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, 30 September 2013

Pride of Mortal Men

"The sword is meant to kill, not to love. Spear and lance are meant to make war, not peace. Shield is always worn by soldiers, armour is never for the helpless folk."
~Brynn Steele


A Ranger's Tale


“Moggray, why do you look so sad?”

I stare at the foolish girl who has yet to understand the impending doom. Quite decent looking, but I’ve seen better. This is a daughter belonging to Leric Rahm, an enemy of our Empire. As the cold autumn wind starts assailing the silent park, I’m reminded of what a soldier should do. Lying, cheating, and stealing just to obtain one hard earned victory, that’s the greatest bullshit ever.

“War is upon us, Yriss. Run away swiftly as you can, for bloodshed knows no tomorrow.”

“Huh? Moggray, you’re speaking funny!”

Oh fuck, there comes the signal for war. A screaming hawk soaring midair with talons impaling a dead hare… Moggray Tonn, you’re gonna die alone and without a coin, I’m sure of this.


The hardened veteran from Teesside sat up from his bed, orbs of greying steel taking a glimpse or two at bustling life outside below. He had believed the thrice damned war was already over nineteen winters ago, one man’s wish could never change the world. He remembered the horrors brought forth by war, blood spilt and helpless screams taunting his inner world.

Hey, Moggie! Yar late! No bitches left for ye, sorry to break it to ya!

With a roar shaking the surrounding peaceful calm, the Northern Lion threw a nearby vase out from the window pane. Spiteful bitterness cursing those causing Yriss Rahm her tragic fate, Moggray Tonn’s sole enemy became himself. He loathed the fact that he’s now lodging in a brothel, he detested seeing girls around Yriss’ age selling themselves. All for the sake of what, the jaded lion questioned his own reflection within a bronze mirror tall and mocking.

“You and my love have arms and honour, the girls and I only have tits and nothing else.”

“If you got a problem with that, it means you have a problem with reality,” grumbled Moggray darkly, Gemma’s words last night not lost on him. Having nary of a problem with that old hen, the ex-Gaffer’s struggle was a fire burning against his ilk. Or was it a fire incinerating himself instead?

Sorry, boss. I tried, but Yriss… I’m afraid she’s already...

An aging soul baptised by a deluge of self-derision, this was one of Southgate’s very few sombre moments. Moggray understood his second only too well, that Southgate Garatt was extremely easy to read even by a stranger’s standard. Frustration bringing trouble till no end, Moggray decided to take a bite downstairs. But not before a thoughtful jape surely sardonic.

Hopefully with no tits bared…


Morning was a blanket of rain, stoves of stone made merry meal after meal. So long empty stomachs exist, breakfast will not be far away. Teesside always had to endure cold and rain, its folks forced to learn the meaning of strength. For Southgate Garatt, a growling stomach means a happy stomach…

“You’re eating like some professional glutton, Southgate love. Some things never change,” sighed Gemma wistfully, “Some people to be exact.”

“Can you blame me for your cooking skills?” complimented the stocky brunette, his mouth still partially filled, “You’re especially good with bacon and eggs. Which is what I’m eating now.”

“Fuck it, Southgate,” Gemma threw her arms up in resignation, “Since when should I love some common swine incapable of basic manners? Go wash your own dishes after you’re done. I’m off to check on Joyce.”

As Gemma walked off to a corner, Southgate discovered how much Pleasure Bode remained the same since that fateful split.

Pleasure Bode. There, I’ve named it. And please don’t ask me when I’ll demand payment. Take it as some deal too good to pass up.

“Fuck you, Parns,” snorted Southgate in good humour, “Whatever happens to Teesside’s iconic smuggler all those years back?”


“I’m not lying!” protested a young girl pretty and with raven hair reaching down her back, “His cock is that big!”

“Who has a big cock? I’m interested to know,” chimed a voice all too familiar, “Care to enlighten this old hen here?”

As the girls shuffled out nervously, young Joyce was left to her own devices. Giggling sheepishly, the girl of sixteen winters displayed a jangle of nerves. Gemma was always a kind matron to everyone, even Joyce’s occasional escapades failed to faze her. This time round, however, she was talking about some free loader. And Gemma normally wouldn’t entertain unwanted bums.

“Ah… it hurts, old hen!” exclaimed Joyce, a painful wince indicating the force Gemma used to twist her ear.

“Does it hurt? Good.”

Her pain promptly relieved, Joyce could only rub gently her red sore ear. Gemma opted to look on with arms folded, her glances flirting with the main square’s mundane surroundings. Everything was simply arranged, there were no expensive flowers cultivated or exotic ferns dangled around. Only plain vases made from clay and cheap budding flowers lined a set of wooden terraces, the one other prominent sight being a stone pavilion worn out by merciless years.

