Something about this bloggie

Ok, I admit that I've failed somewhere before. But anyway welcome. Just a brief intro on what you should expect here:
1. Football. Not gonna post much of that any soon since season is over. :S
2. Anime, Games, etc. Just abt anything conceivable under the Japanese radar barring anything and everything Rule 34. Now that's illegal. Period. -.-;
3. Music. Everything to do with it is listed under the tab.
5. Unacceptable humour: Anything and everything is fair game here. As long as I don't get rounded up by the ISA. -.-'

The Known World=Fantasy world building in process. I: Used to be glossary, now devoted to random rambling; II: Character Concepts; III: Lore.
7. der Wolf=my Fictionpress account under the moniker Tsumujikaze no Soujutsu. A Ranger's Tale is hosted under this page. :)
8. New section now upped. Maybe I should also gun for upping A Ranger's Tale here since I do have this funny feeling that traffic coming to here is way more than whatever I'll get in FP.

Statement of intent: Everything said here is a figment of personal opinion, be it me or anybody commenting. I try to be responsible, but my parents=/=parents of the world.

@Druid of Luhn: Crap. Should have remembered far earlier to give you the credit for your CSS text box code. :(

A/N: But sadly, it seems that your CSS text box code has now been halved efficiency wise. :(

That most important note I should have added: Any images posted in this blog are NOT my own stuff. I got them from Google image search, I don't earn any shit by being a thief and liar. Those responsible for the pictures, rest assured that you all are great artists in your own regards. Sadly, we all know what limited space means in terms of posting.

Latest Note: Changed alignment for my page widgets due to my worry that I can't centre align the thing.

Note on A Ranger's Tale: In case any complaining fella wants to have a legal case with me, let this be known that A Ranger's Tale is rated M by default. I've upped the swearing and somewhat a bit on the dark/gritty factor. You all have been warned, let no little boy and girl enter the forbidden realm.

Latest on ART: A Ranger's Tale now starting to kick back in gear. But I really hate the insanely fluctuating climate here in S'pore.

P.S: Oh, and one more thing. Vid below is yet another ideal OP for A Ranger's Tale.

Wednesday, 27 February 2013

The Greatest Hollywood Showdown Free For All

But firstly...
I was originally planning to complete my rewrite on the latest chapter for A Ranger's Tale in time for tonight's relevant post until I end up realising a major case of drowsiness soon setting in. And since my focus is now being severely compromised, I might as well pull off a much belated Der Untergang. Enjoy it folks.

Because it will be Mel Gibson vs Liam Neeson...

Braveheart vs Taken...

And yes, plus our most anticipated Hot Ex vs Hot Daughter also. ;)


Need I say anything more?

Monday, 25 February 2013

Analysis for Fate/Zero: Episode 1 (final part)

Note: If by any chance you guys can't see my Batman meme logo, it means that something went wrong with my Chrome browser updating. In short, it's not anybody's fault unless it's some dumb hacker hacking into something without any actual value. Meanwhile at work today, I've managed to master the art of self-suggestion where I can be absurdly efficient if I want myself to be so.

Kotomine Kirei
Now without trying to spoil too much beyond the 1st Ep, let me just say that Kirei has always been a lost youth. A lost sheep so as to speak. But if there's anything to go by, he's indeed a wolf in sheep's clothing and the scariest fact is that he doesn't really realized it until later in-plot. Now this is a man wholly evil as proven by Fate/stay night, but what truly caused the devil for what he is? You can just ask any Christian on what made Lucifer Satan and he/she will tell you it's down to pride and arrogance. For Kirei, we're talking about a Satan incarnate without the ego factor.

In fact, there's a very good reason why Kiritsugu FEARS him. Because out of the other Masters, Kirei was that sole unknown factor. The wild card, the joker of the deck... or perhaps even more fittingly, the sole Devil within a stack of tarot cards.

Now what was Kiritsugu's verdict on Kirei? Someone whose background was perfectly sounded out just like the rest, only to realize that whatever being understood only served to throw up a far greater question unanswered. Namely why did the Grail choose him as one of the seven? Kiritsugu knew why he was chosen just like how he knew why the rest were chosen (apart from Uryuu Ryuunosuke whom I'll NOT be covering here due to him not yet revealed officially), but not Kirei.

So what's Kirei's ambiguous factor all about? According to Kiritsugu's research/analysis, Kirei is someone who could have been one of the greatest masters in whatever field of expertise he partook in. Yet, he chose to bail out upon nearing that most desired end called "success". Why? Kiritsugu couldn't come up with an answer as well apart from the fact that Kirei couldn't really find fulfillment in whatever he tried and ultimately excelled in. Everything being known about Kirei was merely superficial in nature, but perhaps what truly struck the fear in Kiritsugu himself is this: He sees a certain mirror of himself in Kotomine Kirei.

Ironically however, no one actually understands Kirei right from the start as in no one actually noticed he is a broken young man still trying to find a purpose in his life. Apart from Emiya Kiritsugu that is. And this final part, my friends, should be what truly made the whole logic utterly ironic since both are essentially strangers only knowing each other via third party sources more than anything else.

Interestingly enough, the only reason why Kirei was to join Tokiomi as his protege is down to his father, Kotomine Risei.

As a father, Risei only wants the best for his son, yet he has never understood his son.

As an expert appraiser of his talent, Tokiomi has never cared about whether he should try understanding Kirei firstly and foremost.

Laughably enough, the entire farce is caused by an underground alliance of sorts between the Tohsaka family and the Kotomine family, i.e. between Tokiomi and Risei. In short, the need to honor an alliance for the sake of victory has effectively forced Kirei onto a path of no return.

A solitary path reaching all the way to Emiya Kiritsugu himself...
A mere stranger whom Kirei has subtly deemed to be his mirror image...
And his only hope to self-discovery and perhaps self-purpose as well.

Emiya Kiritsugu
While it's arguably true that every Master is a selfish bastard in his own right (Kariya included of course), there's a very good reason why I adore Emiya Sr the most in the entire series. Episode 1 actually portrayed forth TWO different Emiya Kiritsugus. The first Emiya Kiritsugu is the devil himself. Someone used to being vilified, yet so valuable as a pawn in the eyes of the Mage's Association. The other Kiritsugu? Well, he actually appeared right at the beginning before Tokiomi and Kirei delivered their individual takes on him. Now let's dissect the difference on three different levels. Or rather three different characters' POV.

Firstly, let's talk about Tokiomi
To him, Kiritsugu is indeed nothing more than  a pawn for hire. A mercenary hired to kill heretical Magus, i.e. those who escaped from the Association. Now the rule about any Magus is this: no Magus, and I really mean NO Magus should be revealed as such under public scrutiny. This will invite unwanted trouble for the Association mainly because the Association itself has effectively detached itself away from the everyday society. Secrecy is the unspoken golden rule and anyone breaking this rule will surely invite trouble.

In the worst case scenario, such individuals will end up creating unwanted disaster for the society at large. Simply put, he's being hired for a price, his mission is to accomplish the dirty job for them. In exchange of course, the Association can just easily feign ignorance should shit truly happen.

Yet, Kiritsugu's record as the Magus Killer is pretty much a 100% sure kill rate and a 0% failure rate. The biggest reason is down to his unconventional methods of being a one man terrorist. Yes, folks, Emiya Kiritsugu IS a terrorist no matter how you look at it. In short, he's utterly capable of bombing public places full of innocent people if it means accomplishing whatever that is at hand. Yet at the same time, acts of frontline assassination will always be used in conjunction with such heinous means. And why all the unwanted bloodshed? Tokiomi's verdict was that of derision. To him, the name Emiya Kiritsugu is nothing more than a stain or a random social scum. To him, Emiya Kiritsugu is most likely killing only for the money.

