It’s a Saturday, early March in 2025, and the apocalypse is coming to Canberra. Well, to be more precise, the Questpocalypse is coming to the Baso.
From far and wide, the nomadic survivors of the land once known as Canberra converged on the bar/music venue. Seeking refuge from the fallout and comradery amongst those left, travelers came together to take part in this holy pilgrimage.
Finally, Canberra’s very own fantasy metal festival Questfest has returned.
What were all those words I just said? lets wind this back a bit.
Since its inception back in 2018, Questfest has been the passion project of Karl French (also known as Krazy Karl), who as well as organising and promoting the event is the drummer for lineup band Saralisse.
In creating Questfest, French and his band were inspired by metal events happening elsewhere in Australia and wished to cement a consistent event in Canberra for the fantasy/folk sub-genre.
“There were a few different events in capital cities that catered to specific genres and styles of metal. Steel Assassins in Sydney, which is a thrash festival, Wizards Fire in Queensland, which was folk metal centric, [and] Churches of Steel in Adelaide, where every capital city seemed to have its own signature local level festival.” French said.
“Playing wizards of fire in Queensland, we saw that there was an audience for a more niche metal thing that was folk metal but also had that kind of DnD Larp thing with it.”
Fantasy and folk metal is a sub-genre that has seen a lot of growth amongst local bands over recent years.
While the bands performing at the event are connected through their similar taste in the fantasy metal sub-genre, what counts as fantasy metal though is still broad in definition.
“[It] draws on a lot of folk music, you get inspiration from Celtic and traditional folk tunes,” French said.
“There’s usually tones of fantasy or history, it may tap into Nordic storytelling or it might tap into Celtic storytelling, or it may be like this albums a Dungeons and Dragons campaign put to music.”
Indeed, the bands we would see that evening in early March showed us everything from thrash and power metal, to what I sorely wish Gimli meant when he offered Frodo his axe.
Now eight years on from its original event, 2025’s edition brands itself the Questpocalypse, fusing the event’s fantasy and folk with apocalyptic theming. Participating bands are encouraged to lean into this theming, and audiences are invited to come dressed up in apocalyptic outfits.
After speaking briefly with Krazy Karl during setup for the night, all that was left for me to do was wait for the first act to take center stage.
The day’s festivities began on a softer note. Delving more in to the fantasy theming of the event, Daniel Kelly welcomed the audience in with a bard like performance of originals and covers with acoustic guitar in hand.
In his folk repertoire, he played a fitting introduction to the events of the evening by striking a balance between reverence and jest. One moment he would be reliving the tragic tale of The Croppy Boy or the highwayman of Whiskey in the Jar. The next moment he would lament about his poor luck playing DnD to the tune of Leonard Cohens Hallelujah, or spreading the word on the issue of the zombie sheep of the Murrumbidgee.
During this first set, the Baso really began to fill out with wanderers of the wasteland. At the bar, patrons in distinctive blue fallout jumpsuits order drinks. At the pool table matching pelt wearing comrades stake their ground.
And weaving between the performances and everything else between were all manner of war boys, refugees and mechanics who made the journey to Belconnen to be part of the spectacle.
Speaking of those performances, this low-key introduction was soon followed up by an entry closer to the sonic palette that would be present for the rest of the evening. In a swift about face from the acoustic ballads heard already, Sydney’s Ethereal Realm took centre stage with an explosive series of power metal riffs and attitude. Fronted by a man going by the name TNT, they ratcheted up the energy in the venue and helped ensure that we would all be ready with what would come next.
And what was it that came next? The first major set piece of the evening, brought to us by Fantasy metal band Shu Nagua. The first, and sadly only, band of the evening that had a splash zone.
The set started off as one may expect, with a devilish cyclops and his crew of demonic band-mates taking stage to serve up more electrifying riffs. The band even came packaged with their own mascot, with a costumed imp roaming the audience around the stage as the band played on.
One song in though, we were interrupted by a man going by the name of Metal Fist. A the same time, stagehands dressed as plague doctors wheeled into the audience a box referred to as the Hive Elder Core.
The instructions were simple, as Shu Nagua played, the core demanded sacrifices as tribute. Audience members would be invited to enter the box, after which a fountain of blood would spray outward onto surrounding patrons on the floor.
These sacrifices from the audience, as I was informed by Metal Fist after the performance, collectively was in service of forming a new Shu Nagua out of the remains.
Why was this necessary? I cant say for sure, the Shu Nagua we had on stage seemed to still be working just fine. But hey, who am I to judge the culture or practices of others. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
And for those reading along at home who worry about me and my personal safety, I will have to ask you to take a seat for a second. The cyclops in charge of this whole affair, now scouring the audience for victims, saw me as fit to become one such sacrifice. I was thrown into the Elder Core, plunged into darkness as my remains became misted and splattered onto the dance floor.