“I’m not talking about those two geezers,” whined the lass, “I’m talking about Ithi’s love!”

“Ithi? What has she done this time round?” Gemma raised an eyebrow upon voicing her concern, “Did anyone commit some untoward act? I swear that girl can be gullible at times.”

“Most of the time,” corrected Joyce, Gemma reciprocating her favour with a glower hard as granite.

“I don’t like tales being told, so spit it out, little girl.”

“Well,” Joyce began blushing fiercely, her index fingers fidgeting with each other, “It’s just an accident. I swear I didn’t peep at Ithi and that man conducting business for free.”

“Good then,” nodded the old hen.

“Huh? You mean…”

“I’m not fine with horny men taking advantage of Ithi,” Gemma cut off whatever statement Joyce intend to make, a casual severing gesture more than suffice to send home her point, “If it’s other men, I would snip off their berries and hang them on an apple tree. Not that young lion though.”

“You mean Guy?” gushed a puppy eyed Joyce, “I mean…”

“…he’s taken, Joyce. Even Jenn knows that.”

“But Jenn is our watchdog, not one of us!”

“A bitch accustomed to enjoying her heat. I know that sounds insulting, so do you mind checking when her next litter is due?”

“I hate you!”

Gemma chuckled mirthfully, the sight of Joyce sticking out her tongue filling her with plentiful mirth. Joyce was her own daughter, which mother would dare say she doesn’t understand what’s going on?

“Joyce, I know you like Guy Cody, I also know you want his cock.”


With noon creeping near, the sun was finally out. From late morn till early dusk, this was to be the only constant period where folks are able to enjoy sunshine. Ale both pale and dark flowed freely, boisterous merry making resounded with impunity.

‘Wait, so you fucked her?” gasped Biggan, a green grubby hand slapping a serving wench’s shapely butt.

“Stop that,” snapped an irate Guy, his hand tightening its grip on a half full tankard, “I know you have a big gun, but no point showing off your horny glory.”

“Erm, did I?” asked the annoying Goblin, an innocent façade barely disguised.

“No point letting others beholding your gun,” hollered a lazy drawl, “As somebody understanding bitches, I can assure you nothing good comes out of this.”

Her arrogant swagger unmistakably true, the one eyed Half Elf pulled a wooden stool away from some unsuspecting patron. Paying little interest to the resultant guffaws and a cursing woman forcibly held back, Guy’s object of displeasure made herself at ease.

“Why such a dirty look?” smirked the impudent redhead, “I prefer my boys to be tame.”

“Because you delayed our voyage by two cycles!” snarled a lion with patience frayed, “Listen, bitch…”

“No more of this nonsense,” licking her lips flagrantly, the voluptuous Half Elf knew how to play her game, “Or I’ll fuck you thrice tonight. Is that your threat? You make me want to fuck a lion.”

“Hate to break this to you, big tits Lara, but you’re lucky that pretty ass girl ain’t snooping around,” grinned Biggan as he joined in the fracas, “Guy’s a gentleman without manners.”

“Bah!” scoffed Lara, “That royal good girl is waiting to be bad and we both know how hard our bravest lion gets whenever his Lady Karen shows her ass.”

If there was any reaction from the sandy blond apart from fiery loins stirring, he merely suppressed it with a guttural growl. He remembered Aeranath, he recalled how that thrice damned Ranger whistled suggestively behind Karen. Lastly, he recounted those damning words.

Is it a sin to appreciate a fine piece of ass? I’m a man, same goes for you. Unless you’re gay, there has to be a positive response somewhere.

“Enough of your bullshit!” snapped the Kalaran youth, a sheer force of will being the only factor restraining his pulsating heart, “When can we start the sails? Answer me or begone!”

Begone to your bed naked and with my ripe tits hanging? Sounds tempting to me.

Gifting a sardonic smile upon such daring thought, Lara von Dirkwind chose to hold her tongue. Never withholding secrets concerning her sexuality, the only truth overshadowing her greatest infamy was an unrivalled skill in knife fighting. This was a confident pirate whose tight fitting garb of crimson corset and maroon pants complimented a fanciful pair of high heeled boots. Despite her prominent hourglass shape, many a foe had found his grave leagues under the sea. So much for an Half Elf content to play the harlot unless decided to act otherwise.

“Give me one more cycle,” winked Lara’s good eye, “Or rather less than one.”

