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.

Friday, 15 February 2013

Reveals Forth Turmoil's Hand

A hero will always be a slave to none, the truly unbridled will always be a master only to self. This is why in times of both peace and turmoil, the courageous and unshackled will always walk somewhat alone.


A Ranger's Tale


"Have you ever wondered about the dream you’re pursuing?"

I look at the kindly ginger haired man filled with strength, my eyebrows raising in surprise before the face of him called my mentor. I don’t know what Scholes is trying to put across, but guess I should just try going along the flow.

"Of course it's all about the Red Lions! What else?"

Yep, that’s the best answer I can ever give.

"I'm not talking about a simple life without any purpose. Don't try bailing out from my question."

Oh shit, I’m seeing a pissed off Pallister Scholes for the very first time in my life. Or maybe he's just plain annoyed over my half-assed answer. Okay, make that him getting a wee bit piss drunk since we're bumming in the local bar anyway.

"Erm, so what's the real deal then?"

Wow, that’s some amazing stuff coming from me here.

"Very simple. Just tell me your first answer coming to mind."

I cocked my head along the right since it’s not an everyday honour to have Pallister Scholes mind raping you.

"To win Alestrial's hand of course!"

For that very moment, a shiver creeps down my spine. That dirty look hailing from him... seems he would have gladly shafted my ass with a foot long pole otherwise. I better thank the Holy Quintet once I reach the nearest chapel since me and Scholes do know each other as teacher and student. Wait a holy sec, I think I might have messed up this sentence somehow.

"Do you understand what a turtle is made of?"

Oh man, not even you as well, Scholes? That’s the kind of answer I've always hated more than death. And to think this is someone understanding me the best. Apart from Ales of course. But still in Pallister Scholes I trust. Yeah, he could and would have buggered me for good much earlier at Merseyside if he wanted to. Plus only a retard will try testing his luck against such a black face. So here's going for broke then...

"Too bad, Scholes. I don't think you understand the type of relationship between a guy and a girl."

"Too bad, Guy. I truly think you know nothing."

Damn, why do I even try opening my golden mouth?


Sapphire orbs snapped open wide, the sandy blond could only feel his mentor's words fading away like a lingering trail of smoke. The scenery where the cub was preparing to leave its den still a stronghold in his mind, Guy only harboured fond memories of the man himself. Pallister Scholes was a renowned drinker, his threshold for liquor more than able to match a barrel's worth. The young lad on the other hand, could only afford to realise back then what the real deal is made of. After frying his brain briefly, any merit pointing to in-depth thinking was judged pointless. Yet, an obsessive stigma stifled his much desired sleep, rhythm sung from the heart whispering events long gone by and would be to come.

Alright, Guy Cody. Try forgetting the dream. It's just only some random stuff anyway.

Slapping hard his cheeks with both palms several times, the pain was indeed all too real. Alas never did unknown taunts from the past ever bid their farewells as the blond lad laid crashing back onto his bed, a frustrated heap bearing testimony to a widening chasm of emotions. Feeling a state of brain damage soon on the cards, the tolling of bells signalled a brand new morn with rest foregone. Hopes of any possible challenge lying ahead being his only quest of escape affordable, Guy got up to prepare what will truly change his life forever.


For reasons known only to the Holy Quintet, Guy could only sense a sombre shadow chafing from inside as he gathered together with his peers. Unable to discern the cause behind this ever-present turmoil, the only thing not failing to evade his senses was an ominous feeling akin to a hare cornered by its hunter. People tend to say fortune favours the brave, yet Guy could not even be sure whether the truly brave was he himself. If there's anything to go by, something in him suggested that whatever fatalistic stunt being pulled off wasn't just about a simple fishing trip soon on the horizon. Within context of the Red Lions' lingo, Guy Cody could only evoke these very words.

Fire burning in my backyard.

Upon sighting Moggray Tonn's entrance into the training square, a stance of attention was reinforced by unified thunder roaring from the boots. Reading every face belonging to his serious charges, rampaging pangs worse off than labour most difficult corroded the veteran’s fragile soul. Knowing well the combination of events, any upcoming conflict possibly faced could easily spell a swan song played too early. A terrible being of unknown origin annihilating one entire battalion hailed from the famed Manchester Division should not be a laughing matter. Can an army of rabbits truly bare their teeth in the face of a wolf untamed? This might be the most damning question ever asked from Moggray. Commoners’ knowledge dictated the Teesside Division being a second fiddle played, any expectations of Manchester’s prestige getting usurped was nary but absurdity.