A/N: To try understanding why such tactics can truly work against any heretical Magus, maybe we should ask ourselves one very simple question: if you're the one being hunted down, should you opt to hide behind multitudes of innocent people or will you just bust your own cover away just because you happen to believe yourself to be the second Onslaught? (cue the Marvel comics reference in case you still don't understand the parallel)

Then let us come to Kotomine Kirei
Now this is one interesting POV we're seeing here because the Emiya Kiritsugu in his eyes is NOT a mercenary. Unlike his aforementioned mentor, he actually bothered to go a further mile in trying to understand why such an extremist individual has to exist. Is it down to an innate instinct telling him beforehand that this Emiya Kiritsugu may not be that simple? Maybe we should just narrow it down to Kirei understanding Tokiomi's character in order to make the reason easier for us to digest.

Of course by then, both teacher and student would have known that the Magus Killer had gone MIA for 9 years in total prior to receiving the relevant information. Of course since Kiritsugu is pledging his service to the Einzbern family, Tokiomi would have definitely still remained defiant in his stance.

But not Kirei. To him, there HAS to be a reason behind that 9 year hiatus defying the much feared repute rightfully earned. Upon understanding that Kiritsugu was also being a freelancing hitman during periods of war, Kirei's curiosity was finally piqued for good. Because he realized one very special common ground: that Emiya Kiritsugu will always make his presence known when/where the fighting would always be at its fiercest.

Now anyone understanding the basics of warfare can AND will tell you that when the fighting is at its very peak, be it any specific front or any specific period, that can only mean one thing:

The difference between victory and defeat will more oft than not depend on such moments.

Kirei isn't a fool because he knew what this truly means. To put things in a nutshell, it's a case of "kill or to be killed". Or rather "win or to be killed". Which is why he actually stated to himself that Kiritsugu seems to be someone "constantly chasing Death". Is it his own death or the death of others? I truly doubt Kirei knows the answer of yet, but if there's anything to go by, it's very likely that Kirei is now starting to believe that like him, Emiya Kiritsugu is an empty shell of a human being trying to find his own purpose as well.

And lastly, we have the most (?) unexpected candidate...
Irisviel "Iri" von Einzbern
Upon the first opening scenario, we're greeted with a picture filled with warmth behind the backdrop of a heavy blizzard (which in an imagery sense, can be seen as a case of foreshadowing where the upcoming slaughter is concerned). Within the comfort from one of the rooms in Einzbern Castle, Ilya was born (yes, I'm talking about that loli in Fate/stay night). Upon Iri's plea for Kiritsugu to embrace their daughter (and it's true that Ilya IS their daughter), what was Kiritsugu's answer? He said that "he has no right to embrace the child" and fullstop. So why did Kiritsugu say that?

Was it down to playacting? If so, then what did he have to gain from the whole episode knowing full well that a flat "no" can just do the trick equally well, if not better?

But if it's not down to playing up a facade, then why did Kiritsugu choose to condemn himself in the worst verbal manner possible?

He never faced Ilya even once, why? Because the reason is very simple.

The devil has never been truly black as others painted him out to be. Emiya Kiritsugu is a selfish bastard, make no question about it. But Emiya Kiristugu is also a character on a specific mission. In short, he has something to achieve in life. And he has to be utterly selfish for the sake of that something.

Simply said, everybody has the right and choice to despise Emiya Kiritsugu, but NOT Iri. Why? Because she understands the real Emiya Kiritsugu.

Interestingly enough, Iri said that if not for Kiritsugu, she would still be a puppet. Why? Because her only fate is to be the Grail's physical vessel, yet somehow and for some reason, Kiritsugu gave her another life far more deserving. That even though she can never escape from such a fate, she's able to at least live like a human being until then. To her, it's the best gift she could ever wish for. And Kiritsugu has granted her that gift called a purpose in life.

Sunday, 24 February 2013

Analysis for Fate/Zero: Episode 1 (part 2)

Note: While my body is now feeling much better (at least enough for me to report to work tomorrow), I realized that I need to split this post into 3 parts due to me not wanting to rush things in any way or form (and hopefully my workload won’t be too heavy as well).

Tohsaka Tokiomi
Firstly, there's very little I can write about him as of now apart from the most obvious. Namely he's your typical Nasuverse Magus. And by that, I mean having the desire in reaching the Root (Nasuverse's equivalent of the Holy Grail from Arthurian legends). Interestingly enough, unlike Kayneth, Tokiomi isn't the your typical "god of versatility" because he's a specialized fire user unlike his nearest competitor specializing in Alchemy, Spiritual evocation, and Summoning. However, there's a very good reason why our main hero Emiya Sr regarded him as one of the two most dangerous opponents during the upcoming Grail War. Because Tohsaka as a Magus family have a very long history dating all the way back during the Japanese feudal era. In fact while it's a fair enough statement to say that Kayneth is most likely the strongest competitor, the only reason why Tokiomi is regarded as that no.2 was only down to the Tohsakas not having the kind of immense magical lineage during the start. In short, the Tohsaka family can be seen as a slow burner finally coming good. Now interestingly enough, Tokiomi's statement of the Tohsakas "being the only one out of the original three still yet to lose its direction in trying to reach the Root" was indeed true. Because together with the Tohsaka family, the Einzbern family and Makiri family (later to be known as Matou) were the ones creating the Holy Grail. In short, you can say the Big 3 are the ones causing the shit. Now while it's true to say that every Master in the series is a selfish bastard, I'll have to say that in a very twisted sense, Tokiomi's selfishness has always been one that is the most acceptable in the eyes of every Magus. Because you know something, guys? Every Magus can tell you that reaching the Root should be the highest aim in life (which is why we end up seeing ambitious characters in the Nasuverse like Araya Souren and Aozaki Touko). In fact come to think of it, didn't Aozaki Aoko herself managed to reach the Root momentarily during Mahou Tsukai no Yoru? (Okay, I know I'm bullshitting here on Aoko's front. >.<)

Matou Kariya
Firstly and foremost, I really like this guy as a character. Out of all the 7 Masters, he has to be that one man most willing to jump straight into the fires of hell for whatever he believes to be right. Even though whatever that's “right” in this instance is all about his love for Zenjou Aoi. Now in spite of his utterly wrecked character (which was ultimately justified in the most horrific manner nearing the end), Kariya has be the MOST innocent character I’ve ever seen in the entire cast. To him, his aim was very simple. Something which EVERY decent guy (like yours truly) can truly empathize with: to protect the ones he loved the most. For him, it has never been about protecting Aoi because prior to the 4th Grail War, she had to leave Fuyuki City together with Rin (yes! That tsundere Tohsaka Rin).

But what about Matou Sakura? We all know that Sakura in truth, wasn’t part of the Matou family, let alone whatever magical lineage to do with it. Sakura was literally Rin’s younger sister. Both being daughters of Tohsaka (Zenjou) Aoi and Tohsaka Tokiomi. However upon news that Sakura was being given up for adoption to the Matou family, Kariya sorta broke. You see, Kariya might be someone still pining for Aoi’s love, but at the same time he accepted wholeheartedly the fact that Aoi had, in the end, accepted Tokiomi rather than himself. He could have said “**** it” and leave, but he never did so when it comes to saving Sakura.

Interestingly enough, a lot of his personal motivation has to do with how much he hated his own family. Now this is one man with a whole load of balls. Ballsy enough to even effectively say **** you to Matou Zouken through his decision to bail out of his family. However, it seems that he had to swallow his pride for good. Because he never foreseen Tokiomi’s decision to send Sakura away despite whatever Kariya knew about his corrupted old man (which interestingly enough doesn’t really mean that this is the type of knowledge privy to Tokiomi as well).

Now at this point of time, I need to highlight one very interesting fact about Kariya and the Matou lineage in general. Simply put, the magical lineage within the Matou family has essentially dried out for whatever reasons I don’t know about. Kariya was the only one capable of reviving the family due to him truly having a Magus’ lineage literally. In short, the others in the family (excluding Zouken of course) are a bunch of certified failures.

Most classic example: Shinji.

