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.

Thursday, 10 April 2014

Chaos Before Conflict

"Order is a haven, Chaos is everything which is not. One is the strongest scabbard, the other a sword always dealing its fatal hand."
~The Sunken Text


A Ranger’s Tale

The city of Blomfeld had always been a byword for prosperity and bustle, a success story inked by prudence and hard work. The soldiers stationed were strong, their discipline untested yet. Soaring seagulls used to frequent above its fortified walls, alas for their status usurped by cawing crows. An ill omen are these carrion birds, whispered the common folks amongst themselves. Surely they are ready to feast upon our children’s flesh and our fallen selves, wailed the smallborne unto each other.

“No please! I beg you!”

If there was to be any response from her lover’s assailants, Tina received nary a word for an answer. And why should they? Taunted by an inner voice dripping with sarcasm, Tina could only try shutting herself away. The harsh reality greeting her lover prone on the ground, the cold hard truth dictating life was never fair… everything about this world was merely a mockery and lie worshiped by the naïve. And Tina Wells indeed belonged to those girls fully grown, yet unwilling to mature.

“What did Bren do? He only wanted to return your lost pouch!”

“Shut up, bitch! Something important went missing. We’re just wanting to teach this thief a lesson unless you’re willing to offer yourself on his behalf.”

“O… o… oh shit,” stammered one of the thugs in fear, “Sean, bugger’s not moving…”

If a murderer was capable of guilt, Sean Reon chose not to make his shown. Scratching his finely-groomed face nonchalantly, the wiry ringleader shrugged with apathy. Tina then started fearing for the worst, ravens perched making their restlessness heard.

No… Bren… don’t leave me behind. O’ Holy Father above, let Your miracle show, please deliver me and Bren from evil men…

“Okay, let’s grab the girl and go run somewhere.”

Tina’s world swiftly came crashing down, romantic ideals gleaned from written books and minstrels’ songs at last caving in. Her heart utterly crushed, she could only sense her empty soul cruelly raped as her body numbed was roughly groped.


“Damn, she’s a tight one,” sneered a hulking brute, “Bitch’s gonna fetch a handsome price, no?”

“I’ve got fine taste in maids meant to be whores,” snorted Sean, “Me and my fellas have enjoyed enough. Rest is up to you.”

A violent gale promptly launched its attack on the trees, their swaying limbs akin to dead people demanding redress. Sean knew that feeling, but he nevertheless dismissed that chill penetrating his spine. Many a time, his gang had committed the same act. Many a time, he was the only one playing scoffer.

Retribution my sorry ass. As if tonight I will die.

There were plenty of ways for justice served, underneath the shadows an assassin lurked. One could never predict when and where a Ranger will strike, let alone whether or not. Sean Reon might have picked a wonderful victim for his senseless assault and a perfect prey, but nobody ever told him a wolf was ready to lop his head off.

Flashing silver and ice blue orbs hailed his horrified stare, gushing fountain red and headless stump supplanted a living man. Fear seized every individual save for one wholly broken, a monster dark and fearsome had his back facing them. A longsword was baptised in blood, his hood let down. Beneath the twinkling stars exposed his hair of purest frost, an act no better than brutal rape complimented the night time sky.

“So how?” mocked the brazen butcher with shoulders shrugged, his visage still facing the opposite end, “Are you lot gonna let pass this chance to run?”

At last breaking down, the craven quartet fled the scene. Two arcing slashes and one forceful thrust later, the fertile soil finally drank its fill of freshest blood. All were dead except one, the whore dealer quavering in terror with his pants soiled.

“Tell me where is he,” snarled the dusky Elf, his features now contorted, “Either I show you mercy or living hell once I’m done.”

“I… I… don…”

“You don’t know? You don’t fucking know who?”

Maniacal laughter torn asunder the silent night, a wolf’s baleful howl heard from afar. It was then when Marh Fres beheld a crimson stare burning bright, its promise of agony and murder beckoning a sinful sheep.


Dawn had raised its fiery banner, the morning larks serving as heralds. A cloudless sky greeted the walls of Blomfeld, the ever loyal Red Lions keeping their vigil. At last hearing the tolling bell ringing from a tower strong and tall, a squad of six arrived to assume their shift. Bumping fists with their fellow fighters, only a fool would say all is well.