"Okie lads. I'm gonna keep this short," Moggray cleared his throat as he tried forcing out a casual bravado from himself, "Official word stated by all ten Divisions is this: every man shall be put under red alert. Know that every Gaffer has reached a buggy-all, that's all. Briefing will be done in fifteen minutes time and take note. Assume under any case is only this: making an ass out of you and me. Dismiss!"


"Do you think I've phrased my stance correctly?" questioned Moggray quietly, a steaming mug of tea being sipped.

"I believe the lads know it. No problem to be brutally frank,” smiled Southgate while lounging on a leather couch, tanned expression alike to his superior, “Fifteen minutes of rest before ten minutes of outright mind fucking. You've made your point clearly, there's no reason for them to imagine otherwise."

"May the die be with us then. If I’m to say things straight to the point, it means I mean business,” answered Moggray, his gnashing of teeth acting as proof pointing to a facade erected forth, “Do not underestimate the trappings of foolhardiness. Everybody knows history is full of actual shit."

"Moral of the story: one shot glory does have its own advantages," sighed Southgate, a verbal show of sarcasm all too apparent, "Well, what about Guy Cody then? Your number two is no clown, Moggray. Remember that poor bloke watching your back for the past donkey years?"

"Yes, I do remember you," chuckled a scar lined face without a single mirth, "You're the only lucky sod surviving everything."

"It's because no sod is crazy enough to do so," grumbled the stocky brunette, "The Northern Lion had always been a batshit crazy looney once he started charging like a madman. You're lucky to have me. You could have shared Crazy Park's half crippled fate."

"Oh yes, Crazy Park. That reminds me of Guy Cody," growled Moggray in a guttural tone quite like an elderly lion, his tea swiftly downed, "We have to break the news to him somehow. The longer we delay, the more direful the results. Only a moron will bank on what-ifs on not a single alphabet getting leaked."

"So we're gonna give him that big red slap?" murmured a morose Southgate, "Discretion is our only SOP and I'm not interested in burning down the bath-house."

"I can assure you no sane leader will ever want to boot his own guy off the cliff, but figure you should know it by now," nodded Moggray tersely, "We better start burning offerings to the banker though."

"But it's likely he will be hatred's bitch!" Southgate's hazel brown eyes narrowed sharply, his words hollering with clarity, "I…no... we still remember what exactly happened eighteen years ago."

"No choice, suck thumb!" retorted Moggray, a finger wagging before Southgate's face, "We’re talking about different situation, same logic. Again, let me repeat myself one last time. We better start burning offerings to the banker."

The jaded mentor then crumpled back to his seat, massaging of temples failing to alleviate an atmosphere borne from sheer frustration.

"And you're banking on his own anger management?  Fingers will be pointed somehow towards you making a gay gamble," answered Southgate with merely a wry frown, fiery temperament minutes prior cooling down finally.

"Sadly, you've scored bingo here. By the way, you looked stoned," inquired Moggray in a concerned tone.

"Don't worry, you can start blaming yourself now," shrugged Southgate Garatt in resignation, "You're extremely good at this, you know that?"

"Just go take a swig," waved the Gaffer of Teesside, "Wiser Bud's still charging the brew, no?"


The briefing was done by then, a plainly furnished locker room currently brimming with excited chatter and nervous nods. In an isolated corner, two youths of a similar build were seen exchanging words, one a redhead and the other a sandy blond.

"Can I label it as the greatest miracle in human history? Only a dream trip back to the past and you ended up stoned," huffed Catterm Leen offhandedly, a locker filled with soiled smelly clothes being rummaged.

"We're not talking about buff poker, Catts," frowned Guy, contemplation on the dream bubbling up more questions left unanswered.

"Don't give me this kind of bullshit with this kind of bullshit face. You suck at lying. Gotta bath now," sighed Catterm somewhat apologetically, a change of unsoiled clothes wrapped separately finally fished out, "Gonna be the sixth cycle tomorrow, but everybody has gotta stay. Sorry to see no one bumming away with you, pal."

"Maybe I will end up asking about life being a celestial comedy?"

