Reddest Summer, Everchanging Winter

Fire and ice, which is stronger of them all? Ice and fire, which one is first and which one is second? Fire versus ice, a molten wall quashes the invaders. Ice against fire, a relentless horde overrunning the unwavering host.

~Fire and Ice, Ice and Fire

Composer-Leon Talonarc

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A Ranger's Tale

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NE 240, Summer

"Woat?" Big Al hardly believed his pudgy ears as a familiar lad cut short their agreement.

"Yeah, you heard me, Big Ass Al,” sighed the bare chested youth, his exasperated visage standing tall, “I'm gonna take Lolyx because somebody else has offered me a better bargain."

"Wayt! Deel iz…"

"The deal is that I put her in your temporary care, you promise me to take care of her," Lars Alterfate severed off a shrill protest still in infancy, his mannerism akin to a robber slitting his victim's throat.

"Ya, ya, ya… doin’ so to ma best efferts…"

If Big Al thought any explanation would placate the young beast before his beady orbs, he got the guess grossly wrong. Blurring hand seizing his jaw, a concussive force pinned his rotund form against the whitewashed wall. For the very first time, Lolyx witnessed a Lars Alterfate truly unlike Lars Alterfate.

A monster which shouldn't belong here…

"Best of efforts? You? A man who would rather rape his own daughter than to keep true my demands?" snarled a fair face now twisted foul, "I warned you before not to let anyone touch her!"

"Bud ‘er tits stil’ intack!"

Big Al's whimpering riposte, however, doomed his fate. He could see it from Lars’ flaming orbs of red, a pair of rubies akin to an all-consuming pyre.

"Chastity! That's the key word, you fat bastard!"

Lolyx shuddered fearfully as one man's wrath became another man's gallows, condemnation rippling all over the establishment resonating in her ears. Big Al was indeed right in stating that she still remains untainted, yet a moment of genuine lapse might have cost him his life as death started knocking at the porch.

"Allow me to repeat myself: I told you not to touch her, I told you not to let anybody touch her," whispered Lars’ guttural threat.

"Mink fayl ‘is job! Go hund ‘im daown, plees dun keel me!" exclaimed Al, shrieking desperation falling to dear ears.

"A mink is merely an animal," Lars' lips rolled forth a statement soon to adopt a cryptic turn, "An animal awaiting its false dawn of freedom.”

“An’ da pelt?" came Al’s sudden whisper, his tone of blatant relief and subtle glee abruptly proven as uncharacteristic.

"Lars!" screamed Lolyx helplessly, a stranger wrapping his bulky arms around her waist.

Yesh! ‘Er titties ar ma titties!

Big Al delivered a deranged smile in response, a dagger seen embedded in Lars' abdomen. The tubby proprietor had finally won, Sinking Hole was proclaimed free. Big Al always lusted after Lolyx, ditto for his patrons. If not for this impudent boy imposing his power onto him, he would have reneged on the deal.

Then a dirge sung by silver and bones opened a path for its arrival. Mayhap incomprehensible by those truly normal, mayhap only Lolyx was the one privy to this forbidden knowledge, but the sight remained unmistakable.

Gleaming chains shooting out from every direction impaled all within the bar, be they innocent or guilty. Image of that one eyed giant tree aflame remained rooted somewhere in between without perception on its actual position. A being not mortal yet still humane assumed Lars Alterfate’s status, every single quarry skewered got hacked down before a mighty scythe wrought from blood and steel. Whatever greeted her swiftly after were a massive flock of crows and a vaguely familiar feeling of being borne away into an unknowing darkness.

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"So you're delivering her to my care this time round?" smiled Sarel Aphros while draining her glass of Marsiel, "Lars, I'm sad and disappointed at you. Why not do this in the first place?"

"You know the reason," replied a stoic Lars, his ruby orbs nowhere different from the Grand Damsel’s. The Demon Hunter had always been a jester, a prankster. If there should be anyone capable of halting him, such individuals no longer existed.

“The Sacred City of Napishtim will protect her well, Lars Ah’ni,” assured the white haired beauty, “Are you still looking for Aera?”

“I’d like to say everybody wants a piece of him, but that would be pushing basic logic,” smiled Lars wryly, “And besides, I’m someone much more prone in making enemies.”

“You got a point here,” came Sarel’s amused answer, “If only Ah’na is with us. Then…”

“Jin, it’s all over for everybody now. Memories are not meant to be.”

Sarel Aphros felt a stabbing pain twisting in her fragile heart, the impact akin to glass dashed into shards. Why did she not choose to die back then? She hoped for something without even knowing it, she ended up in another dead girl’s corpse. A total irony given her current host belonged to an innocent village maid raped and mutilated.