“Mad Ian’s alright,” snorted Joes Mouriz, his expression that of amusement, “The only thing he can’t do is to take a swig or two. If Moggray didn’t bail out, that emotional bastard would have been much quieter. So what brings you here, geezer?”

If there was anyone capable of riling Fergie Malom, surely that person could only be the Gaffer of Stamford Division. As head of the Red Lions, he was definitely the oldest of the lot. The Red Lions comprised of aspiring smallborne youths, all ten Gaffers were veterans choosing retreat over glory and honours. None of them had ever said much to each other pertaining to their shrouded past, Moggray was right in stating every hero’s demons are himself.

“The reason why I am here is very simple: to keep watch over some problematic assholes.”

“I hope you don’t mean me, Fergie.”

“Bullshit, Joes. I know the law equally well compared to whatever those bastards in the Church profess to know. The Church’s writ is merely there to prevent shit from happening, not disabling the local enforcers’ right to diffuse major shit.”

Laughing with his much younger counterpart in spite of dire circumstances, the Gaffer of Manchester Division felt a momentary surge of rejuvenation coursing through his aging veins. This wasn’t some mystical art at work, but rather the defiance of mirth displayed before looming shadows. He had never feared death, but a brief reflection or two at his iron grey hair cropped and wrinkles lining a beardless chin would always fill his heart with lamentations. He’s a soldier and soldiers should be used to losses by now. Yet, memory of his family fractured due to duty was all too fresh despite three decades passing by. The Red Lions were his only family left now, a soldier’s worst death lies in departing with hopes unfulfilled.

How I yearn to hear Tanee calling me gramps once again…


“Have you ever wondered what lies ahead of death?”

I look blankly at the girl, the hot summer wind relaying her flowery scent.


Her resultant laughter filled my heart with a feeling all too unfamiliar, something my inner sense is trying to warn me about. Or is it?

“Listen up, neku. The Wild One does not grant life without a purpose, death is merely there to appraise the value of our actions.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

No sooner I gave my reply, a dainty finger poked my forehead hard. I hate it when people do that. My father always does that after having me on the ground during training.

“Don’t worry, you’ll understand sooner or later.”


“Fuck this dream. Why am I seeing this over and over again?”

Mocked by images belonging to the past, Aeranath casually vented his frustration by spitting. His antic caught the eye of a slumbering prisoner, the sole cellmate yammering away. Caring not for incessant curses hailing from an incarcerated mutt, the Ranger’s anger was only further compounded by a pointless question gnawing him away inside.

Shit… what was her name?

Then he felt a rough grip shaking him like some worthless cur, the True Apostle’s patience finally fraying rapidly like rope above fire.

“Yar larkee yer nut sum brown bitch! A’ll fark ye mouth, kunt and ass all ar’t once!”

Bestial fury promptly seized Aeranath like a wolf pouncing onto an unsuspecting lamb, its jaws clamping down hard on his spine. Painless flare consumed his mind, the only scene greeting a fiery pair of azure orbs being tragedy itself.

That of a Demon raping the nameless girl with insatiable lust, her naked body barely alive and spirited eyes days before already dead.



Never before had Fergie Malom experienced such raging anger, blazing ire unbridled coursing throughout pulsating veins.  This was not only a challenge to the law, but a mockery directed against his convictions. Bravery of arms and wit in battle was to be the only way to victory, not some bloody sorcery unproven! Yet there it was, the cold hard truth shattering his world.


“Describe the scene once again, Coles Ashe. Don’t you dare miss even a stitch, get me?”

If Fergie Malom was a picture of fluster, Joes Mouriz managed to paint himself a portrait of stoicism and composure. Young Coles only knew too well what his Gaffer’s face means, it took a silent string of long prayers to calm him down.

“Entire cell got burnt. Only one person dead, but that’s because he’s the only one apart from him in the cell.”

“Anything else? Tell me more, boy!”

“Stop, boss!” snapped Joes, his strong hand stopping Fergie’s iron grip from exacting more damage unto Coles Ashe’s crumbling fortitude, “You’re only dishing out retribution undue and chagrin unwarranted.”

“And can you tell me the answer?” retorted Fergie.

“Conflagration without apparent cause, you happy? Want a fight, don’t you dare fucking try duelling any of my lads.”