Upon self-deprecating reply verily given, no one bothered giving Guy Cody any reply, let alone his best friend already off to the baths. Not that words mattered much, but inner comfort at the very least might come his way should a silence most unsettling be broken. Even if it's merely for a split second.

Dude, this doesn't feel good. Reminds me of the time where that bothersome fart actually grilled me straight just because I pecked Alestrial by accident... wait a holy sec, should it be considered kissing? It's just an accident!


Never before the young beast of twelve had tasted rage utmost high, his focus was proven correct by a right fist stained in blood. All knew the bully branding himself Buster, all regarded Guy Cody as a pariah best left alone. He might have forgotten that shambling bastard's name, but he could perceive taunts ending with terms like “spastic” and "stupid retard" naturally. The latest victim fallen afoul had forced himself unto suicide's lair, a cruelty beyond beasts setting him off.

Shunned by students and teachers alike in his Form School, a peerless aloofness segregated him from the rest. Yet upon word leaking out on Buster acquitted cleanly due to ruling done in discretion’s name, his silence snapped. Rules unspoken dictating everyone to be a mere stranger, the pint sized blond never put them to heed. A horn of rampage sounding a raging note, eyes engulfed in sapphire flames witnessed not a sneer from fellow mortal man. Empty souls and Demons unseen cackled mercilessly, everything he deserved was left in tattered shreds and splattered blood. So much for the fear factor where a jester's boast spelt the dearth of mirth.

Left leg broken in half in courtesy of a brutal whack, Guy was indeed the one grabbing initiative with both hands. Wooden stick discarded after his hideous act, no reprieve was gifted. Grabbing the ignorant tyrant by his hair while he was down, Guy Cody rained down an endless pain worth far more than a thousand gold. Shouts from horrified teachers doing nothing mattered not, stunned silence from many a student belying a satisfaction equally warped. Against one taking an orphan's ire for granted, bitter medicine was to be reserved for the fool. Doubtlessly enough with surrounding reactions rendered blank, the lion’s soul could only envision his sadistic leer plastered true.

Never one for pleasure akin to a lowly hunter toying with the prey, a lion's joy could only be sated by proving its might upon a fallen rival. Only one lord to rule them all. Pride, territory and all. Intrusion tantamount to impudence snarling fore, none dared stepping foot beyond borders unclaimed by the craven and audacious.

Ecstasy peaking like a sun rising towards heaven's zenith, everything petered away. All thanks to a little girl around his age, her dark brown orbs brimming with silent plea was never one mastered by a condoning sin nor a cowardly heart. A simple request to halt this very insanity suddenly became every single wish converging in one. Against an intruder devoid of honour towards others and love towards self, only the truly self-respecting would never waste precious time on such a pitiful wretch.

For the very first time in his life, Guy Cody met his only tamer. Yea, tales of a lion and a Cinha maid most deserving had truly drawn open wide curtains on the stage...


"Young Mistress, high tea is now ready," announced the butler, a grimly voiced greeting contrasting greatly with a lavish room full of paintings and leather bounded books. A couple of butterflies were seen fluttering about behind a single dragonfly in flight, a mahogany window sill allowing the vibrant sun to pour its radiance onto a comfortable bed covered in silky white sheets.

"A thousand gratitude, Twong," thanked a seated noble lady of a different lineage while a middle aged maidservant was finishing up the final touches on her loose raven curls, "Oh, Mother Ross, you don't have to include the flowers by the way."

"But Young Miss..."

"No buts," smiled the young maiden, "Your knowledge on Alestrial Eliaden is nowhere inferior compared to the rest. After all, 'tis merely a high tea session arranged not by my own volition."

The winsome Cinha beauty gave a cheeky wink as she got up from her oaken chair, flowing locks of jet black lustre resting against her bare flawless back like a pristine waterfall caressing the smoothest face.

"And with Young Master Dukes, no less!" Twong cleared his throat curtly, "Surely that brash litt..."

"Please stop your complaining, Twong," sighed Alestrial, her soft eyes of darkest brown flashing forward a hidden steel tempered true, "I know you're worried over whatever gossips abound, but Guy Cody is my bond. He has pledged himself under me through honour and I've given him my promise via merit. It's that simple, do you still understand me not?"