“No! It can’t be! I’ve killed you, bitch!”

“Then shall you allow this dead bitch to have you hanged, drawn, and quartered in public? I remember you do have a nice little family oblivious to your demented fantasy.”

She forgot the name of that murderous rapist, all she remembered was the look on a dead man’s face and shock from his living family. So much for being a family man, certain secrets were fated for doom. What would Hyo’Ah say if she’s still alive? Geun’Jin was called Nanaya because of her birth under the seventh night of the seventh month. Folks said such people were either meant to be mad or great, Sarel Aphros believed in the former. Thus, who should be the maddest of them all?

A corrupted entity like me or Chaos Incarnate himself?

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NE 240, Winter

The sandy blond lion laid prone on the hard frozen ground, frigid knives piercing his bones. He used to bug his uncle Parky to bring him out, Garyth Parkins merely stated the boy woul get himself sick. That was nine years ago, Teesside had always been a place of harsh winter and hottest summer. Guy Cody enjoyed summer, but he also yearned to play in winter.

“Look, Uncle Parky! Falling snow!”

“And what else is falling now as well?”

“Erm…”

“Listen to me, Guy. Winter is a nice thing to watch, but not a nice place to play. People die for a reason.”

“Huh?”

“Well, never mind if you don’t understand my words. You will once you grow up. Before that, enjoy playing. That’s all I can tell you.”

Guy Cody sorely missed those whom he left behind, not just only Garyth Parkins. Catterm Leen always devoted every drop of attention watching his back, the sandy blond yearning to tell his redhead friend that only dream. To be a hero and having Catterm as his companion, together both shall wander till the ends of this only known world. They would battle tyrants and their armies, slaying hideous Demons and monstrous beasts. Bountiful treasures belonging to them, exchanging vows with their most loved women shall be their final destination. The smallborne would envy Catterm Leen and Elys Ain as a couple knowing what they want, the elite would cast envious looks towards him wedding Alestrial Eliaden.

“You say you want to be a hero, I suggest you first go take a piss.”

That man’s words rang ever so true, that man was now training him. But not before he gave this Kalaran boy an absurd mission of sorts. Surviving one entire summer with absolutely nothing could easily made quitters out of all, but Guy knew he was never born this way. Trading his sleeveless collared shirt of white, he gained a tunic of teal reaching slightly above his ankles. He tried getting used to leather buckles replacing the buttons, his resultant adjustment wasting less than an hour. With black trousers exchanged for breeches of forest green, knee high leather boots were obtained at his leather shoes’ expense. The Kalaran lad was glad to rid himself of such garb though, for those were everything the Church’s bitch bestowed upon him. Gae Buidhe and Gae Dearg combined, however, was an opposite issue altogether, therefore Guy did not mind cursing himself as a knowing hypocrite.

“Those are some expensive clothes. Sure you wanna trade, laddie buck?”

Guy Cody remembered the kindly old man’s face. In order not to attract unwanted drama, he could not opt for any tailor offering better prices. Not that he lacked money, but rather he merely wanted convenience over extravagance. His years at Merseyside at last coming to use, he recalled constant survival drills enduring for days or even weeks. No one taught the cadets how to hunt, no one taught them how to defend. It’s been said that a lion’s greatest gift is to push its cub over the cliff, only a worthy prince can inherit the king father’s lot.

“Sorry there, Guy. I’m gonna bail and it ain’t ‘cuz of you. I passed the final hurdle, stooger gave me Grade S.”

“Grade S? That’s the…”

“Highest score possible, yeah I know. The Kalaran Dream is not for gays, but at least you’re certified straight.”

“But…”

“The best farewell to Lukas Brun is a belated farewell. You can’t prove idiots wrong without ‘fuck’ and ‘you’, you’re nowhere a cretin compared to ten Gaffers combined.”

“So are you done?” yawned his impromptu mentor, Lars Alterfate, “I’m really hungry and neither of us can cook shit just to save our lives.”

“You can’t cook shit,” muttered Guy, “This bloke is nuts.”

“And you’re a wild horse untamed,” smirked the partial blond, “Call this a compliment if you want to.”

Guy Cody managed to take up his stance once more, Lars refused to take him seriously much to the young lion’s chagrin. He could never dictate the power of Gae Buidhe, but at least activating Gae Dearg should be a viable last resort. Unfortunately, he had already gone through this train of thought roughly hour and half ago.

“Gae Dearg can only be activated under a strict condition.”

