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.

Monday, 3 June 2013

This Day And Never Again

"They say you will only live once. Do not believe them, for all will only die once and forever."
~Ziron, Lord of the Lancers


A Ranger’s Tale


"Is this indeed out of the blue or mayhap workings of past knowingly shrouded?"

Developing a habit of asking cryptic questions, he would never change. Nature reinforced by nurture was always the strongest proof of self-belief, nurture birthed from nature being every mortal’s Truth. There would be always a slumbering beast in every mortal born, its name only revealed upon being stirred. The manner of animal awakened hinging heavily on how its vessel led his life, persona was the only king. The First Apostle had seen beasts staying alive and many more people dead, his sheathed Elven Sabre resting against the shoulder.

“No one can truly fish unless somebody else taught him how to. Aeranath, do you not know that without your intervention ten years back, I will not be able to awake this lion you're fighting now?”

Smiling to himself, Aor knew the other two were not around to disturb his solitary peace. One was little girl, the other an individual forced to bend. Niflheim was Ziron’s gift, Sarel Aphros having the power of Muspelheim. There was a lake gazing back at Aor’s azure stare, Emain Ablach situated at the centre of Avalon. Hence, the First True Apostle murmuring with apathy those very words.

“They say a person is born a certain way, ‘tis in this lake I see every person’s fate.”


Screams of pain tore through Histalonia’s oblivious streets as an olive skinned ruffian stumbled backwards. The victim branded by fiery pain searing his crotch, a lone waiting boy looked on impassively. Covering her mouth in horror, this was Lolyx struggling against a reality dark and harsh. Her departed saviour’s words ringing true, she finally recognised Lars not to be a fibber.

Histalonia may be just a group of isles rich in trade plus a great deal in naval strength, but there's a price to everything and no one has ever stepped on a single local toe including said locals themselves.

"So what's your name? Tim? Sounds retarded to me," shrugged the Sinking Hole's employee garbed in muted grey, a hand placed on another dagger’s ornate hilt, "Get the fuck out. I'm sick and tired of cleaning up every wanker claiming to be a stud. I hope someone can preserve your horse cock, but not me though."

Mink was merely a child age twelve winters past, his matted brown locks and broken nose lending weight to an affliction of bad teeth. Repulsive looks a stark contrast to sinewy figure gracefully lithe, this was a lynx well prepared for an assault. A dagger flung unerringly true, Big Tim was no longer big in between the legs. Breeches wet not with yellow urine but crimson blood, none batted an eyelid towards an everyday portrait most gruesome.

However, that was not the same for Big Time’s significantly smaller cronies. Shrinking back fearfully, everything now revolved around three men versus a boy, three men against five throwing knives kept. Word had it that Mink scored his first kill even before ten, rumour also stated Mink scoring with his first woman as a birthday gift upon hitting eleven. Never mind if they say whore was only twelve, snickered the revolting boy, irony of given statement not lost onto him.

"I can forgive any 'hoe in exchangin' fer’ three days free," sighed a balding fat man dressed in modest fineries, "Sadly, yer got flat tits. Why nut’ jus ‘bey to ma'boy?"

Mink merely scratched his lice infested head, emerald eyes piercing viciously at the lucky survivors. Oblivious to his owner, he clucked his tongue and flicked a dead louse to the nearest patron's direction much to her disgust. Equally infamous as an unforgiving task master, nobody questioned Big Al’s boasting claim as a whore pleaser within Throat Street. Yet, ruthless methods and threats of forceful ploughing were never a basis of fear, for no one cared about Al. It was Mink they all feared so much, a little boy tiny and ferocious like a wild marten.

"Two choices for you all," gestured Mink, his crooked leer leading to what is at hand, "Either get sold for cheap as man whores like you lot really are or someone can just throw this pathetic wanker into the nearest gutter. I'm pretty sure the rats are bloody hungry now since the last time I saw a half-eaten head was two days ago. Pity the poor girl though."

