So, there was this magical guitar and it was made of wood from the enchanted Woden tree. Whenever anyone played it, birds would sing along, rivers would surge harder, deer would stop to listen and horses would make sweet, violent love while Van Halen soloed along with the enchanted music with killer runs and the sun head-banged.
Also, volcanoes would erupt but that’s a given with guitars of this magnitude.
Toward the end of spring, an elderly wizard who was slightly senile limped towards the local Woden tree to gather the enchanted fruit for his mother’s foot boils and saw the guitar leaning against the tree. ‘Muse!’ he yelled happily, drool soaking into his bearded chin, and raced towards it. As the wizard approached, the guitar twitched. A creaking sound emanated from its strings. Its headstock separated from the side of the tree as if being pulled by an invisible roadie. A single note resonated and the wizard stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Buh?’ he said.
A deer a kilometre away stopped and cocked its head. Van Halen powered up his amp, a volcano burped and a horse two farms over got a semi. Everyone was expecting a show. The wizard took a step closer and the guitar whirled up into the air and hit the wizard on the head, knocking him unconscious, then fell to the ground. After a few seconds the guitar caught on fire.
It burned for four days and three nights. Vikings made passing pilgrimage to it. Feasts were roasted over it (‘It tastes like smoked awesomeness!’ people were known to exclaim after eating a haunch cooked above the flaming vigil). Once it stopped burning, the guitar burst into ash. And then, the wizard woke up. He stood and surveyed the pile of ash in the shape of a guitar then wailed, ‘I’ll never be rock star!’ and ran home, crying. The horse never managed more than a semi again.