“And? I activated it once, golden baboon!”

“And you’re a sand buffoon if you think no one got a hand in this.”

“So who’s the mastermind?”

“Unidentified fighting object.”

“Fuck you. Don’t fuck around with me, okay?”

“No I’m not fucking you around. In this world, there are those akin to gods rather than far many more trying to be one.”

That was their first sparring conversation, his payment duly delivered in the form of sound beating. All because he relied on Gae Dearg awakening instead of knowing this to be a touch and go gamble, all because of Lars Alterfate being a better man.

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"Milady, preparations to retake control of Edwood are now in place. Permission to carry out the assassination?"

"No," whispered Sarel, "I've sent your fellow sister, Gail. News of her endeavour will come soon enough. What the rest, including you, need to do is this. Secure a contract with the Shadow Brotherhood and stay on standby alert. The Imperial Parliament won’t be that willing to approve any large scale military action, that’s why these snivelling Senators are begging Napishtim to help them out.”

“The deal brokered with those Elves is nearly done, Milady.”

“Good, but I don’t want any last minute changes. That's all, you're dismissed."

As Gail vanished into the wind, Sarel opened a wooden casket. Naked back turned against mahogany door, a gruesome female head detached stared back at her hate filled eyes. Empty sockets and a severed tongue completing the gory package, the Grand Damsel still remembered his written message now reduced to ashes in the hearth an hour before.

A pity this pretty toy soldier failed miserably. Surely Gail is a good name for the most entertaining whore. I hope to see what you can do about liberating Edwood, but forgive me when I say this county holds no value to me. Believe my words or not, you can choose taking it or leaving it.

~From yours truly, the Serpent of Histalonia

Note: Surely the day will come when you shall discover the joys of being a woman.

"Eliador de Lioncourt… are you so desperate to goad me?" smiled Sarel deviously, a pattern of vengeance apparently shown, "I doubt Sarel Aphros will be Histalonia’s perfect whore, do not underestimate the meaning of ‘Nanaya’. This damsel never in distress will not forget your timely advice."

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Crag Isles, a cluster of islands rich in stone and ore, home to the Dwarves. Like their hardy physique, this was a place where the strong mastered their fate while the weak became their slaves. Their fortresses worked from stone and steel, their longships made from their local castwood. Short in stature, stunty was meant as an insulting slur. Yet, with their Shieldmass lined at the front and Pike Bulls behind, blaring war horns and majestic ballistae sowed fear in their quarries’ hearts. They were a tactical race, a seafaring race. No coastal cities could resist them, no coastal towns left unturned. That was until Teutonia under High Lord Gawain I half a century ago annexed their homeland and renamed it Crag Isles, a place full of infertile soil and rocky high ground. As for its original name, every detail was consigned to shadowy depths.

"What a sincere show of honour, Homm'Nua," sneered a Dwarf strong in girth, his even tone hiding a quick temper, "Do you not heed the reputation of Homm'Eot?"

"As warriors unequalled and rapers ten times more?” smiled a fair blond Elf wryly, “Why, yes I do, O 'mighty Thane unequalled ten time over."

"Do not take words of sarcasm for praise, cur fallen from Nuada's seed!"

Eliador de Lioncourt kept his smile, Jarl Ironstone was a fool. Holding no love for his racial kin, no affection was reserved for others as well. Such was one who manipulates and cannot be manipulated. Pulling a fast one over the Kalaran Empire, none could discern the youthful Elf’s reason for doing so. Histalonia had always maintained a neutral political stance, its many eyes watching everything and doing nothing. Coastal raids were frequent, but never so daring as to declare open invasion. The Empire wanted trade, the Kingdom desiring gunpowder and its Goblins’ research. Slarvea got nothing to offer bar its finest maids, the only aid offered in return was equal rights in trade. Indeed they said serpents were always the most devious amongst every bird and beast, the Serpent of Histalonia being the greatest of them all.

Blanking out his mind, the majestic Dwarf’s verbal wrath degenerated into nary but childish tantrum thrown. Finally with Jarl Ironstone getting tired of his own incensed rant, Eliador de Lioncourt made the next move, his pocket reached inside and whipping out…

A deck of playing cards much to his counterpart’s ire and his mocking rejoice.

"Only the truly worthy can cross wits and strategy with yours truly,” whispered the fair Elf smugly, cards oft used in any gamble of life and death shuffled and dealt, “As for the rest, it's either my blade alone or my law altogether."

Eliador liked what he’s seeing currently, his speech continuing its haunting voyage, "I don't care much for your straw men. Why not we deal a game of poker? Winner takes all, the loser left with none. Not even your very own life..."