Now let’s just talk a bit about Sakura because she’s the actual catalyst behind Kariya’s “kill or to be killed at all costs” persona. If we understand the fundamentals of the Heaven’s Feel route in Fate/stay night (and Fate/Zero IS the prequel after all), we’ll understand that more oft than not, creations most twisted foul exist for a reason. And that includes the penis worms above all. Now I’m not about to go in depth about whatever insidious plans Zouken has for Sakura since it has nothing to do with the major plot here (apart from justifying Kariya’s worth both in-plot and in-character), but seriously guys, Zouken is a sick buggery ****. And that’s why we end up seeing Kariya rage-quitting.

A/N: Because I want to prove that my assessment on Kariya is truly spot on, try imagining the kind of pain and insanity you’ll have to go through by having countless worms eating your body away. That’s the kind of living hell Kariya had to live with and ultimately endure greatly without going 100% broken.

The above picture was Kariya before he was disfigured self-voluntarily.
Just a brief note to end this post:
Is it any wonder why I find him so endearing? I believe this was the basis behind his final design. Because there's a need to create a vast contrast between Tokiomi's sophisticated aura and Kariya's average Joe nature prior to that thrice damned agreement with Zouken. Tokiomi had always been a far more self centered character than most while without an overwhelming desire to save Sakura and salvage Aoi's happiness, Kariya would still be that plain looking bloke looking to earn a mundane living.

Saturday, 23 February 2013

My most ambitious analysis post ever... Fate/Zero

A certain exchange N years ago (before this blog was started)

Friend X: Well, you know the drift about manga/anime? That the main male character will always look and act like a slacker, but somehow or another he will end up being very powerful in fighting. That's why all the impressionable youths are prone to imitate them.

Me: Erm, that's not really the case...

Friend Y: No, X is right, you're wrong.

Me: Well, not every manga/anime is like that...

Friend Z: No, X and Y are RIGHT. Because I know what they're talking about.

Me: ......

This will be an ongoing series of analysis posts. If luck will have it, 24 parts in all. In short, you won't get to see a 24 episode running series since I do have my own life (read: my own personal excuse for that stupid delay in watching Fate/Zero until tonight and that's due to a prolonged bout of food poisoning). At the same time, any views portrayed here are mine and mine alone. I do not demand myself to be the correct party because I only see human beings as fallible. And by that, it also means I'm equally human as well.

As per stated, I've only started watching Fate/Zero tonight on my mom's laptop. Thankfully, I remembered to transfer the files from my desktop. I think like more than 20 GB in all at least, so it will take me quite a lot of time to finish this 24 part post, not to mention the likeliest chances of seeing random posts being wedged in between (and you all have seen that before in my Fate/stay night Fate route multi posts). Now since I've only watched the first episode (and it's a whopping 40+ mins long duration), I think I should just get started on whatever character analysis based on debut introduction. But firstly...

WHY NO CASTER???????!!!!!!!!!
Amazingly enough, it's been implied that Uryuu Ryuunosuke was already active by then due to the TV news report on some missing little girl being found murdered by that unknown serial killer. And we all know who by now anyway. But whether Caster had been summoned by then remains a big question mark. Because Assassin was actually summoned way earlier than the other 5 Servants so as to speak (bar Caster of course since we can't be sure on Gilles de Rais himself)

A/N: Apparently, trying to dissect Ryuunosuke's persona might be my greatest nightmare ever due to his wildly inexplicable nature as a psychopathic killer. In fact, he's already beyond your stereotypical "I kill for lulz" serial nutjob murderer to be fair. Urobuchi Gen, I know you're the one behind this knowing full well what you're truly capable of. *cough*Saya no Uta*cough*

The 7 Masters (in no order of preference/merit)
Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald
Firstly, my only impression was "a bloody elitist prick" to be honestly fair. Now let's give credit where it's truly due: that he's indeed a talented Magus by his own right. For not only is he a versatile Magus, but he's also very damned strong in his learned fields. Out of all the seven Masters, he has to be arguably the most dangerous bloke upon the merit of sheer capability. In fact, this could be very likely why he was a stubborn prick as well. You see, the Archibald family is a respectable family within the Mage's Association due this very family boasting a whopping 9 generations of recognized Magus lineage in all. Which is why he was pretty much pissed off by Waver Velvet's thesis where reaching an equal height of ability by sheer efforts alone would be equally plausible. Simply put, should such a thesis be put to test and proven true, his value as a Magus together with the entire Archibald family will be reduced to crap. Period.

Waver Velvet
If Kayneth should be seen as an idealistic elitist who believes in lineage above all else, then his student here will be seen as a pragmatic idealist. Simply put, his thesis mentioned above in Kayneth's section was one built upon the foundations of pragmatism where everything is far more inclined towards the concept of meritocracy through hard work and studies unlike Kayneth's views that repute in lineage should be the one taking the highest priority. As we all know by now, Kayneth trashed Waver's thesis and Waver stole Kayneth's most precious parcel. Although it's more towards a case where shit happens and that the UPS man delivered the parcel to Waver knowing full well that he is the intended client's student. Of course what happened afterwards should be an ample proof of Waver being able to somehow walking his talk where a practicing student hailing from a 3 generation's worth of recognized lineage was able to detect vital details in no  part due to whatever talent he had in terms of "giving your best shot". In short, this was where we first see his own sense of opportunism and hunger in self-efforts. Traits justifying his own thesis, but subtly hinted in justifying how he's able to connect the dots through sheer immense effort (read: library will always be your best friend).

To be continued...
(because my head is getting light at the moment)


Taste the bite of steel once and you will never want it again. Let others savour the same sweetness and you can be sure they will be waiting for more...


A Ranger's Tale


"What's the meaning this? You can't do this to Aeranath. He's my son!"

Wow, that's some noble words coming from a white haired somebody blessed with a heart. But then again, everybody present looks the same to me. And resembling me as well till I realise most of them are just fair ass scoundrels.

"A pity and a shame, Rowein. You should understand utmost well that there is no way you can fight this decision. Avalon's decree is nigh unbreakable."

Avalon? Is that a god? Fuck every high and mighty word if I say so myself.

"To the hell with everything! Do not mock me as a three year old fool, you people!"

Now I’m hearing some interesting words.

"Denial is futile. Your life with that Tamurian woman counted for little, you should know why."

Yeah, right. This moron has got to be the first talking ass in my life.

"I'm not like all of you, I'm not the one guilty of denial! Damn duty, damn everything else. May our True Way burn in damnation forevermore!"

True Way? What the fuck is that?

"Utterly ruined. What a pity, what a paradox..."

A pity? A paradox? Well, doesn't sound strange to me. If only I can see these idiots failing so spectacularly somewhere down the road. Seems that 'pity' has been used once before though.

"Rowein, do not see this as a mistake and perhaps you will feel much better. This child is truly one immune to the Corruption Impulse we all are afflicted with."

A primal roar echoes in my pointed ears, there's no chance in hell for escape. I know a murderous intent when I see one, I see fists clenched and hardened a hundred times. I got blinded by a flash of blue, the resultant force sending me flying off. Simmering fires of icy blue versus weapons and Magic drawn, that's Rowein of Steel for me.

"Hah! Afflicted? My foot! I know your so-called knowledge, I know the value of wisdom!"

Well, blow me down. He should have killed them all on the spot. Still I'm proud of my dad.

"Have you not realized it now? The numbers of our own totally corrupted is rising ever so fast! Upon this rate, nothing can be done to halt the Corruption Impulse from destroying our way of life!"

Yet another precious idiot opening his precious mouth.

"The burden behind every True Apostle... it's either that or the Eternal State if we're lucky enough. Talk is cheap for every of your own enjoying the latter's peace," my old man gnashed his pearly whites as he continued, "Utter crap! If not for the price demanded from kin slaying, I would have slaughtered you all."

Fuck this shit, is Avalon rigging every damned thing? Knowing the life awaiting me, I can only utter words I cannot remember. The ultimate weapon? Immune to the Corruption Impulse? I don't give a flying rat's ass to all this bullshitting, I only know the tears called my own trickling down in the face of these last words...