Lolyx gagged at his callous words, knowledge that escape was never an option glaring at her. For reasons incomprehensible however, Big Al had not laid a touch on her breasts. That would have marked her as a sex toy caged for good. Apparently, Lars didn't like entertaining that notion. The tanned Cinha could only see things this way. Lars said he had no friends shagging each other in this fiendish pit, his words shouldn’t be doubted. Yet, such a conclusion only served to pave a way for a more problematic worry.

Can I still remain sane for long?

Lolyx tried suppressing another hyperventilating bout on the cards, a show of weakness would be a show of willingness. Lolyx was not prepared to throw in the fight because for one single day spent believing in Lars Alterfate, she could well afford believing in fairy tales lasting two days more. If I'm able to conquer this kind of ailments before, surely I can do so again, the pretty lass breathed profusely to herself. Then it all happened abruptly like beast pouncing on her back from shadows all around, a vision assailed her senses as defeat against encroaching darkness was decreed.

A giant tree set ablaze stood enrooted within a boundless empty sphere, Lars' back was turned against her. She saw not his beautiful pair of rubies, but only a graveyard of withered bones and a baleful eye living in the trunk of that most terrible tree.


Ceres looked at the hulking youth leaning asleep against a dead oaken trunk. It was only dusk and the fire still burning, yet it was not the guarded slumbering. She been to a forest, this was a beautiful sight indeed. Stories of haunting forests being an object sung by minstrels, she found nothing mystical about this place.

Arondight says he is taking me to Teutonia. Will it be true that these barbarians do respect women and their honour?

Her soft brown eyes moistened up, scars of being raped remaining fresh. She could not understand why her father wanted to do this, no one could ever imagine a man having sex with his own flesh and blood. First, it’s Taneve Ivyim, then his friends and buddies. After that, she was forced to serve many faceless men. Her friends deserted her, every boy vowing to be one had now conquered her, broken her.

And it was then where she saw him stalking behind like a lion. A rugged lad heavily built with his right fist armed with gauntlet made of blackest steel. Grey leather cuirass and a single shoulder guard made her swoon, his short sleeved brown undershirt and black pants made her curious. His worn leather boots crushed Taneve Ivyim’s head, his black gauntlet obliterating her mother’s face. This was a visage dark and handsome, a living tower swirling with volatile aura. Then he proceeded to slaughter everyone he could find in her humble village.

Ceres was a name given by her mother, their entire family mocked and ridiculed as Defects. She tried explaining to others that Ryena Ivyim was no Defect, that she was a legal citizen. Taneve Ivyim, on the other hand, was truly one as they all pointed out gleefully. Her mother was a Kalaran, her father was a Slarvean forced from his tent. A bastard girl, they called her. And Ryena chose to keep silent until she died a horrendous death.

“Ceres? This is your name, Ceres?”

“Erm… yeah, that’s my name. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. Do you have anywhere to go?”

“No. You killed everybody and dismantled everything, you know.”

“Fine. Allow me to be your knight then, Ceres. Arondight, at your beck and call.”

Ceres remembered songs extolling noble warriors defending their lady lovers, songs brining tears to her eyes whenever the romance turned out tragic. No one complimented her, everyone called her a whore. But Arondight denied their mockery with bloody vengeance wreaked, he said she looked beautiful because of her eyes, lips and face. Never stating a word on her attractive figure, this was indeed a mad knight armed with a sane man’s chivalry.

“Ceres, the colour of your hair… that auburn hue… you remind me of someone else bearing your name…”


She witnessed two children chasing dragonflies around the park, one a boy and the other a girl. The dark haired boy tripped face first into a pristine fountain, his blond playmate giggling at his lacking luck. Laughter chiming like bells of gold, silver and most precious of gems, the boy hollered a few choicest words as clear unsullied water was splashed onto her joyful face. Their innocent display abruptly ceased to exist, an angry park attendant shooed the pair away while muttering darkly about this being a place for people blessed with better standing.

"What a picture of naivety. Alas, children can never remain children."

Alestrial Eliaden never diverted a single glance towards that other girl around her age, both maidens acknowledging each other’s presence seated on the same granite bench. A knowing smile drawn across her peachy lips, the Cinha maid whispered her answer.

