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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.

Thursday, 2 May 2013

A Trap Long Predestined

Write me a song, O' finest of bards.
A song of war and peace.
A song of love and hate.
A song of life and death.


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A Ranger's Tale

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"Erm, Gaffer Sir?"

"What, Southgate? I'm feeling damned stressed out now. Get to the point."

"Guy Cody is at it again."

"Please don't tell me it's down to buff poker."

"He floored ninety percent of the Wearsider lads. And in nothing except a pair of boxers. Permission to summon, Sir?"

"That's it! I'm gonna bray him twice the force now! Summon that cretin into my office. Immediately!"


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Moggray Tonn recounted the moment where Guy Cody managed to wreck his afternoon once again, this was the third time of asking within a week back then. Yet, the resultant message laced with chagrin and vulgarity only invited a shrug from an indifferent Guy, three days of isolation became his lot. That was during the month long orientation program and history had been created as a result. He understood the lad’s capability as Southgate sat down beside him.

"You're worried about Guy Cody?"

An elderly heart bled before his second-in-command's question, Southgate Garrat’s words cut him apart like a sharp knife twisting inside. Yea, he was worried about the young boy, this had always been so. He possessed an innocent charm capable of making friends, this was a charisma equally capable of creating foes. His courage never understood wavering, this was why every poor and unwanted knew his strength. For while all the elite and rich could not understand the abandoned, there’s not really anything much separating lion from man. Man would always strive to protect something no matter how noble or reproachable, a lion was always to be a guardian’s symbol of honour.

Unlike this Northern Lion here losing every single damned purpose in life eighteen years ago…

Those were the words coursing through Moggray’s mind, despair would never go away.

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"Southgate, just fuck it and drink," smiled a jaded Gaffer of Teesside, his fingers snapping in a bid to send a signal to the nearest barmaid, “Tell Budwiser to give every goer his Dark Best Special! I’ll charge the bill!"

Stoked by an offer impossible to resist, Budwiser’s patrons could only roar out their approval. Southgate Garrat wasn’t amused by his superior’s bravado however, his venomous glare slipping by unnoticed. Moggray had burnt up a quarter of his wealth on booze during a couple of years after the War of Mourners' Ford, that was why his family got shattered like a brittle vase disintegrating to countless shards. A looping past was seen after countless years in absence, a cynic’s question ended whatever call for rational debate before it even begun.

How much does a patriot weigh? In gold, silver, or the cheapest bronze?

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"That’s astounding!" squealed a redhead maiden dressed in finery, "He looks funny, but boy is he really suave!"

If there should be any intent pulsating through Aeranath's veins, he never made it bare. Had not he killed a certain prissy bitch's little pet dog by accident, he would not be playing the clown. A Ranger was no coward, but luck did have its own sadistic moments at times. Simply put, he ran out of money, a yapping mutt flared up his temper.

Well, blow me down for not enjoying a nice stew of dog meat first.

"Hey, you happy now?" retorted Aeranath, his thoughts finished and thumb jerking behind, "That's the third block of wood I've chopped. Just for you."

"Hmm... not good enough though," mused the comely girl, a finger tapping absently against her shapely bosom.

Fuck you, Ziron, for giving me this stupid suggestion. As if I will fuck her in every hole…

“But that funny old man was right after all,” beamed the noble lady, her heaving breasts threatening to spill out from a low cut bodice of black, “Are you sure I can’t make you reconsider?”

“Reconsider what? Reconsidering whether you’ll let me fuck you in every hole? I’ll be happy to do you in a jiffy once you lay down to get laid.”

Verily not for the first time, Aeranath ended up enjoying inner kicks from insulting a lady’s modesty.

Yeah, a lady alright. A lady, my cock.

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"Will she be fine?" inquired a concerned Alestrial as she approached the physician. A kindly matron shook her head gently, a perpetual frown betraying a situation not too optimistic.

"I don’t know what's wrong with the lass. At the very least however, it’s clear to me that a major trauma did take place,” sighed the elderly Tamurian dressed in simple garb, “The patient has regained consciousness minutes ago, but it’s best not to let anybody talk to her. Not even a single whisper, not even the most innocent sentence. One mentally frail cannot withstand any further taunts from the past, no matter how seemingly harmless."

"A hundred apologies for your troubles, a thousand fold in gratitude. Allow this humble lady here to escort you for your rightful reward due," curtsied the Cinha noble.

"Thanks, but I have to refuse your offer,” smiled Nurmai yal’ Zahr, “I perceive you as a learned one, Lady Alestrial. Surely you understand every custom of the Tamurians, for we are merely children of The Wild One."

Alestrial Eliaden was not a fool, for she had seen murals painted upon entrance. Slandering rumours a fixture for gossipers, the fair Cinha maid preferred calling them bigots. Louthes Eliaden might be one equally apathetic, but at least he made it a point to educate his only daughter.

