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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. -.-'

6.
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.

Saturday, 23 February 2013

Metalingus

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...


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A Ranger's Tale

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"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...


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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.

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"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."

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"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.

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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.


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"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?


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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.

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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.


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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

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