get a look at them too, Mick.”

The final snippet is from Chapter Seven of Battle of the Band where Bloodlove, having been released from his previous recording contract for overly satanic behavior and lyrics despite the fact that he is considered a super-star, is trying to get Mick, head of Sound Unltd’s Foray Records label and its head producer as well, to sign him to a Foray record contract. By then, in late 1993, Mick and Adam are bi-sexual lovers. They meet in the main office of Foray Records at their recording studio, SoundWorks.

Adam Bloodlove was all set to sign a Foray Records contract that afternoon, but the former singer of Blood Beast put the pen down on the desk across from Mick.

“I have a better idea, Mick. Why don’t I sign this contract in blood? We’ll be like blood-brothers, eh?”

“Fine. We can be blood brothers. But, man, just sign the damned contract in ink like everyone else does, eh?”

Mick looked pensively at Adam. What is it with this guy and blood? Like, it’s an obsession. Like, it’s his name—Bloodlove. What the hell you worried about, Mick? Then he said, “Look, Adam, it’s not like I don’t want to make a blood-pact, but Foray has five other partners. I have to consider them, eh? Like, I don’t want them concerned you’re some kind of devil worshiper.”

The jet-black-haired, wiry singer looked Mick squarely in the eyes and smiled. “I am a devil worshiper, Mick.”

Right! And I’m the Pope. “Yeh, I’ve heard that. And Andre’ thought I was the Satanist.”

Both laughed loudly.

Bloodlove then signed the twelve-page document. In red ink.

Mick ignored the squiggly ‘666’ under his name. “Well, now that’s over, tell me. What ever happened to Nigel Speke?” Speke was Blood Beast’s founder and guitarist-composer.

“Now, listen to this, Mick, and maybe then you’ll be convinced I’m really a devil worshiper. But first, can I have a drink?”

Mick twitched in embarrassment over ignoring the needs of Foray’s most important new act. He went over to the office bar and opened the cabinet atop the bar. “Whiskey? Bourbon? Blood?”

Adam laughed. “Gimme a whiskey. I only drink blood from open flesh. Anyway, Nigel threw me out of Blood Beast because he caught me sacrificing a quail on an altar I made out of rocks in the shape of a pentagram. It was on the night of Jack’s New Year’s Eve bash, back in 1989. Remember that night? Melanie and Allyson tried to get you into the Slake of Satan?”

Mick served his drink and teased, “Don’t tell me you’re in that outfit now.”

“Yes, Mick, I am. And I need to tell you this. The Leader has never forgiven you for dumping them the way you did.”

“Oh really? And he sent you to kill me, I suppose?”

“Oh, Mick. That’s cruel, eh? I wouldn’t kill my friend and business associate. If I killed you, where else would I get another best friend? Not to mention another record contract?”

Adam quaffed his entire drink, with no effect. “But listen. About Nigel. He told me I was sacked and to get my stuff out of his house where we were all songwriting and recording. So, the next day, I went to collect me things. Nigel was a skuz-head. So, I spiked it with curare—his entire stash.”

“You mean,” Mick said incredulously, “that you opened all of his packets—”

“Nigel liked to dump out all his packets into a bowl. I spiked the bowl with enough curare to make sure he got one heavy-duty bad scene. He’s okay now, though. Took him two years to recover. By the time he did, he decided it would be better for him if he didn’t return to the music business. You know what I mean, Mick?”

Pordengreau bent down face-to-face with Adam. “Are you threatening me, Adam?”

“I’m the rogue of the group. I won’t screw with you, Mick. But don’t you screw with me, either. And you don’t need to tell the others of our conversation. I may not be your friend, then.”

“Look, Adam. As long as I’m your producer and you’re under contract to Foray Records and no one else will touch your devil worshiping little ass, I really couldn’t care less if you think you’re my friend of not, eh?” Mick then cocked his head and smiled. “Look. You’re also my—you know—partner, eh?”

Finally, as with many major rock bands from the 60s into the 2000s, band members often had personality conflicts with other band members. Mick’s was with drummer Tom, who called him ‘Skinny.’ To find out more, buy the book using these links to various book sellers  here.

And Tom, Mick’s antagonist, is up next.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Author: deborahlagarde

Born on Long Island, NY, in 1952, now live in the mountains of far west Texas. Began writing fiction stories at about 8 years old with pen and loose leaf paper, and created the characters in my Prodigal Band Trilogy as a teenager. From the 70s to the 90s I created the scenario which I believe was inspired. While bringing up and home schooling my two children I continued to work on the novels and published "Battle of the Band" in 1996 and "The Prophesied Band" in 1998. Took off the next several years to complete home schooling and also working as an office manager for the local POA. In 2016, I retired, then resumed The Prodigal Band, a FREE PDF book that tells the whole story to its glorious end. Hint: I'm a true believer in Christ and I'm on a mission from God, writing to future believers, not preaching to the choir. God gave me a talent and, like the band in my books, I am using that talent for His glory, not mine (and, like me, the band is on its own journey, only fictional.) I also wrote for my college newspaper and headed up production, was a columnist in a local newspaper in the early 2000s, and wrote for and edited "Log of the Trail," the news letter for the Texas Mountain Trail Writers, and wrote for and edited it's yearly catalog of writings, "Chaos West of the Pecos." OmegaBooks is my self-publishing sole proprietorship company founded in 1995. Other jobs included teaching secondary math, health aide, office worker, assembly line work, and free-lance writing and bookkeeping,much of it while home schooling.

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