With an assured posture, Lara spun gracefully away from her seat. If there was any response towards her swaying rear, only Biggan’s lustful sigh made his intent known. As for Guy, he did not like a single bit on what he’s getting. She claimed to be a pirate, a seafaring brigand. Yet, the sandy blond lad sensed something amiss. As if not only seafaring folks are capable of such profession, mused the lion, sapphire orbs never leaving his target.

Aubrun tresses caressing her bare smooth back strangely resembling Alestrial, a crimson bandage exposing an eye of clearest blue mocked Guy without fail. This was exactly what drives Guy Cody up against the wall, a seductress reminding him of his only love and only adversary. Searing pain then shot cruel barbs into his mind, memories of him branded deeply in his soul.

When you’ve lived long enough with something in hand, that’s where you realise life is all about laughing at whoever living it out. Good luck and good riddance, little boy.


“Lord uncle, the man you’re looking for is here,” bowed a reverent Jase Steele, “Thus I have fulfilled my duty, herein I now…”

“No, stay here,” answered an impassive Knight Lord, “I, Louthes Eliaden, bind you to.”

“As you wish, lord uncle.”

As heavy footsteps resounded inside his head, Louthes Eliaden did not even take a glance behind. He knew who his visitor is, certain things never change. A young nobleman and an equally young noble lady, separating the two stood a smallborne youth. That was more than two decades ago, yet age had failed to dull a Vanir’s edge. Emma should deserve better, noted the patriarch of House Eliaden in self-mockery.

“Moggray, when was the last time we met?” smiled Louthes, his customary hard look softening for a brief minute. If the veteran soldier felt any emotions welling up, he chose not to show. Folding his arms and seating himself without invitation, such casual attitude had Jase Steele and Konnor Ripels bristling in anger.

“Three years ago, it seems,” replied the Northern Lion nonchalantly, “By the way, nice room.”

“You find it nice?” smiled Louthes before Moggray’s scowl, “It’s just a simply furnished room in a bustling inn.”

Emma would love that, she’s one for simplistic beauty.

Realising the futility behind reminiscing, Louthes exiled his wistful thought. As a glass of Bordeu was poured out, Moggray proceeded to pour his own drink. A glass of plain water. If there was anything holding Jase and Konnor back, it would be their liege’s absolute command that no arms must be drawn, no matter the circumstances. Silence accompanied the duo sipping their drink, then came serious matters at hand.

“Moggray, I don’t like to beat around the bush, so here’s my deal. Tell me where the Ranger is, you know who I’m talking about.”

“Ranger?” scoffed the scarred man, “There’s no Ranger here, have you gone senile?”


“…don’t test my patience,” smirked Moggray abruptly, his face assuming a dark glower afterwards, “I’m also hunting for that son of a bitch. It’s either you believe my word or you can call me a swindler.”

“So he really did sneak away without notice,” mused the Knight Lord, a strong hand rubbing his chin, “What about Karen Tenias then?”

“Granad’s little girl is hidden somewhere unknown. I wish you good riddance in finding her.”

“You know what your decision constitute to? Moggray, I know…”

“…Granad’s character. Don’t we all?” scoffed Moggray with a shrug.

“Lord uncle, Lady…”

“Lady Karen is in safe hands, little boy,” wagged Moggray’s index finger, “By the way, you got airs of a warrior.”

“My father is Brynn Steele, does that ring a bell?” boasted Jase.

“Brynn Steele, hero of the masses, a butcher to the rest,” sighed the middle aged soldier, a hand ruffling his own shoulder length hair, “Sorry to break this to you, lad.”

“Please don’t be,” said the ginger lad proudly, his chin raised up, “So long as…”

Before Jase Steele could finish his sentence, Moggray roared like a wounded lion. A strong hand seizing the boy’s throat in a reverse grip, the other smashed him hard onto the cold wooden floor. For the first time in his life, Jase was utterly shaken. Not just physically, but mentally as well.

His face… ‘tis of a lion, not a man.

As he finished those words in his mind, the ginger lad felt suffocating pressure suddenly eased off. Getting up on his feet while coughing, Jase could not muster a sliver of courage to face his worst adversary. This was a lion walking amongst men, a beast grievously wounded. Old soldiers never die, such was Brynn’s teaching to his men.

“Enough!” a commanding shout reverberating throughout the room, order was swiftly restored. Louthes might already be a retired military man, but fires of war still burned brightly in his eyes.

“So I take it that our talk has finished, no?” replied Moggray, his muscular back facing Louthes, “Sorry for facing my ass towards you.”

“Moggie!” hollered a familiar voice with a stranger’s tone, a heartbreaking whisper following through, “I guess this is the last time I’ll call you that. Emma was right in choosing you.”

“And I was right in letting you have her,” sighed a weary Moggray Tonn as he turned back for the one last time, “Even though I know shit was anything, but happy. And one more thing before I go.”