Forgive me, Aera... your mother gave birth to you, she gave up her life for you. I've let her down, I've let you down...


Awakened finally, Aeranath's eyelids opened slowly like gates of denial greeting the crescent moon. As he sat up from a slumber gone, the image of an outstretched palm moments prior reminded the True Apostle of his fanciful dream. Mired into a silent pit with his head hung low, questions were asked from a dream devoid of reprieve as nary an answer was to be in sight.

Duration of process without end, the lone Ranger still persisted in escaping under the endless night. Aeranath knew not where he will go nor did he really care, any possible destination was no more than a total unknown ignored. But should self-volition justify a life brimming with chaos and turmoil? Or mayhap he knew nothing all the while...

Foundations since birth reinforcing a life irrevocably damned, Aeranath by chance met an idiot truly empathetic after Rowein was confirmed as no more. He who salvaged the half-blooded bastard from that inevitable rubble called insanity so that he could live once more, a saviour who unwittingly condemned him unto an eternal hunt. It was indeed a pursuit heading to a concrete end, but at what cost? Aeranath only cared about the story called his life.

To hunt down that one bastard...

"What's your business here?" a sullen tone growling from the Ranger's lips reached the ears of a certain individual rather familiar and way more irritating.

"Is this the way you should be talking to your elders? Son, I'm disappointed," quipped an elderly Human decked in sky blue robes with a greyish white jacket.

"Try sparing your poor little son all that trash first, senile trash. But knowing you, talking cock is your only expertise," stated Aeranath curtly, his eyes rolling with derision undisguised.

"There's such a thing called respect and every kid be learning that," sighed the old Human, knowledge most intimate towards the only one capable of reading him wracking his heart. If looks could truly kill however, Aeranath would have easily reset every problem back to null.

"Sorry, I don't give a flying damn, but I believe you're not here to laugh at me. State your business and go piss on some dead dog on your way home," retorted the True Apostle, a dismissive flick from his wrist sufficing as a signal of intent.

The thoughtful old man stroked his goatee with a right thumb before delivering a verdict invoking memories of hatred within his charge. The Lord of Lancers knew what he's about to do as frosty hair spiked backwards was ruffled by an abrupt gale. Memories of that man's stranglehold rang ever so true in Ziron's soul, only the True Apostles themselves were Avalon's rightful masters. Such was a truth undeniably true, yet refuted by an ignorant world.

"He is revealing his hand again," sighed Ziron.

"That fucker," muttered Aeranath darkly, a gloved hand closing around his blade's pommel with a grip of rage, "He's still messing around with me, I see. Well, I'm gonna shove a boot down his ass one fine day and ask him how it feels before sending him on his way. Do you have any information on where his latest taint is?"

"I will tell you, but providing you say 'please'..." replied Ziron nonchalantly, his words trailing off in an attempt to test a now seething Aeranath.

"Don't try playing with fire, old fart," snarled Aeranath, his patience unraveling swiftly in the face of baiting words, "For all I know, you're the one pinning those losers behind me!"

"Aha! So you managed to guess that one," came the tell-tale whistle resulting in a duel of mettle intensifying seven fold.

"A bloody no-brainer since you've got too much free time to burn," Aeranath answered as the wolf tightened his muscles against an ongoing intrusion personified.

"You don't have to see me as an omnipotent force because I'm not one. My hold within this world is severely limited and there's very little I can do," smiled the elderly man painfully.

"With spilling the beans being the only thing," the Ranger flipped his object of ire the finger, "Ain't that any wonder on your ability?"

"Blame yourself for not doing a clean job the last time you became a Fallen. Some kid escaped and I managed to save him," smiled Ziron wryly, knowledge dawning upon him that their quibbling match was nearing to an end.

"So that's how shit hit the skies," Aeranath chewed on his lower lip, his tone now turning dangerously low, "What do you have to gain over this farce?"

"You don't have to know because I've achieved my aim," Ziron turned his back towards his charge as he finished those words.

"And that kid's most likely killed several times by now," snorted the True Apostle derisively.

Final words begging for a riposte, Ziron's reply was nothing more than an eternal silence. Cold still air turning suddenly violent, Ziron's form disappeared abruptly in a blinking of the eye. Much desired sniping making a fool out of the speaker, Aeranath could only draw up his sentiments in a single summary.

You talked way too many crap for your own good. Be thankful for your half-assed existence.


"Eckglen Kurtt dead?" gasped Ross, shocking news relayed from Twong numbing her mind.

"Well yes, Ross," sighed the elderly butler, "I know there's a difference between forgiving and forgetting, but..."

"Enough of that, Twong!" snapped Ross, visage wholly devoid of sympathy rearing its head, "He's a rapist above all and I don't care whether his balls are to be fed to the dogs. Those wielding the power of law might have forgiven his acts against my shamed sister forced to suicide, but..."

"You'll never forgive, let alone forget. We all know that," said Twong, his tears glistening under an alabaster ceiling, "Rolly was a fine girl with finer morals. I hate this world at times."

"Whoever is that thrice blessed bloke offing his head should be celebrated as a hero then," quipped Yeovil, his cutting gesture drawn across the neck, "I was lucky enough to see the scene before the Watch arrived to clear everything. Lopped off cleanly, no doubts about it. A warrior's blade and a bloody keen one at that."

"And I'm willing to bet one month's wages on a gag order coming soon," grunted a smirking Twong, his own balding head scratched absently, "No one will be hearing anything from the Quintet Church, that's for sure. And for good."


"Milady, everything has been taken care of. Shall the clergy proceed with Eckglen Kurtt's burial?"

"Yes, please go ahead. Despite his transgressions, it's not up for us to judge his soul."

"Your wish is our command," whispered the masked servant girl, her form most seductively lithe borne away by the wind.

A youthful beauty stepped fore naked from her bath, the only portrait greeting her crimson orbs being a Kalaran lad bearing a visage of steel and fire. Her sly grin betraying nary a sign, derision was absent from her smile. Paying no heed towards the sight of luscious nudity displayed, Guy Cody stared on coldly. Taking the sole glass of clear white wine left on table, a single sip was all she took before proffering to Guy Cody the ornate flute. Yet if there was any proof indicating he would bite her bait, the sandy blond never bothered acknowledging her offer.

"What does the Church want with me? I don't remember any promise made to some wonky clergy..."

"My, you're one clever boy," cooed the alluring maiden with smile unchanged, her quarry's cheek caressed with one hand and the other stroking his spiked blond hair, "Understand that testing the Quintet Church's intent may surely be your first act of valour."

"Why is the colour of your hair white?" challenged the scarred lad suddenly, his guttural growl taut with anger.

"Do you want to know? My most willing obligation shall be your most deserved reward so long as..."

A hand slapping away a come-hither gesture, Guy Cody granted the seductress her only answer desired.

"Take a look at this bloke before you, for I'm nothing more than a lion seeking its hunt."

His curt reply was all Sarel Aphros needed to affirm her appreciation towards him. No mortal could ever resist the temptation of lust, be it pleasing to the eye or pleasing to the mind. Efforts spent in whisking away his intended quarry not in vain, Aeranath must be cursing her somewhere afar currently. Pure and innocent in rage, never one to relent. Here was a boy on the verge of being a man, whatever offered from future's hand would gift him many an answer to life itself.


Hours soon drifting by, Sarel's handmaidens duly performed their duty in reporting every move and detail on Guy Cody. The Grand Damsel drained the remnants of her blood red drink, teasing attempt rebuffed bringing forth a glimmer of mirth.

Just like the Aeranath of old. Blame yourself for stepping on a tail belonging to a wolf, Patron Eckglen Kurtt.


"To see that old fart giving me a toy most interesting... but then again, you're no indestructible bastard."