Thane Jarl of Seat Ironstone froze in his seat. A repute of untold raiding was no inferior to riches and maidens waiting for usage, this slippery snake examining his fingernails now surely confirmed as an exception. It wasn’t that simple as a death duel played, this was a gamble pitting luck against death.

"Whether there's any hidden meaning won't matter a single bit, both before and after the victor is announced," grinned Eliador, his pearly white teeth hauntingly akin to daggers wrought from alabaster, "I do not remember the Crag Isles being a place founded by harmonious gods, that priceless look of yours has finally betrayed you. Any more questions?"

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"What do you mean by this, knave?"

"You heard me, O 'mighty Thane Oarl, exiled as Seat Ironstone’s firstborn son," smiled Eliador, "Your twin usurped your father's seat by defiling your rightful share of spoils decades ago, a pity no adviser will ever beseech brother and brother to share a common woman."

"And Jarl… he's currently…"

"Alive, kicking, and left cursing at the chains binding him. At least this was the case when I last left his fort. I did notice quite a few comely maids with comely curves waiting to be used though,” no remorse was evident in the Elf, no emotions were present in his heart, “A real shame that this one Elf here is swinging towards the mistaken end."

"My brother will never be bettered by any third rated charlatan with a sixth rated taste," sighed Oarl Ironstone, a wicked arc drawing up a telling smile, "Name your price, Serpent."

"Nothing in return, O' mighty Thane," replied Eliador, Elven grin fading away to naught, "I bought his men and fleet, whatever without life has fulfilled my demand admirably. I’m ashamed to say otherwise for the crew, however."

"What a shame then, to hear word verifying my own wrongful kinsmen rightfully flayed and decapitated," Oarl enjoyed where this conversation is going, his grizzled beard stroked slowly, "Permission requested to hand over my brother of blood and in name?"

"Feel free to do so, please,” quipped Eliador with shoulders shrugged and both arms out wide, “This entire deal has been solely between Histalonia and Crag Isles anyway."

As he got up from his stool of crafted quartz, Oarl shot Eliador with a question spoiling his placid mood.

"Hey, Serpent! I hear you gotten a fine girl. Cinha? They say Cinha girls are extremely proficient in their only trade!"

"And fortunately for you, I do not intend to share her with anyone else,” replied Eliador slowly, his deliberate stare freezing Oarl Ironstone’s warrior blood, “You must now start learning how to negotiate, for every man has his own pride and my pride will always demand that highest price."

Oarl shook his head, one half amused and the other half wary. This is somebody no one should be dealing with unless insane, he reminded himself.

The banker will always win and Eliador de Lioncourt will always be the banker.

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Background notes

Castwood is the only hardwood tree native to Crag Isles. Extremely prized throughout The Known World, castwood trade is rumoured to be lucrative business between the Dwarves and Cinha merchants in the Furthest East.

Shieldmass is the core defensive force of the Dwarves. Used either as tactical cover in raids or sheer defensive wall, they are the most versatile troops The Known World may have ever seen.

Pike Bulls are the Dwarves’ cavalry arm much feared for their mounts’ bellowing cries. The riders are lightly armoured with horned plated helms, their mounts wear heavy barding. Armed with pikes and unstoppable momentum, they are aptly called The Horned Juggernauts.

Homm’Nua is the formal name Elves use for themselves. However, outside races are not allowed to call them that.

Homm’Eot is the formal name for Dwarves. Like their Elven counterparts, this is a term outsider races cannot use where they themselves are concerned.
Note: Homm'Eot is my invention, Eoten is not. Reiteration just for self-lulz.

Nuada is the Elves’ progenitor, hence Homm’Nua being named in his honour.
Note: Nuada has nothing to do with Hellboy. Rather, it's this bloke.

Napishtim is the Seat of the Quintet Church upon where its land is considered wholly independent. In fact, it's situated at the intersection between the Kalaran Empire, Kingdom of Teutonia, and the Republic of Slarvea.
Note: Inspired by the name of Gilgamesh's ancestor within the Epic of Gilgamesh, where he's basically the parallel to Noah of the Bible since the relevant text did reveal the presence of a great flood submerging the entire world. Okay, his full name is not Napishtim. Rather he's officially named Uta-Napishtim the Remote.

Final Conclusion: See? I'm such a geek with no life.

P.S: I need a new computer b/c my mom’s laptop got a bit wonky. Marvel Avengers Alliance fight got assed halfway due to this, no air con to cope with hazy Smogaporean heat as well. Doubt I can get a rich gf. :P

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