Even if I am to be Aries Eliaden’s substitute…

The elderly woman departed for her healer’s lodge, for she required no more answers from Lady Alestrial of House Eliaden. Any individual sworn to save another would always see a kindred soul in the making somewhere down the road. A shame to see her marrying off like some dispensable pawn, her own people were ironically nowhere better. But at least she hoped to give Alestrial some timely words.

"Lady Alestrial, do you know the Epic of Nimoresh?"

"Why yes, of course, dearest Ilu."

"If so, then allow this R’Ilu to bestow you a kherish."

"I am all ears for receiving this sacred honour," whispered Alestrial, her frock being pulled up till the knee.

"You don’t have to kneel before me, Neku," smiled a wrinkled visage worn away by cruel time, "For I have neither intent nor any right to declare you as a Tamur. Just understand this. Nimoresh forsook his family in the name of love, The Wild One heeded his call. By granting him the Seven Hunts, Nimoresh must undertake seven severe trials capable of killing any lesser man of higher stature. For every trial accomplished, one out of Seven would awaken in his body."

"Legs for endless running free, a pair of boots swift like tiger freed. Arms for peerless strength, a fury of blackest steel fierce like lion dark," murmured Alestrial wistfully, prior knowledge of the epic revisiting her childhood dreams.

Bones akin to fortress old begot a shield cunning as the fox, a liver still raw granted a suit wrought from serpent’s scales. His heart remained pumping true, he was given a fiery lion’s golden brood. A mind truly wild, he was gifted the wolf spirit’s lunar boon.

"And lastly he gained a soul like Dragons of yore, thus his wish became his lover’s hope,” smiled Nurmai gently, “Do you know what really happened at the end?"

"No,” replied Alestrial as she turned her back away, “For I know every legend is always the most beautiful dream. Forgive my cowardice, revered Ilu."

Hence tiring Nimoresh surely saw his only love’s fairest smile once again, The Wild One took him away and bravest Nimoresh was no longer more.

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"The Gaffer collapsed?" gasped Guy, Sarel Aphros’ crimson orbs revealing nothing but apathy, "Don't tell me you have a hand behind this, whore."

"I do not remember your next stop having a hand in this. What happened to your cool days ago?" said the Grand Damsel, her frustrated sigh seeming like a bluff to the sandy blond, "I could have set down orders for an assassination if this old lion is really a bother. Only one Gail died under Gae Buidhe's thirst because I’m not all emotions and no rational."

"Then what's the cause?"

Guy's abrupt reply knocked the wind off the white haired beauty's sails, the only thing shocking to her being a tone summoning back memories she tried desperately clinging onto. For an instance a lion suddenly resembled a prideful wolf, Sarel Aphros ignored whatever pain flaring in her eyes.

"Stomach ulcers," the Grand Damsel felt no joy in her own reply, “Moggray Tonn’s hard drinking past caused everything."

"Hard drinking?" whispered Guy warily, "No one said a shit about that before."

The heavens soon rumbled, dark clouds heralding forth a rainstorm to come. Lightning suddenly flashed across, clapping thunder ruled the skies. A flock of crows cawed incessantly, their annoying presence no different from another stranger’s death.

And Sarel Aphros gave a shrug.

Sharpest pain stinging her cheeks with a slap dealt across the face, impact from immense force blurred her eyes. A metalingus drawn by blood was nothing to her, an unrivalled fury within her man defying her corrupted soul. Corrupted because she was fated to be so, corrupted because she never wanted this current life of current riches. No understood her better than herself, no one could satisfy her better than strong and worthy lads.

No, Guy Cody is never my man. I tried taming a cub, I end up goading a lion instead. He’s a symbol of all we should have been but never meant to be. Blessed is she who earns his most earnest heart.

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"So you have finally arrived to me," smirked Aor, his facial expression akin to a blank page of an otherwise well written tome, "Please do answer me truthfully whether it feels good meeting your own mirror again?"

"Firstly, shut the fuck up," growled Aeranath as a young wolf approached ominously towards that monstrous wolf, "Secondly, do I care?"

Paying no attention to bloodied tiles upon where the First True Apostle seated himself, the Ranger gave not a single care to whoever that bloody stump belong to, let alone why. The last True Apostle desired nothing any and every mortal would have desired otherwise, vengeance was the only proof of still staying alive.

We all are merely travellers and visitors. One fine day, we will depart from this world, The Known World as we all call our current home. Aera, I know we’ll meet again somewhere during sometime soon after we’re gone.

“Because I, Kagetsu no Hyo’Ah, say so. Dumb bitch,” cursed Aeranath, the object of ire being himself and no one else.

