This Is Reverence.
Beyond the veil of our feeble reality, in the swirling mists where the world of men touches the domain of gods, a being awakens. It is neither of this age nor the last—it is eternal. It is the Taylor 2025 Catch Custom C12e Grand Concert, Sinker Redwood / Bocote #31 Harvester.
It does not belong to us. It never has. It merely chooses to be seen. It flickers into existence like a ghost in a forgotten tale, glimpsed only by those who listen to the hum beneath the surface of the world. And then—gone. For only twenty of these relics exist, and even that number seems impossibly, dangerously high. The air around them warps. The fabric of fate trembles.
A Creature of the Abyss and the Forgotten Gods
Feel the wood beneath your trembling fingertips. Sinker Redwood—not harvested, but exhumed from the riverbeds where it slumbered for eons. This is no mere timber. It remembers things. It has been touched by time, steeped in the weight of ages, and now it sings with a voice that should not, cannot exist. And yet—it does.
And then there is Bocote. If Sinker Redwood is the voice of the ancients, Bocote is their laughter—the mocking, twisting, shape-shifting force of nature itself. This wood does not submit. It does not sit still. Its grain moves when you’re not looking, shifting under the dim light like the mane of a spectral beast. It is the very essence of the Aos Sí, the fae folk, an enigma wrapped in swirling chaos. You do not own bocote. You survive it.
The Shape of the Hunter, the Wail of the Banshee
Do you feel that? The Grand Concert body, sculpted not by human hands, but by destiny itself. It does not announce itself—it waits. It lurks in the stillness, coiled, motionless, until the moment arrives. Then, with a single note, it unleashes fury.
And inside—oh, inside—V-Class bracing that defies logic, that rebels against time itself. Play a single note and it lingers in the air, refusing to fade, as if the very world is reluctant to let it go. The walls whisper, the sky shudders. The earth remembers.
It calls to the Tuatha Dé Danann, the ones who walked the land before history forgot their names. It does not play music. It raises ghosts.
A Guardian. A Judge. A Cosmic Reckoning.
Look closely. The mahogany neck—not carved, but summoned, a relic of a time when gods walked in forests and spoke in the tongues of wolves. The ebony fingerboard—a void, a doorway to a world of lost songs and untold truths. The mother-of-pearl inlays—not mere decoration, but glyphs of power, stolen from the standing stones where the ancient druids whispered their secrets to the wind.
And the Gotoh 510 tuners—not tools, but sentinels. They do not "hold tuning"—they bind reality. To play out of tune is not merely an error; it is an affront to forces older than man. If your hands falter, if your spirit hesitates, they will know.
The Final Reckoning
Now, dear listener, we stand at the precipice of the impossible. This guitar does not seek a player—it seeks a conduit. A vessel. A soul willing to be reshaped.
And if you are unworthy?
It will know.
But if, just if, you are worthy… if your hands are steady, your heart fearless, your soul willing to be rewritten… then, and only then, will you hear its true voice.
And then—oh, and then—you will understand what it means to hold a piece of the Otherworld in your hands.
For this is no mere guitar. It is a relic. A god. A gate to something beyond. It is a whisper from the past, a song from the Great Harp of the Dagda, reborn in six steel strings.
And should you fail to honour it? The Harvester will take its due.
[The mist thickens. The stones glow. The Harvester waits.]