Smiling before a taunting jape mirrored clear on a pristine lake, Aor's face bore neither cruelty nor compassion. As the First True Apostle, he was privileged with something truly humane, yet fathomable by none. A blazing inferno flashed before his azure eyes, fire igniting from thin air became an eternal grave for all save one. Maniacal laughter howling loud never from his throat, his target's insane mirth rained peals of cold satisfaction penetrating his pointed ears.

Tragedy mattered nothing to a mere observer, a dance of fire consumed every fodder. Bones were charred and marrow sucked dry by smouldering heat, countless lives were returned immediately back to dust. Two different questions materialised swiftly in Aor's mind, similar answers given to each nevertheless brutally true.

Was such an act down to a soul borne from darkest light?

Even the fairest of ladies can be the blackest crone.

How would the boy see Magic now?

Even the most epic of feats can be the darkest sin.

Firestorm was merely in name, a concept. An image made true by a relative will was the sole rule of Magic. Utter Chaos controlled by none was the First Cause, Order created hence became the Second Effect.

'Tis the Law of Absolute Paradox, for who can discern which should be the master and which one the slave?


Will the cub recover from his trauma? Was his survival truly a matter of luck?

Ziron was no fool, he knew there had to be a rationale behind why Guy Cody could withstand Aeranath's brutality. It's one thing to survive a blow from the sword and quite another to survive a blow from Magic itself. He tried warning the sandy blond not to undertake any rash decision, he wasn't able to do so. There was a rule binding his existence and Aeranth understood it also. Yet, it would be total absurdity to presume the Ranger predicting what this much awed Lord of the Lancers will do next. Neither were omnipotent, neither were omniscient. Let alone whether either were omnipresent.


Ziron, Lord of the Lancers... you may be the only relic left behind by the Age of Renown, but you're still bound by flesh and blood no longer more.

Sarel Aphros was no fool, she knew Ziron had already perceived that her intervention only played one half of Guy's lucky escape. Or maybe he should not be labeled lucky at all. The naked beauty caressed her man gently, an inner lament cursing the man not to be that young lion she hankered after.

But I have taken a replacement for now...

Sarel loved a man many years ago, he ended up killing another person she held much more dearly. His name had never changed, his life had changed for good. But as for her, Nanaya no Geun'Jin was no longer Nanaya  no Geun'Jin while Aeranath was still Aeranath.

Ah'na is no more, my other Ah'ni abandoned me because he's only a coward...

Then another image streaked across her mind. A visage belonging to another girl. A fellow Cinha reminding her of what she lost one century and a half ago.

Alestrial Eliaden, a majestic fawn walking alongside the lion and the wolf. Two Dragons born, two Dragons felled. But mayhap this daughter of House Eliaden is truly a Dragon resurrected.


Background notes:

Patron: Formal title given to any priest within the layman level of the Church.

Metalingus: Literally means "taste of metal". A formal analogy relating to immense trials. Inspired(?) by the song of the same title by Alter Bridge.

Ah'na: Cinha dialect for elder sister.

Ah'ni: Cinha dialect for elder brother.

A/N: Whatever remaining jargon here will be kept under wraps. For the most obvious reason of course. ;)

Word of Troll: So will I get murdered by SHyn Corp due to a possible parallel between Park Shin Hye and Daenerys Targaryen? :P


Wednesday, 20 February 2013

Crushed Finally

The cub followed a lion, the lion finally dead.
Soon the cub shall be another lion this time sworn to an innocent maid.



A Ranger's Tale


"Come in!"

"You asked for me, Gaffer Sir?" inquired Guy, tentative steps emerging from the mahogany door with walls of white mortar completing the subtle cage.

“You don’t have to give that look!” laughed Moggray in spite of himself, “I’m not gonna give you a braying session since it’s been quite a long time since you've floored any sad bastard from the Tyneside or Wearside.”

Still the impending moment hovered over every lion involved, everything now seemed to Moggray as a game of chess where no one could ever see the player's face. Prior impact chilling his blood, the resultant creaking cackled like an omniscient crone. Sipping slowly on a brown mug of tea, steely light present within Moggray's hard grey eyes wavered before this innocent Red Lion doomed. An endless maelstrom lashing out against his very soul, emotions inter-conflicting became nothing more than a mere serpent devouring its tail.

A decision finally reached, Moggray Tonn was reduced to a hapless sheep lording over his lost cub. What is to come will come soon enough, they all tend to say and that’s exactly why the Division Gaffer of Teesside despised religion for what it really is. Regretfully enough, denial was never an option.

"Yes, you're summoned here for a very good reason,” interrupted Southgate Garrat from one side, his seated form stiffening up on the leather couch nearby, "Before the Gaffer speaks, however, we three need to agree on a consensus."

"Erm, what will that be?"

Moggray's heart started bleeding upon hearing Guy's clueless reply, his inner rage directed against himself and nobody else.

"Very simple,” rang Southgate’s reply like a sombre knell, “Whatever things be said, you must promise us to remain calm. Not just only the news itself, but above all, do not commit any rash act pertaining to this matter."

We’re banking too much on the lad... way to go there, Northern Lion. Moggray Tonn, you bloody helpless bastard...

"Okay. Guess it's no choice, suck thumb here..." agreed a baffled Guy with shoulders shrugged, Moggray's inner words condemning himself, "so just shoot, Gaffer Sir. I can handle anything."

"Arrow nocked: Pallister Scholes is confirmed to be dead and killed in action," if Moggray had any second afterthoughts on his overly curt tone, he never showed them to his charge.

"Huh?" Guy Cody’s reaction would have seemed like a comedy to any stranger, but not the Gaffer delivering that most damning verdict.

"Don't you dare give me this kind of face and tone, Guy Cody, unless you don't remember that damned ginger grooming you back then!" snapped Moggray Tonn in a burst of senseless rage, both the speaker and recipient being stung promptly like a slave suffering under a slaver’s whip.

"Ki... killed? Dead? Confirmed?" quavered a trembling Guy, banging noise reverberating from Moggray's desk rendering him totally numb, "Kill in action? Dude, you sure know how to joke, Sir. He's the best fighter in all of Manchester! No, make that whole of the rest! No way damned way in Hell will he eve..."

"Guy, listen to me," explained the exasperated veteran, "It's true that Scholes is an extremely good fighter, let alone a leader. But let it be known that shit happens in war, and I've been through one too many before my ass was warming this seat!"

His tone unexpectedly strained, this wasn't the first time round people had pointed out his stubbornness in all matters of self-accountability. And neither would this be the final time. Like a distant kin telling a twelve year old boy that he’s now an orphan, the wearied soldier could only convince himself of a better tomorrow.

"Fake news! I don’t give a damn about bullshit, but I know a fucking lie when I see one!" bellowed Guy in disbelief, denial's fire branding a mark onto his sapphire orbs, "You said Scholes is a leader-rank! That means no bloody way he would wade..."

"Guy Cody!"

Everyone would have his first time and Moggray Tonn, no matter how experienced, was no different. As a stinging knuckle cracked across Guy Cody’s cheekbone, anger dissipated from his steel grey orbs as realisation dawned upon him an act committed in a futile folly.

"Have I boxed you well? Good,” sighed the tired Gaffer, “I'm sorry to break this to you in person since Pallister Scholes is indeed a great teacher, but he's not the Soldier for crying out loud."

"And it’s some asshole bigger than a god who murdered a perfectly good man? Don't give me this kind of kiddypop!" snarled a young lion deprived as the fatherly lion remained speechless. So much for pride, honour and greater family preached.

Minutes drifting away before a silent wake, trickling sand within an hourglass mattered not. The cub didn't know how to truly roar, the leader of lions fully grown knew not any guidance to consolation. The veteran scarred should have foreseen such a situation coming to head, yet he could only place his faith in a soldier’s pragmatism. Atrocities committed by his own ilk being the only story of his youth, those were the darkest years in Moggray's life where living ranks warred against the rest.