"All will always have a never dying child locked away somewhere. That's why we are mortal."

"And inexorably flawed and frail," came the cynical reply.

Alestrial stayed silent for a few minutes, logic behind her counterpart's words was understood all too well. Then sprang forth a verbal sparring between two strangers as a False Noble soon-never-to-be launched her pre-emptive strike.

"Only children have the right to dream."

"Only children make mistakes."

"Life is all about making mistakes."

"And people will never learn."

"Not every one of us though."

"But most of us."

"That’s why everyone has the right to protect with a noble heart."

As if conceding defeat, the white haired lass quietened down. Wearing an innocuous smile, her final retaliation concluded their duel.

"If truthfully that's the case, then why do people still die without even a trifling cause? People kill because they possess murderous hands, coldest blood and most lifeless steel."

Alestrial struggled to find an answer despite awareness towards a permanent defeat concluded. Bearing arms was legal for mercenaries, most were not deemed upright individuals. They loved their contract and money, they loved only harlots and glory. Before she could congratulate the deserving winner, her sparring partner kissed her fully on the lips, a farewell gift shocking the Cinha lady to her very core. She felt warmth from foreign hands caressing her blushing cheeks, she was helpless before a stranger’s tongue slipping inside unopposed.

Flashes of gold, red, and blue merged with mortality, fatality, and answers found. A myriad of beasts tearing each other apart was conceived hence as Alestrial Eliaden managed to retain her consciousness, yet her mind could not stay coherent.


Crimson fury and streaks of lightning blue soon resumed their final waltz, Fragarach’s storm nullified by Gae Dearg’s blade. Inhumane stamina akin to a wolf running endlessly being Aeranath's only shield, staying put would more than certain spell a total doom. Indeed everything affordable to him was moving around trying to evade every hit.

Killing any Magic for good just like how Fate will off every shit. Aor, I’m gonna off you one fine day, fucking bastard.

Guy Cody soldiered on relentlessly, his indomitable will bending its knee to nobody alive. He was now a Lancer, mastery of pole weapons ensuring the Fencer kept at bay. He knew Aeranath’s strength and weakness now, his teleporting tricks affirming the Kalaran blond’s greatest presumption.

This is something that will wear you down. Bastard got fucked.

Aeranath could no longer think coherently, the lone wolf finally forced between a river deep and an adversary's want. Lightning released branding a whole new level of anguished depth in his soul, the True Apostle was attempting something beyond insanity. Ziron taught him before the dangers behind breaking a Grail, this was a technical term rather than literal.

One can only do this much in forcing the most out of his Grail. Fragarach is especially risky because you’ll need to break it in order to unleash actual lightning.

Not every ranged attack was neutralised, Guy Cody still managed to intercept every thrust and slash trying to close in. Gae Dearg lashing about like an omnipotent tide, Gae Buidhe’s effect still telling on the Ranger’s side. A peerless show where the line separating defence from offence now easily blurred, one could be forgiven in witnessing strokes unpredictable like a treacherous stream. Surely losing every inch of ground to thrusts and slashes equally deadly, Aeranth would never give up the ghost.

My life, my rules, fuck the rest.

Then Aeranath faltered before a flickering image greeting him, his azure orbs widening like someone devoured by death.

I don’t know you, kind sir. Papa and Mama tell me not to talk with strangers. But I know you’re the kindest stranger I’ve ever seen.


Guy Cody never relented in his attack, heavy breathing soon becoming a rhythm of steady song. His inner lion roaring a battle horn, his heart was now tempered with fire and steel.

A thrust found its way through increasing gaps, delay in his sworn enemy's death only merited by continuous teleportation. Dealing a wound capable of felling even the most resilient entity, Guy Cody maintained the pressure. He chose not to up the ante, for a sudden spike in aggression could spell immediate death. He was dealing with a Fencer, one able to reverse any fight via simple footwork and deceptively fluid swordplay.