Circling slowly about, this was a being nothing less than his antithesis. Aeranath breathed in deeply, every breath exhaled slowly. Finally getting a response out of Aor, the Ranger stopped in his tracks. A dead man's skull crushed without an eyelid batted, Aor’s callousness reminded Aeranath of a certain moment where he did pretty much the same.

"You can't kill me! Milord Louthes, stop this knave!"

Dark flowing coat and a pair of maroon trousers hugged tightly onto an athletic frame similar to Aeranath, but taller by half a head. His bare arms were toned and taut, an Elven sabre sheathed was firmly gripped. Aeranath barely held back a feral snarl, Aor’s confidence created a tale of two auras. Untamed wilderness versus sophistication, chaotic nature pitted against order of civilisation. Both readied themselves for a duel meant to end all things, be that end light or darkness. Mayhap empty oblivion even.

A single warp in space sensed, Aor intercepted Aeranath's biting slash through a single draw of the blade. Taking a step back, his blade was released once more with unerring speed. Mere act of teleportation justified as futility, a wound was ripped opened across Aeranath's shoulder. A primordial wolf’s roar more than enough to betray his next immediate step, Aor gripped his sheathed weapon by the hilt and bottom of the covered blade.

And the mortal beast promptly took a whack.

Blunt trauma drawing blood, Aeranath could barely defend the blow just now. Or rather Aor could have fractured his skull had not a timely evasion dodging the full brunt of force. He was lucky Aor did not choose to unsheathe his sword once more, for another lash of arcing steel would surely severe the Ranger into half.

Aor was toying with him, Aor was mocking at him. And Aor took a fatal thrust to the left eye from him.

Yet, only a vision of death greeted Aeranath, his head lopped off in a flash. And the younger True Apostle stayed unfazed, his object of hate standing a few feet away.

"You have grown and matured, boy," smiled Aor, "You know it will take so much more than that to drive me into the spiral of never return."

"Shut your shithole!" shouted Aeranath, his instincts predicting accurately words Aor was about to say.

“So long as you cannot enter Avalon, all is for naught. Fighting a combat dictated by my terms, shall we call this bravery?"

The Ranger could only bristle in unbridled rage, the grandeur of their battlefield lost to him.

"You’re the first and only amongst us to master the art of warping within seven years of training.," grinned Aor matter-of-factly, "An utter paradox to see you assuming a Ranger’s mantle, for Rangers will never be Rangers without the True Apostles."

"And you one upped everyone else? No wonder there can be only one grand master, only one Aor."

Sarcasm barely disguised not failed on Aor, the First True Apostle remained quiet. His mirror existence, however, opted a wary stance and nothing else.

"Be known that warping is an effective tool against those knowing nothing, but useless towards those knowing a thing or two."

Aor then vanished without a trace, untainted petals of white appearing and dissipating within exact timing. Sanity at last collapsing, Aeranath rooted himself on the spot. A wolf howling in frustrated ire, Fragarach the Answerer was hurled angrily against a blood painted wall. A spark of hatred, an inferno ensued. This was a mansion housing a sinner pardoned by fallible men, this was a mansion filled with an individual’s ringing curse.

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"Jauss Michas... he who started a six day war, War of the Mourners’ Ford," whispered a shadow hidden in the trees from a distance, "He who escaped the judgement of man has finally met the greatest judge beyond men. I should be his executor, not that fellow…"

Hyo… what’s your say if only I or Aera can afford to survive?


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"But..."

"No buts!" snapped a stocky brunette, his only solace being that sandy blond’s dumbfounded face. Searing pain of regret was to be Southgate Garrat's only answer, the sole recipient only himself. The time was now at hand, Guy Cody's balminess making its final bow.

An epitaph written for a living man, noted Southgate wryly, for boys are meant to die.

"The Gaffer..." Guy breathed out those words akin to a woman suffering difficult labour, "Will he be truly okay?"
"Moggray’s fine," smiled the bunk officer as he ruffled the cropped spiked hair of his charge soon to be no more, "Joes Mouriz is a good leader even though only the Northern Lion is the best of the best. He will oversee daily operations with me assisting him on the ground."

"And Uncle Parky?"

Southgate’s smile became wider before Guy’s question. For once, he’s allowed to speak the truth.

"Venture forth and fight like the Red Lion you truly are."

Guy Cody said nothing in reply, his back turned for that one final time. In spite of a soldier’s tears shed, Southgate Garrat cracked a parting joke as his final payment.

"And don't forget telling the rest you're the Lion of Teesside. I'll spank you good if you don't make yourself good!"


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Guy raged on silently against mocking tone belonging to a person bereft of pride. A life lost due to callous ineptitude, a higher education would never define a better person. He had gotten sick enough of excuses made by stupid people, attempts to absolve oneself from blame should warrant a head stuck on an iron spike.