Detecting accurately that dangerous tilt in Joes’ stance, Fergie could only let go and let live.

“Glad that you managed to get my message. Sorry for being crude, boss.”


The crows were unusually placid, the cawing of hunger muted and sporadic. Before the vast sea erected two giant statues, a harbour fortified and more than sufficiently manned situated in between. Oft it was sung that two warriors unnamed and blessed by the Soldier kept their vigil spanning many a year, their souls remained lingering still. This was Gemini, the sea port famed by merchants and daunting to invaders.

“Ah, that’s some fine wine you’ve got here,” beamed Lars, a rascally grin betraying his mirth, “Tell me, my maddest Ser. Who’s the fine girl giving you her pledge?”

“You like it, you take it. ‘Tis no pledge and neither is it from a lady.”

Being no stranger to awkward ambience, the Demon Hunter whistled a merry tune as a gentle breeze caressed his golden bangs. Moments soon materialised into brief eternity, Arondight’s stoic silence forming a vast contrast complimenting Lars Alterfate’s mysterious optimism.

“Say, have you got any girl in mind, most honourable Ser?”

“Shut up.”

“Aww… don’t be shy,” smirked the mischievous man-child, his teasing grating on Arondight’s calm, “Tell me more about her. Like is she feisty? I happen to know a girl like that and her name’s Lol… hey, that’s mine!”

If Aeranath had any qualms in taunting an old friend turned foe, the True Apostle only flashed nary an expression. Taking a deep swig, he trotted off back to the gates.

“He doesn’t seem happy, that Aera Darko,” mused a genuinely curious Lars, “One thing being granted total immunity from the law, quite another…”

No regards were given to Lars’ stinging jape, Arondight’s stiffened posture insinuated a hostile intent. The carrion birds abruptly stayed silent, their feast subsequently exchanging for flight. As the hulking knight strode past a dead cat half-eaten, Lars made his move.

“Don’t even try.”

The air swiftly became stifling, balmy sea breeze mere seconds ago reduced to death’s whisper. Pausing his steps, Arondight nevertheless chose not to return a glance.

“He’s a danger to all…”

“Not to us, foolish Ser.”

“I can sense something in him which shouldn’t even exist,” snarled the glowering youth, Lars Alterfate refusing to back down nonetheless.

“And why should you care? I know I don’t,” shaking his head, the Demon Hunter betrayed a brief visage no one never seen before.

“Piss off, Demon Hunter. I’m being kind here.”

“Stay down then,” shrugged a frowning Lars Alterfate, “That is unless you’re truly all alone in this world since a lonely person won’t mind dying once or a thousand time.”

If only this world is able to understand empathy…

Damning words from a damning past rocked Arondight, a beautiful lady blessed with auburn locks and most innocent smile at last forcing his hand.

Beastly roar tearing through the clearest sky, a vengeful bellow calling for blood shocking all the nearby guards. A lethal swipe of steel met its rising match, a silver chain topped by keenest blade sending it flying and shattered.

“That’s a deadly sword, Ser Arondight,” commented Lars, a fighter’s gaze incompatible with a jester’s words, “I’m pretty sure your life isn’t just about one single weapon.”

Suffocating force then grabbed both Arondight and the watchers in entirety, the latter audience passing out. Surely this is indeed the finest of knights and maddest of men, noted the wary Demon Hunter. Any consideration given to the unconscious thrown to the wind, all Lars Alterfate desired now was to prevent Arondight from marching straight into the square and tearing up Blomfeld. If Sarel Aphros gave the trio total freedom to act within self-discretion, it meant the Church was content to be knowingly ignorant.

Then came the moment where Lars Alterfate had to make his call, momentary tardiness otherwise shall definitely spell utter destruction and chaos. Volatile force unseen rippled through the walls of Gemini, its stifling pressure ten times worse than the wake of a violent earthquake.

Crackling sound and golden sparks the only signs, a sudden blast ruptured altogether the surroundings and loftiest sky.


“This is an act of murder, O’ Grand Damsel.”

“No less heinous than auctioning off innocent girls like cattle to slaughter, O’ Gaffer of Stamford.”

“Unfortunately, that manner of victim you speak so fervently about is now dead. Butchered by your man, I suppose.”

