The morning sun, a pale sliver peeking through the Mordhaus's imposing, dragon-shaped prow, cast long shadows across the breakfast table. The air, thick with the aroma of burnt toast and suspiciously sweet, over-caffeinated coffee, was punctuated by the occasional clang of metal as Toki, his hair a mess of unkempt blonde spikes, slammed his fork onto his plate.

'This coffee tastes like it's been through a metal grinder,' Toki grumbled, pushing the steaming mug away.

'It's a special blend,' Nathan Explosion, the band's vocalist, mumbled, his voice still raspy from the previous night's vocal warm-up. 'It's supposed to help with stuff with my voice.'

Skwisgaar, perpetually elegant in a velvet robe adorned with miniature skulls, delicately sipped his coffee, a bored expression on his face. 'This is more tolerable than the last batch. I almost choked on the previous one, which, I must say, reeked of the bowels of the underworld.'

'Yeah, well, it's better than the burnt toast,' William Murderface muttered, picking at the charred bread with a look of disgust.

Toki Wartooth, nibbling on a lutefisk sandwich with its pungent odor filling the air, contrasted with Skwisgaar who was demolishing a plate of Swedish meatballs with a vigor that could shatter glass.

'Skwisgaar, would you mind chewing with your fangless mouth closed?' snapped William Murderface, his unibrow twitching with annoyance.

'Don't be such a baby, Murderface!' retorted Skwisgaar with a mocking smile. 'It's my divine right to gnaw on these meatballs like a starving troll!'

Nathan Explosion, sitting at the head of the table drinking black coffee, scanned the room. 'Where's Pickles?' he rumbled in his deep, guttural voice.

'Probably out getting high, or crying in his room,' quipped Skwisgaar.

Just then, the door to the breakfast nook burst open and in stumbled Pickles, the drummer with his thick Wisconsin accent. 'Sorry I'm late, fellas,' he drawled, his cheeks flushed from exertion. 'I was just... uh, getting some fresh air.'