Cries for help went without heed, bloodshed and rape were the only means justifying everything was right. If partaking in anything and everything imaginable was the sole path to solace, perhaps then he would not be facing this living hell while shouldering a legitimate fear. Moggray Tonn stuck to his principles like a stubborn mule, the time had now arrived to reap every single cent of Moggray Tonn's reward.

We all are the Holy Quintet before our victims, yet nothing more than lambs to slaughter once our turn comes...


Catterm Leen spotted Guy's slouching form standing at the bar counter as he first mouthed a cordial greeting to a bouncer at the entrance. Only able to imagine the turmoil currently wreaked, this was the first time the red haired lad had seen his best friend drinking alone like a fish. The biggest problem however, was the inability to assume any idea on what went wrong at where and how. But at least he knew this was the only reason why Guy had asked him over in the first place. After all, venting one's own frustrations should only be making sense in front of a worthy listener's sympathetic gaze.

"How many mugs have you already downed, bro?" asked Catterm as he dragged a wooden stool beside his comrade, "Hopefully nowhere beyond the standard quota of five."

"Don't worry, Catts. This is just the second mug. And no, I'm not drunk. Not even by a long shot because I'm not that useless. So don't worry about me going nut drunk loco here. For now at least," replied Guy morosely, another mug of mead swiftly drained.

"You’re being a semi-liar, you know that? Yeah, you're still talking coherently, but you’re starting to talk too much and out of sense as well. Not that one can truly lie upon gifted with too many drink though," Catterm sighed as he lit a cigarette.

"At least not you," unsurprisingly curt was Guy's retort.

"Okay, double confirmed my words then. Say what, I'll be here for you till the rooster crows thrice. So just shoot," a smoke puffing out in reply, taking a drag was Catterm Leen's only way of calming down.

"Catts, Scholes' dead. Killed in the line of duty, slaughtered like an animal. Period."

"What the fuck, Guy? Now you're producing nonsense!" exclaimed the redhead, his joint dropping from a gaping mouth.

"The mission at Citias plus the dream I told you about. Put two and two together and you'll get a four," answered Guy in a hushed tone.

"Oh shit, I understand now. Congrats buddy. You're the first person showing me up as a bastard," sighed the fiery lad while scratching his head absently, his composure regained by lighting yet another cigarette.

"Yeah, right. I always believe I can reach his level and fulfil my dreams before him, because that's the best and only present I can give after all he's done for me. Then the next thing I know, that dream came,"  sobbed Guy uncontrollably, palm rubbing across his face, "Scholes is dead, the man's fucking dead. He won't be coming back..."

"Alright, I get the picture. But life and death are predestined. You can't change Fate as the Church has always preached," replied Catterm as he tried devising ways to console his best buddy. However, the sandy blond promptly spat out a statement most heinous as token of appreciation.

"Don't talk to me like that, Catts!" shouted Guy in blindest ire, tears of denial streaking down a hollow face gaunt, "Why not I rape your girl and make her a whore standing naked? Maybe you won't see me as your buddy then!"

"Why you... don't you dare talk to me like that, Guy Cody! I swear I'll end you on the spot if your name ain't that way!" snapped Catterm Leen, his amber eyes narrowing tight and ready for a fight.

"What a shame then," grinned Guy as sapphire eyes and knuckles bared cracked forth a bitter intent, "Brawl or bawl?"

A back fist suddenly swung in full arc, Catterm was caught out unaware. Fighting against his fellow Lion was a taboo, something the red haired lad was not prepared for. His shoulders went rigid, his muscles taut. If there's anything Catterm Leen detested the most, it would be stupid people assuming him a pushover. Irony finally gaining a foothold, the last person imaginable to commit such an act was actually someone he knew so well. At least before now.

"Son of a bitch!" roared Catterm with a thin bloody line trickling down the right corner of his lips.

"Yeah, I know that," answered the sandy blond coldly after bone had crashed against bone, a single thumb wiping away his own blood, "No dad and mom, nothing worth a shit now."


"Young Mistress!" exclaimed Ross as she tried catching her breath, "Something bad is abound!"

Alestrial went wide eyed with surprise as her tutor made no effort in masking her frown. Here she was undergoing a lesson in higher etiquette and a lowly servant had the gall to interrupt the lesson halfway through.

"Beautiful walls of peach with bookshelves made of oak... are you really that blind, plump lady?" sneered the thin elderly lady wearing a pair of glasses framed in gold, "I am employed as a fine educator, not some lady's sentry built like a man!"

"Miss Robertson, mind your tongue please," answered her Cinha student calmly, "I do not take kindly any insults unwarranted. Nor will my lordly father as well."

"M... m... mind my tongue?" spluttered Miss Robertson, "Surely..."

"Please. Say 'please' before giving a true lady your lowly answer," replied Alestrial Eliaden coldly, "Have I made clear myself as a noble?"

"Adopted wench..." snarled a highly intellectual shamed, "If not for Lord Louthes..."

"You wouldn't have this job," the adopted noble cut off her tutor's railing words, her steely gaze subtly betraying a regal air, "I can assure you that if you cannot cope with me, you will find others of my ilk to be far less accommodating. Or mayhap you're willing to take my dare. What says you, Miss Patricia Robertson?"

"Good riddance and may your severance equal to most bountiful gold!" called out a chuckling Twong as a fuming Patricia Robertson stomped away, "But you seem flustered, Ross... let me guess. It's that mangy brat again, no?"

"Let the fine ol'Daddy wank himself, Ross," yawned a portly old man dressed in a finely meshed chainmail suit, his reclining form leaning beside the window sill, “Only a twelve year old moron can be arsed with him.”

"Ignore Yeovil, Ross," sighed Alestrial, her firm tone befitting a daughter of nobility, "I'm sorry to be this mean, Twong, but it seems this will be the third time in a week that you've given Yeovil an excuse to ridicule you."

"Look what you've done here, senile tard!" snapped Twong, "All because of that brat!"

"I don't remember a young lion being that pretentious," Yeovil never ceased his snickering, a strong grip resting against his sheathed rapier's hilt, "Care for a wager here, faker?"

"Stop that, both of you!" shrieked a matronly Ross, her blood curdling pitch setting the squabbling duo back to their rightful place, "Twong! You stay here to ensure nothing stupid happens. Yeovil! Your blade and presence will come in handy, so make sure your best brother forever doesn't lose his balls. As for me and Young Mistress, two will be enough for a trip to the security post! You clowns get me?"


Catterm was left cursing his luck as both he and Guy ended up getting remanded. He knew prison to be no paradise, every jailed convict released had his own stories to tell. There was not much a difference separating verbal accounts from reality, all men got thrown into the pits for individual reasons. And even womenfolk at times were not spared from whatever unspeakable tortures lying ahead.

"Grey smelly walls plus a few stinking white candles. Not to mention two buckets filled with piss and shit," muttered the redhead darkly, "What a shitty way to spend your birthday without Elys, Catterm Leen."

"Do you think I can avenge him?" murmured a crouching Guy, sheer bravado prior to getting arrested long evaporating into nothingness.

"What do you think, fuckwit?" snapped Catterm peevishly, his mood further ruined by the sandy blond's irrational interruption, "I believe think it's a wee bit late after people started getting knocked out!"

"I thought it would only be the two of us!" protested Guy weakly, a lack of show in courage still evident via his head bowed and buried between the knees.

"Bullshit! How many Guy Cody and Catterm Leen can a sober bloke find at the same time?"

"Two. You win, Catts," Guy howled a grievous cry after his correct reply, a right fist clenched smashing itself repeatedly against the dark prison wall.

Catterm Leen knew there was nothing he could do, a mere audience could only witness a show of intense despair. He was lucky to have his lover's warmth to fall back on, but he wasn't that sure on whether his best friend is equally fortunate. The redhead bit his lower lip as a certain Alestrial Eliaden surfaced to mind. Having always been an enigma towards every smallborne around her, sharing their humility and pain wasn't the key to her identity. Rather, he was only able to afford calling her an enigma. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Guy Cody! Catterm Leen! You're both bailed for life!"