Upon this proclamation, the elderly butler could only eat his own dish of crow. Forty years of servitude and here was a social anomaly never before seen. Was it truly down to that commoner boy? Or maybe... just maybe it was something else. The adopted daughter of House Eliaden was never a person far removed from the First House Patriarch himself. The Kalarans lauded Erasmus Eliaden as the greatest thinker of all times, a philosopher advocating perfect balance between idealism and realism. And his beloved Young Mistress had always been a gentle blade most regal, yet never before forged. A sword which was somehow unsheathed by somebody. 

Most ironically however, was a certain fact indicating the current Patriarch as a man of war. Or rather Louthes Eliaden used to be one until a crippling wound afflicted during the War of Mourners' Ford put paid to his military career. Twong had never witnessed the fight first hand, but many were those crossing arms against the much dreaded Fianna and many far fewer survived to recount their tales. Selective honour was always the preaching worshipped by the Teutonians, Twong wasn't prepared to be a believer championing a foreign culture. His old Master had been one reviling every value repulsive, but only after denial was stripped like a harlot forced into public penance did he truly wake up. Indeed a son born in his blood and to his name should be his deathbed’s joy till death silenced the living.

Dear Mistress Alestrial, why am I sensing something is about to happen? That any future revolving around the world shall be defined by pursuits pointless...


So where will mortality take ourselves? What will be the debt demanded by eternity from things doomed to pass?

Upon profound thoughts mirroring an Elven visage fairer than all, an elderly Human stared on blankly from behind. Locks of wintry snow teased an ethereal breeze as petals of white invaded the azure skies. Diverting his gaze away from the Azure Moon never-fading, Aor offered a slight smile towards his counterpart. Ziron was not a fool. Once a mortal, forever one. What will the future hold for those like him, he wondered. A curved Elven blade sheathed whispering volumes on his inner world, none could ever hope in breaching the icy fort within his azure orbs. Gliding forward with an uncanny grace, Aor drifted past Ziron as words neither of a parting taunt nor an intended barb resonated throughout the entire realm entitled Avalon.

"Come then, boy. Show me the path our Kind should have taken. Perhaps dreams of what-if will bring for you rewards never begged for."


"Show me a sinless man and I will gift you a stainless blade."

Such was his sole answer issued forth, his sword stained seventy times seven.

The Ranger had claimed another victim's head, his impunity this time round committing murder within confines of a chapel's walls.

A wolf knows best the sinful man...

Aeranath was never a fool. Not one deemed as wholly sane, yet one more righteous than all who fear, judge and were condemned as a result. Perhaps more likely than not, no one could ever understand Chaos like Chaos himself.


Background notes:

Fire burning in my backyard: Unpleasant things happening to oneself

May the die/dice be with *somebody*: Basically yet another parody take on that all famous Star Wars quote with the actual meaning pointing to touch and go.

Burning down the bath-house: Basically means creating trouble for oneself.

A/N: Inspired hundred percent by a real life accident pulled off by a certain Mario Balotelli. Now if only we will see a repeat happening in Milan soon.

Burn(ing) offerings to the banker: A derogatory slang that basically means praying to a deity.

Suck thumb: Doing nothing on the spot. Such a slang TRULY exists, believe it or not. It's actually part of an unique Singaporean lingo culture. A certain Mr Steve Ang taught me that.

Look(ing) stoned: Slang for being/looking distracted/stunned/distraught.

Take a swig: Basically means having a pint or two.

Give ( somebody) that big red slap : Basically breaking unpleasant/traumatic news to a person.

Charging the brew: Slang for selling alcohol.

A cycle is counted as one day with seven cycles completing a single week. Four weeks will complete a month and twelve months/four seasons will complete a single year. The entire system shown in The Known World is basically not that much different from that of our actual world.

The Soldier within the Quintet's context is pretty much the Warrior where Faith of the Seven is concerned. Or rather you can say the Soldier basically represent discipline, valour and cause above self in all things military related. Interestingly enough, any prayer involving any of the Quintet has to invoke the names of the other four.

Wiser Bud is basically a parody of the Budweiser brand lager.

A chapel is a place not only for everyday worship, but above all the legal residence of any clergyman taking charge of its everyday affairs.

Celestial comedy means a prank played by predestination or in personal terms, mean "my own life sucks". Term inspired by Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy.


Note: If Guy and Ales had never met each other...

Actually come to think of it, Aera IS certified broken lol!

 Lucky I now no this feeling called déjà vu