“That is reality,” smiled a white haired girl, her beautiful features attracting lustful eyes till no end.

“Hey, pretty lass!” accosted a fit young lad, his features well chiselled and comely, “You alone?”

“So what if I am?”

“Care for a night? How much do you charge?”

Sarel Aphros chuckled softly, the opportunist in her counterpart taking the cue.

“Excuse me, I am looking for a certain Sally the Fair Haired. Is she around?”

“Huh? What the fuck you’re babbling about?”

Quite obviously riled by interruption unwanted, the youth grabbed a young boy of olive complexion and who happened to have bad teeth by his collar. Shaking his quarry like some rag doll without value, the bully finally threw his victim down.

“Wow, his breath stinks like latrine,” mocked the arrogant lad, a derisive wave of the hand in front of his nose bringing forth laughter and cheering, “Moral of the story: If someone is stronger than you, it means you should just either ignore or shut up.”

“Are you okay?” smiled Sarel as she handed the hapless boy a silken handkerchief, a finger placed upon her dainty lips, “The fool is never defined by strength, for cowardice to them means power.”

Then it all happened in a blink of an eye, a flare of crimson red begetting a dead man whose corpse retained whole. Silence and terror gripped every watcher’s heart, this was the same boaster bereft of naught save for his life.

“Witch!” blabbered the bartender, “A witch killed somebody! Help! Guards, guards!”


The speaker’s voice hailed not from a girl, but a man fully grown. A Sudhlit stood lazily before the patrons’ widened gaze, his visage wearing nary but a frown.

“Let me get this clear across to you all unless you’re not retarded enough,” gesturing to his audience first, the dark handsome youth then pointed to a smirking Sarel Aphros, “If a witch desires to kill someone, that person would have been dead. Understand me?”

“Is that a threat?!” squeaked a timid serving wench, her fearful eyes betraying only a fervent wish to survive.

“Thankfully not,” beamed the Sudlhit abruptly, after which he turned towards the boy no longer shaken, “Little boy, the next time anybody says you deserve to get it, gut him alive. Get me?”

Horrified gasps unveiling disbelief disrupted the deathly silence enforced mere seconds ago, the Sudhlit clucked his tongue in reply.

“What I spoke just now is a threat, the other statement a fact.”


“Don’t worry, Milady,” sighed Tristan Ajax while wearing a relaxed grin, “The Ranger is currently confirmed alive and fighting fit, our other two friends as well.”

“You do not have to tell me that, Sniper,” reciprocated Sarel in like, “I know enough to tell me all this.”

“What about that kid then?”

“Give no pursuit,” answered a sombre Grand Damsel, “To stage a hunt for an assassin under the Serpent’s gold is folly, for Eliador de Lioncourt understands best those he bought.”

“Ah well, at least we didn’t get a gutted swine,” whistled Tristan casually.

“That pretty boy is too handsome to be from some sow’s womb.”

“A gutted dog then,” shrugged the Sudhlit bowman nonchalantly, “Men and dogs switching places has always been a common sight.”


Gazing impassively at the mirror of a lake before him, the First True Apostle betrayed a knowing smile. Here he was witnessing a scene taken place somewhere within the waters of time, the crackling blade that was Fragarach penetrating both hostage and taker alike.

“One more step and the bitch dies! You see my knife against her throat?”

“Tell me who sealed the Geis with you.”

“You don’t understand what I’m saying?”

“Fine then. Go fuck her in hell and don’t ever come back again.”

“Wait… we ca…”

“Negotiate? I don’t do that with dead people or those who are going to anyway.”

Exact sequence of images looping endlessly, Aor finally decided enough was enough. Not because of the innocent dead but rather an understanding on what he had done. With a whisper, the master of Avalon walked away with swirling white petals following his trail.

“How the Alpha yearns to see the Omega once again, yet the cub still remains as one. Little wonder why mere mortals will always choose to grasp the heel belonging to themselves.”


Background notes

Miss(ing) a stitch: The act of missing out any detail, no matter how minor.

Alpha: A wolf with its own marked territory.

Omega: A homeless wolf spending its entire life seeking out any Alpha wolf's territory.

A/N-Omega wolves are not to be confused with normal wolves (otherwise known as a Gamma) which seek out any unclaimed territory as the top priority.