“Do speak then, my comrade,” Louthes detested the final word, his ire directed against nobody bar himself.

“Take care of Brynn’s little boy. It’s one thing to have a ruthless father, quite another to understand why.”


“Three more days and your comrade will recover in a jiffy,” quipped the Poulter, “Don’t know whether I should call this good news though.”

“Thank you very much, good Poulter,” bowed Hye’Na, “Allow this humble servant girl to show you out.”

As the Cinha girl attended to her duty, Ross released a wistful sigh. Yeovil, on the other hand, betrayed no emotions. Less than a week had passed, yet everything seemed so different now. Twong would report back verily soon, Yeovil should be happy in seeing his old plaything return. Ross would laugh over Yeovil’s barbs and Twong frothing in anger, the only one amiss was…

“Don’t worry, Ross,” assured the portly man, “Young Mistress is a nice girl. I used to say nice guys finish last, but nobody ever said anything on nice girls finishing first.”

“But the new girl… don’t you think she…”

“Resembles our Young Mistress?” a dismissive wave was given in answer, “Only a Cinha, nothing more. Quite a fiery lass though, have to give her that.”

“But perhaps this is what Young Mistress should be,” tears welled up from Ross’ brown eyes, Yeovil offering his handkerchief in reply.

“I’d like to say that’s what our late Lord Lady should be as well,” chewing on his lower lip, Yeovil decided enough is enough.

“Ross, I need a puff or two. Excuse me for a while, I’ll be back within an hour.”


Night befallen, Teesside became deathly quiet. Children were now asleep, their parents put to rest their daily chores. Louthes sipped his Bordeu with nary a word, his gaze turning on numerous torches lining the dark alleys below. Remembering clearly why he undertook the Governor’s post, every image seemed like a jester’s laugh.

“Louthes, you don’t have to do this. Even if you desire a Governor’s post, why choose Teesside?”

“Because I want to do something worthwhile, because I do not want my life to be a waste. Don’t bother stopping me, Brynn. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Something worthwhile? Not wanting my life to be a waste?” chuckled the wearied knight, “Why yes, Brynn. I wasn’t lying to you back then, neither am I a liar now. Come in!”

“Lord Jase, firstborn of House Steele is here, Milord,” bowed Konnor Riples, “I hereby…”

“The both of you, stay,” gestured Louthes, “Take a seat in front of me.”

As the duo tried making themselves comfortable to no avail, Louthes poured them a glass of plain water each. Irony not lost unto them, both Jase and Konnor nevertheless accepted their liege’s offer. Moments passed and the clock kept ticking, all three present stayed silent. Then the most unexpected party broke the haunting silence.

“I just can’t understand it, Milord!” exclaimed Konnor.

“Why I allow Moggray Tonn to be?” smiled the aging knight, “It seems to me that your life is tantamount to coincidence, Konnor. Things do have a knack in falling into place where you are concerned.”

Taken aback by his master’s softening stance, the young Home Guard could only nod dumbly. Jase, on the other hand, stayed his tongue. Flashing a glance at the young scion, Louthes knew the time has arrived, that the moment of truth is now. A sip was all he took to rally courage faltered via time, mayhap his beloved Emma was right in those words.

“One fine day, we all will depart. Before then, our time must halt more than once. Living is not about how many you have, but how much you gain.”

“We used to be closest of friends. Me, him, and Emma,” a gasp in unison was heard, Louthes took no heed, “Moggray was literally special in a certain sense.”

“He’s a smallborne,” commented an impassive Jase, his assumption meeting approval in the form of a nodding head, “Do go on, lord uncle.”

“I don’t like to tell stories, so I’ll cut short the chase. When Emma reached her eighteenth birthday, a choice had to be made. Between me and Moggray,” the Knight Lord paid scant attention to his two charges’ shock, momentary pause being the only reprieve available.

“Lady Emma chose you,” assumed Jase.

“Moggray threw it willingly,” came the unexpected reply.

“But that’s because he shouldn’t vie for Lady Emma’s hand in the first place!” protested Konnor.

“He knew it way before you’re born,” smiled Louthes sadly, “Why I relate this story to you is very simple.”

Jase and Konnor felt their hearts tightened up, they foresaw where their short term future lies. Their liege maintained eye contact for a brief minute, his words verifying their suspicions.

“Konnor Riples and Jase Steele, I hereby relinquish my duty towards your fathers. From tomorrow’s sun onwards, you two shall fight under Moggray Tonn’s banner.”


Background notes

Tomorrow’s sun: Formal term for the next day, i.e. the sun symbolizing dawn.