"Huh? Am I dreaming? This from the bailor?" gasped a baffled Catterm before a silent Guy, "I must have died once just now!"

"Hey, if you two hear me, just say 'fuck it' and leave!"

"Bailor says so, Catts. Let's just say 'fuck it' and leave..."

As the duo left their prison cell, Catterm maintained a deathly silence as he remembered Guy's expression when he uttered those words minutes earlier.

There was no humour in him, only a grim face no different from a lone lion forced to fend alone.



"You heard me, soldier."

"Look Sir! I'm perfectly sane and normal! See?" gestured Guy frantically, a comical attempt of self-justification not lost to all present in Moggray Tonn's office.

"You don't seem anything like sane or normal," muttered Moggray darkly, his sight diverted towards a female duo, "This is the best I can do, Your Grace."

Ross still tried her utmost best not to burst out laughing, but her hardly disguised mirth was not shared by the rest. Before Southgate could try diffusing the situation however, his superior had taken care of everything through a mere glare reminiscing an actual lion under a human guise.

"Maistress Alestrial of House Eliaden. I trust Guy Cody will be in good hands from now till the end," smiled Moggray wearily.

"Rest assured I will fulfil my promise, O' Northern Lion," curtsied the Cinha maid as she got up from Moggray’s couch.

"Good," smiled Southgate Garrat at the door as he took a simple low bow with his right foot stepped forward, "Please accept this soldier's bow."


"You saw all those animals attracted to you moments before?"

I hate it whenever I hear that preacher opening his pie hole. Best if I give him an answer right here, right now.

"Yeah, so what? Critters have way too many free time, that's all."

"You still do not understand what I'm trying to say, my pupil."

I should feel proud of myself. If only this talking ass will shut the fuck up.

"Sorry, but fuck no."

"Aeranath, get this clear in your head. Every animal lives and dies by instinct as the sword, we mortals are definitely nowhere more special. We are all borne of flesh, bone, and blood. As I've taught you before, self-awareness at the highest peak may not be that deservedly lauded after all."

Wonder who should be the bitch then? Most amazing question waiting to be asked.

"Rule of equivalent trade-off: everything is unfair because critters are more intelligent."

Now that’s some reply from a genius called myself. Yeah, right.

"You're not evil by nature and never will be as well. The beasts and birds made sure of that."

"Moral of the story: I don't need any random critter to define my morals."


"That bloody old fart... why am I dredging up some useless shit out of random?" growled Aeranath as moving pictures of annoyance dragged him out from a momentary slumber. Suddenly, his keen senses as a Ranger caught something twitching nearby. Supernatural gifts bestowing him information not of idle nature, he knew there’s a certain intent residing within the unknown stranger as he left the scene. A grinning Aeranath chose to stay put on the spot, a single thought coursed through his upright form.

I don't know who in the name of rat's ass you are, but since I'm so pissed off right now…


"Surely you're not..." grimaced Twong.

"Fibbing like a whore?" quipped Yeovil.

"Don't you dare call Ross stupid names!" shouted a flustered Twong, "No one asked a fat bastard to fill in the blanks!"

"Stop this stupidity, both you cretins!" lambasted Ross as two elderly adults were floored instantly with a wooden ladle grasped tightly in her hand, "There's no way we're gonna alarm Young Mistress here, you two retards get me?"

"And Old Master?" queried Twong as he rubbed the back of his slightly swollen skull.

"He won't give a flying damn," huffed Yeovil as he dusted his pants, "He only cares about our Young Mistress, the rest can go to either Heaven or Hell. Did handsome Guy say where he’s going, Ross?"

"Well, little Guy did say he's off to send a basket of beef pastries to his best buddy on shift duty now."

"Best buddy? Name?" retorted Yeovil's question.

"Catterm Leen, of course!" mused Ross, "You know, the only lad worthy of Elys' bed."

"Shit! And you gave him your golden ticket?" Twong stood aghast before her answer, features betraying perceived events awaiting, “The redhead you mentioned is allergic to beef!”

"Well, yeah, I did…" replied Ross slowly with a newly found dread, "And we all know crap is about to happen..."

"Ross, you suck at joking. I, Yeovil Lyonsen, is that damned sure."


"Living day by day because tomorrow may never come… it takes a fool to live through such a simple truth. Can I be able to end up the same way as you, Guy?" smiled the Cinha girl wistfully as she opted not to look at the Causacean boy's smiling face.

"Hmm… that's a weird question here, but I guess it's far better to seek an answer out of nowhere, no?" replied Guy Cody with a lopsided grin. Chewing on a piece of hay nonchalantly, a brief silence accompanied the cooling midsummer breeze destined to end.

"Let's make a promise by this park then, shall we?" replied Alestrial Eliaden cheerfully, her sight finally besetting on a dream seemingly attainable, "You will marry me upon our eighteenth birthday, right?"

A Causacean lad shunned by all together with a Cinha lass embodying truth and humility greeted an audience of dragonflies flitting past, an innocent couple were now ready to seal a deepest covenant via the simplest pinkie hooking.


Alestrial Eliaden drew a faint curve upwards on her pink coloured lips, dark brown eyes peering beyond the prison cell with a droning lecturer as its helmsman. No one heard her words whispering forth before a flock of dragonflies, yet they were far more real than everything The Known World could ever offer.

"You're far better off than me or just about anybody around me. Guess that's the reason why I forced a childish promise out of you when we're merely children of twelve..."


Background notes:

Arrow nocked: A statement of intent used in a variety of situations.

Kiddypop: Nonsense.

Nut drunk loco: Utterly drunk.

Gifted with too many/much drink: Having too much to drink.

Putting two and two together and getting a four: Getting the correct answer out of any obvious situation.

Until the rooster crows thrice: Until the appointed time comes.
A/N: Inspired (?) directly from what the Lord had told Peter in the Bible.

Bailor: Jailor.

Bailed for life: Released from jail for good.

Brawl or bawl: A statement of dare especially in any events of brawling challenges.

Smallborne in the formal context means the common folk in The Known World.
A/N: Inspired (?) by the term 'smallfolk'. No prizes for guessing correctly where that comes from.

Maistress is used as an honourary prefix title for any lady of noble birth while Your Grace is actually a term used for lower ranking nobility. Both can be used interchangeably depending on individuals and circumstances.

A soldier's bow is a gesture used for informal occasions where either addressing any high ranking individual or just merely expressing one’s gratitude is concerned. The latter case may include favours sworn to the other party.



Plus 8 new songs as well from most talented Kalafina we all grown to love...
And this below is the one the fans might have loved the most:
Why do I still <3 Keiko so much ah... why ah...

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

But for me, it will be just another Tuesday...

And because I enjoy doing stupid postmortem...
What exactly went wrong last Saturday? Firstly, let me just say that our centre back pairing is quite wonky upon a big ass hindsight. I don't have any problem with Andre Bikey being one of the two starting CBs, but George Friend was pretty much a touch and go (Yes, this is me firing the infamous horse back cannon, i.e. 放马后炮).

Actually on a major hindsight, George Friend is a versatile defender able to play either at the leftback or centreback, so I truly hope that Selhurst-gate will be nothing than just a flash grenade. What truly got me worried though is that was Bikey truly comfortable with his Friend? Bikey is a defender who can operate at either rightback or centreback. However he's also prone to an occasional fatal lapse in concentration (don't believe me, just go ask the St Andrews faithful) and I can't be sure whether he was comfortable throughout the 90 mins plus stoppage. Hopefully I'm just thinking too much. But still being a defender having the kind of footballing brain second only to Jonathan Woodgate did ring an almighty fire alarm in this paranoid bastard now.