"I can tell you that boy is a no-hoper!" complained an obnoxious woman obnoxiously pretty, "Why should I foot the bill as his counsellor? I've done everything I could! Excuses, excuses, and more excuses to die!"

Gnashing his teeth, Guy Cody was never one to contemplate violence against the fairer sex. This one was about to be an exception or perhaps he had never even regarded her as a woman. Knowing what must be done meant trouble with the law, the sandy blond fed caution to the wolves as he rose up to confront that lean young lady housing the soul of a blackest crone.

"Guy?"

A voice so familiar, yet now so distant haunted his ears. He knew who the lady behind him was, thoughts of reprisal melting away. He allowed vicious chatter to be, his mind blocking off images of a talking dog. Understanding certain things to be more valuable waiting for him, a longing embrace envisaged itself in the young lion’s heart. It was never Alestrial Eliaden, but rather Guy Cody’s thirst for comfort sought. He knew she would be married off soon, he knew what potential dangers one false step would bring about.

Alestrial... I've returned home. For now.

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"Jauss Michas croaked like a frog," commented an offhanded Southgate as he sat beside Moggray’s bed, "Good riddance to him."

"No, make that a fucking good riddance to a motherfucker," murmuered a lion wearied by age, "Southgate, I still keep on having dreams… a nightmare of men and boys hanging from the highest gallows, a nightmare of women and girls raped and burnt alive."

"A travesty of justice to see a Teutonian fugitive housed inside our Empire’s border," sighed the brunette, "All because he fucked a female student and knocked her up."

"Said student committed suicide," butted in a bulky blond entering the division infirmary, "A Teutonian giving the Teutonian code of chivalry a two finger salute. A no brainer seeing Mount Vesvan six days old. Garyth Parkins reporting, Sire!"

"Parky! What brings you here?" hailed Moggray, his spirit notably raised by a friendly salute.

"And here I was, believing Crazy Park to be a myth," joked a limping Garyth Parkins, "Here’s a letter coming from Stamford. Want me to read it loud?"

"Go ahead, my craziest page," smiled Moggray, "Not that Joes shouldn’t be an equally crazy bastard."

"Somebody killed that fucker, may every Gaffer piss on his grave," smirked Garyth as he continued relaying the vulgar contents, "Signed by nine Gaffers out of ten, we’re still waiting for O’ Northern Lion’s approval."

"All for one, one for all," spoke out Moggray Tonn as he heaved himself up with renewed strength, "The Drowning Bear will be supplying our drinks since Budwiser can charge us exorbitant prices at times. Let us drink and piss to our hearts' content."

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Alestrial Eliaden stroked Yeras’ auburn hair lovingly, the colour taking her breath away under burning candles’ light. This was a fiery hue, a shade of red kissed by fire. Yet, shrieking words from the Cinha maid’s newfound friend haunted her mind nevertheless.

Mogg… Mogg… where are you? The fire, the men, my sisters naked and burnt! The pain burning in me, the burning pain between my legs… Mogg, Mogg… where are you?


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Background notes:

Ilu: A formal term used for any female of a senior age. An additional prefix R' will be intended as a self-reference, be the senior male or female.

Neku: A formal term used for anyone of a junior age.

Kherish: Favour granted by a Tamurian where any outsider is concerned, be it advice or deed. Such favours are not meant to be reciprocated unless said outsider decided to swear a certain oath before two or more Tamurian witnesses.

The Wild One: The sole deity worshipped by the Tamurians. Any carving of The Wild One’s image/statue is regarded as blasphemy, for the Tamurians fervently believed that a spirit without form should never be represented by any form at all.

Epic of Nimoresh: A Tamurian epic poem regarded by literary critics as the greatest love story of all times. The story is about the titular hero seeking out his unnamed lover’s revival from death through seven trials imposed by The Wild One. For every trial completed, a relevant gift would be granted. Due to an abstract nature of imagery in relationship to the Tamurians’ animistic culture, debates are still rife in terms of whether the poem should be seen as symbolic, literal, or a mixture of both.
A/N: Inspired (?) by Epic of Gilgamesh.

Croaked like a frog: A derogatory term for dying. Used on those the speaker doesn’t like/care about.
A/N: This term was actually used in the earlier chapters already upped.

Politically incorrect A/N: I'm not ashamed to say that Jauss Michas was inspired by a certain news article ages ago on an educator betraying a student’s trust. In fact, I firmly believe the counsellor part is truly applicable all over the world. Fortunately, it's not my calling to punish errant educators.

Relevant shout-out: Mr Eric Soh, you are indeed a good teacher, so please don’t say you’re a negative role model. This mad genius (?) here should be seen as a negative role model instead.


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