Its okay though, I got better.
After Shu Nagua wrapped up, and the staff of the venue quickly packed up the protective sheets and mopped the floor, we patrons moseyed back on over the the secondary stage to continue the festivities with Defiant Dawn now taking up their instruments.
In a contrast to our subjugation to higher rulers under the Metal Fist, Defiant Dawn delivered more uplifting lyrical themes. Alongside their sound more reminiscent of ’80s metal, came messages of hope and optimism in the human spirit, with their band name itself having the meaning that after every night comes a dawn.
They were then followed by Dubbo’s own Mirrorshield. With them, we saw a sharp swing back to the fantasy theming core to the event, with distorted guitars and propulsive orc-played drums underscoring songs about elves, sorcerers and ancient curses.
Leveraging off their fantasy theming, the band invited us audience members along for a hunt, to slay a mighty dragon. From the stage, out flew a suspiciously pinata sized dragon, which once amongst the crowd became victim to animal abuse that would have shocked the RSPCA had they been present.
The dragon was pelted, stepped on and torn amongst the ravaging crowd until its sweet fruity innards spilled out across the floor. Claiming victory, a warrior in the front row decapitated the creature and piked its head to his sword, holding it aloft to the performers in a show of their valour and worthiness.
Following Mirrorshield, we again saw the return of TNT with the more experimental sounding Visualis. Then Saralisse, fronted by a man I have been assured is named Jesse but appears to be God of Wars Kratos on his off hours. Following on from there, the more electronic infused songs of Antonamasia took centre stage.
As Antonamasia let out the final notes of their last song, the singer thanked the crowd, and assured us that the night was about to get even better.
Now, dear reader, I must be honest. A not so small part of my brain was telling me I had some doubts about that promise.
We had now reached approximately 11:00 P.M., and the crowd that had shared the Baso’s grounds had now begun to thin. With the remnants and the faithful remaining, we awaited what would be our final band.
We all made our way back to the main stage, others possibly wondering as I did that the best of the night had slipped behind us and the shrinking crowd would not be able to maintain the momentum.
After a short intermission, an adjustment of the lights and a readying of instruments, the final boss of the evening took centre stage: Pyrefly.
Once again, the sounds of distorted guitars and growling vocals filled our ears, our dread-locked front-man staring into us with a face-paint as if he was infested by some power that was forcing its way out.
As the set became well and truly underway, a roadie from off the side of stage began to bombard the audience with what we would soon realise were the tools of our own destruction.
The humble pool noodle.
In a deep growl, Pyrefly barked out their order.
“We wanna see people get hurt tonight.”
What followed? Pandemonium.
The dance floor of the Baso, earlier that night filled with people headbanging to chugging riffs had cleared out now into a perimeter circle.
In its centre, an impromptu Thunderdome, an arena where warriors would enter and fight for their honour and their lives.
In a crowd now readily armed with the latest in foam melee technology, it soon turned into a bloodbath.
Reflecting the apocalyptic theme of the evening, Pyrefly brought to Canberra a display of the fall of mankind. In a frenzied thrash fueled rampage, parents turned on children, brother against sister, man against man.
Left and right, survivors turned on each other, dueling each other noodle to noodle.
The brutality was unparalleled. Before my eyes warriors who had been beaten and knocked down defenceless to the floor were shown no mercy. The victors towering over them, pool noodles in hand, brought down their weapons upon their foes for the kill.
Our wild pelted caveman, who earlier in the evening had fought side by side at the pool table, now found each other on opposite ends of a pool noodle. Such shocking images truly brought home to me the horrors of how far we could fall. That such a bonded pair could turn on one another, truly a microcosm of the human experience, the fallibility of man.
At the back of the room, a small gang of survivors found their ground. As an expression of their grief, and with possible confusion as to what decade it was, they began to perform the Macarena in time with the music fueling the crowds rampage. I joined these souls in their expression of peace, however brief, and enjoyed a reprieve from the bloodshed just footsteps away.
But as Pyrefly’s set continued, we witnessed a sign that perhaps Defiant Dawn were right; there is still hope. The survivors on the dance floor , even those still armed with their pesky noodles, joined together and forgot the blood feuds that had tore them apart just moments before. Together they all swayed as Pyrefly let out their final ballads to a worn yet captivated audience.
One final moment of solidarity amongst the disparate outcasts of the wasteland who had called the Baso their home for those precious hours.
As the final notes rung out, and the lights began to come up, the lead singer of Pyrefly addressed the remaining crowd, inviting them to come see them at the merch table afterwards, and a promise: “See you again next time”.
Walking out of the Baso into that frigid night, back to my car and my quiet noodle-less home, I certainly hope that is true.
Photos by Brendan Barry