Simply put, will it for the best to see a Bikey-Woodgate pairing? Maybe I should just say this will be my most ideal centreback pairing. The only problem? Woody is horrendously prone to injury, so such a pairing is not that probable. Unless by some chance delivered from the footballing pantheon, someone is truly able to utilise Bikey's athleticism. Simply put, can adrenaline be the key to a possible shock therapy? Not as in any banned substances of course, but rather increasing the focus through the adrenaline rush (and to be fair, you can't really generate that much adrenaline just by riding a mountain bike). So let's just take a look at a very simple (improbable) equation:

Bikey+Woody=most ideal pairing
Bikey+Woody=a two line based central defensive partnership.

Bikey being the first line of defence with Woody being the second man behind? Using Bikey's athleticism with Woody's superior reading of the game to dictate the central defensive line(s)? I dunno if it's a plausible option to be fair.

And what truly caused Selhurst-gate in the first place?
That 9th minute goal. To me, that's what truly killed us off. Let's take a look at what kind of team is Crystal Palace under the leadership of Ian "Mad Ian" Holloway. A lot has been said on the starting front 3 scoring for fun like a trio of studs. In particular, Wilfried Zaha was hailed as Palace's messiah in black despite the fact that he is now Man Utd's player (read: please start finding a replacement asap, Mad Ian). My own take on Palace's strength? We're talking about the middle 3 instead.

Now the 3 blokes playing in the middle irregular line are what truly make Palace tick as a unit. 3 London studs scoring for fun ain't some coincidence (unless your name starts with John and ends at Terry). In fact, we can't really identify Zaha with Ashley "a certain hot and single Cheryl is my ex" Cole. One is a leftback, the other is... well, a wing forward lol! Okay, jokes aside, I think we need to think a bit about the kind of prolific scoring record the Selhurst faithful are now lapping up with aplomb: Is it truly unlikely that without vital support from the middle 3, we'll never see a free scoring Palace of studs? To me, that's the only reason why we're seeing an attractive football coming from an English gaffer (which is a bloody miracle given how some of the SMBs can afford to call their beloved Sunderland AFC the Barca of England where in fact it's most likely the Beirut of England).

Maybe we should try visualising things this way: a zonal attacking system where more oft than not, the midfielders will end up pushing the ball possession upwards. All the way up to the front 3. Simply put, its all about shifting the focus of possession from the middle to most forefront. By my own estimation, 60% of ball dominance will be bossed by the forward line in no fault due to the midfield pushing upwards behind the frontline in order to create a constant pressure. The only catch?

Palace is a team depending on early impetuous
What if we had never conceded that 9th minute early goal? To me, we would have a decent chance in getting at least a point. Now if only Mogga had started with a three hard man midfield together with McEachran as our creative spark playing from the deep. In short, I'm perfectly fine with either Bailey or Smallwood replacing Haroun since that Belgian could have easily became our ace in the pack (bench).

Simply put, can you imagine the kind of situation where Palace can't even lay a single egg? It's one thing to press the opponent team against the corner and quite another to see the opposing defence staying strong deeply. The former would have presented a decent chance of popping that most vital opener while the latter case is nothing less than a secret recipe for horse sashimi. Have you ever wonder what will happen once Palace start losing steam? It might be far plausible than you think. Because if you can keep yourselves organised at the back, it means that you can actually go one step further and try giving Mad Ian that all too famous atomic wedgie.

And how would you plan to do that?
Counter possession is out of the question, pushing possession beyond the frontal line is the key. Simply put, what would have happened to Palace once we're able to force the ball possession back to the midfield area? Utter chaos if I say so myself. Because the front 3 will be starved of ball supply, they will have to try tracking back the ball or risk turning into their own equivalent of horse sashimi. See what I mean when I say having three defensive midfielders is my preferred starting choice? ;)

Come to think of it, has Leicester City played them yet? Nigel Pearson, hope you're watching this space.

Application of postmortem come Tuesday
Burnley will be our greatest acid test yet. A lot of our final fortunes will boil down the how we can shoot that damned March Hare and we'll be seeing that damned rabbit hopping by soon enough. Scarily enough, whatever could have been utilised against Palace CAN be used at Turf Moor. Why?

Our 4-5-1 is not your 4-5-1
In short, having 5 big blokes parked across the midfield is just like imagining 5 five tonners being parked across the CTE. Sound nightmarish? I know because CTE kenna jam=****ed up peak hour period. But crude digression aside, Burnley will be out to set up shop. To mass disrupt the entire middle park, to unsettle us right from the start, and perhaps the most dangerous of them all, seeing set pieces flying all over like Saddam Hussein's Al Hussein (no joking there because Saddam did indeed use that potent shit during his military career as the president of Iraq. O.o).

Now a lot of our defeats thus far 2013 wasn't down to an unlucky Boro 13. It's far more of a fatal lapse coming from our back 4 especially in terms of set piece defending. Ironically somewhat, that's the reason why we didn't deserve to lose against Cardiff at away back then (only shot on target=GOAL!!!! But srsly guys, WTF man?!).

Simply put, Burnley will be relishing this fight. Not only because it's all about 3 points being their's to lose, but above all our morale might have plummeted down to Ground Zero. Try imagining how to shoot a dog while it's down. It's truly that serious, it's truly that dire.

Now I've seen Burnley's match approach vs Bolton last Sat. Apparently, if Dougie Freedman is someone best known as a 4-5-1 master, then it wouldn't make any sense for Sean Dyche to say "okay, let's be a douche and let us play 4-5-1 againstTop Doug's 4-5-1" unless it's truly something Burnley is now used to match in, match out.

How Burnley's 4-5-1 works by my own estimation is this: A compact back 4 supporting a compact middle 5. This is your most basic WMD, i.e. Weapons of Mass Disruption. Coupled with a big centre forward and you'll have Saddam Hussein's greatest envy completed. Interestingly enough, Sean Dyche is capable of creating a 4-2-3-1 variation. That was during Turf Moor's 1-0 win over Mad Ian's lads. However, it's also noteworthy to see that Mad Ian also opted for a 4-2-31. Yet, that will only mean playing around with personnel. When comes to basic approach, there HAS to be a common focal point. And to me, it's very likely that should Burnley pull off a 4-2-3-1 variation, that will only mean pushing the midfield line upwards. Simply put, I can still easily envision a flat 4-5-1 style WMD due to 4-2-3=4-5. No prizes for guessing correctly why I left out The Final One (sorry to Mr Ken Lim. That's intended as a parody if by any freak case you're reading this).

So how should we go about approaching the match? Burnley's 4-5-1 is totally different from Martin O'Neill's failure 4-5-1 last time round. MON is a master of counter attacking from the deep via two speeding out and out wingers and a big ass centre forward/two striker system. Sean Dyche's approach will be very likely to be far more up in your face. I truly doubt they will be content in sitting back because if there's anything to go by via his 4-2-3-1 variation, it can be very likely that he does have a couple of hardworking wingers or four. Simply put, what he has are players capable of going forward and tracking back. However, I truly doubt this is a team based on a passing football philosophy. In short, how will we deal with that post 6 ft fellow? Whoever he is, it is vital to look out for those BEHIND him rather than just staring at him slack-jawed.

Final climax (because I need to sleep soon now)
Which means we might need to know how an anvil-hammer system works. Anyone who have played the Warhammer Fantasy Battle should know this very well. Especially since 8th Ed has now gone officially gay for ranked warfare. And why I'm invoking the existence of something seemingly unrelated is this: Can we create our very own anvil-hammer system?

Try to see things this way: If our back 4 can hold firm with our middle 4/5 compacting themselves into our defensive third (yes, 1/3 and not 1/2 for all you fractional idiots out there), what will happen next? Remember what I've said on that post 6 ft bloke? Once he gets the ball, it'll be time to shoot on sight. No questions asked, no prisoners taken. Cut that fella adrift before his merry Dingles joined him up front. Because once shit happens, there will be NO turning back. Ideally, we might need two lads gunning forward in advance with the rest staying back as a contingency. Once we manage to frustrate them, it will be time to truly gun forward. In short, we really need Haroun, we might really need a bloody 4-5-1 this time round.

The only problem? We'll just have to hope McEachran won't be chucked aside from the starting line up this time round.