Not to mention that warping shit as well…

Aeranath tried holding his ground to no avail, the wound afflicted by Gae Buidhe being the sole reason why. He would have to force his own hand, he would have to either activate Fragarach or drop down dead. A Ranger knew when his back was to be cornered and Aeranath could sense it close. Too close for comfort. However, enforcing his inner world as "the absolute answer to all” had never entered his mind, he preferred dying than to pull off this anomaly.

With his opponent finally backed into a corner, Guy's hope in destroying that avatar of torture abruptly crumbled to ashes and dust. A thunderous flash streaking into his chest, the young Lancer was thrown six feet away. Gifted a momentary lease of life destined to be so much more, Aeranath wasted a few seconds to regain his composure. He saw the young lion before him surviving the hit, a hole was burnt at the centre of his sleeveless shirt.

And nothing else apart from his chest getting singed. Guess even the gods will end up making mistakes killing themselves.

Invigorated mentally and physically, the wolf promptly staged his reprisal. Aeranath was no imbecile, he knew who was behind this sudden balm of restoration. And he was not about to thank that person even if it meant getting himself ass raped.

Despite his rugged exterior as a Ranger, the True Apostle's technique was beguilingly refined. Evasion, blocking and parrying formed a defensive trinity, feints interlinking with actual attacks structuring a mix of pressure and deception. A sniping strike more than suffice in cutting dead any chances of recovery, a flurry of thrusts, slashes and pommel hits followed suit. Every factor playing a part in balancing the equilibrium once again, tables were finally turned.

However, Guy still retained a tactical advantage in defence just like how Aeranath is now starting to control the offensive. There’s only this much that even a Lancer can do, Aeranath reminded himself. Yet, what should be the choice taken once victory declared? Would it be death by mercy or showing unwanted mercy?

Mercy towards your enemies will only bring cruelty to yourself, Aeranath. If you can’t survive, you cannot accomplish a thing.

Those were his father's last words bestowed, he got himself severely beaten by Rowein of the Steel before he departed to who-knows-where. Fatherly advice should be more than sufficient to strengthen his resolve, his will forged in a lifetime of crucible.

It should be this way even though I never got a shit from my old man.

Detecting an unexpected gap, the young Kalaran believed this was to be his only throw of die. If he chomped at an apparent feint, his head would be off. But if this was an actual opening…

A thrust penetrating the frigid air, the Ranger blinked away to his back. One slash was enough to end this match, Guy Cody remained unmoving. Crimson bolt gripped and launched against a dashing form, scarlet blood splashed out like roses red in fullest bloom.


There could be only one victor and one loser, one left standing and one left for dead.

Where will I go?

Guy did not desire this question to be entertained. The Lancer fought bravely, the lion was declared victorious. Sapphire orbs staring into dead azure eyes robbed of clarity which Alestrial had always claimed to be there, the sandy blond betrayed an emotionless grin. The vanquished dead’s snowy hair remaining pure as ever, Guy Cody tried searching his numbing heart for any consolation. Consolation indicating that he was never in the wrong all the while, consolation dictating a monster slain rather than killing someone nowhere different. Laughably, no answer was given, the lost lad openly deriding himself like a majestic beast bereft of pride.

"You can never find your answer this way. Truly a man, yet still a boy…"

Barely audible judgment issued behind his back, a damning statement was fulfilled by silver chains crowned with sharpest blades. Blinding streak and a searing pain, Guy Cody could only surrender himself to whatever awaiting him on the other side...

You remind me of Lol, boy…


Background notes:

Well, none for now. It seems that being a self-perfectionist in your chosen art/passion do have a major drawback. Mr Guoxiang, you’re right in saying I can’t manage my time even just to save my life. I suddenly realised I need a girlfriend to rein me in, this is just a self-deprecating statement. So yes, all you single and desirable young things can breathe easy now.

Oh, and one more thing before I sign off: I realised Nasu Kinoko himself won’t be amused by how I did that Gae Buihe/Gae Dearg job. Now off to fantasise my own Aera X Sensei fanwankery. That plus I intend martens in The Known World to be extremely rabid. Mink is an actual animal species and if you know your wildlife science, you’ll get the genetic link.

P.S: 4-3-3 England? Hodgson must be laughing like siao alrdy. O.o