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.

Sunday, 4 May 2014

Tremors Before Blood

"Like a beast or bird sensing disaster sent from the gods five days ahead, so is he who understands why a knife has to be hidden behind a smile."
~Heihou no Tae'Gyuk


A Ranger’s Tale


Gentle warmth washing over the bustling island, cities and towns alike busked under the high noon sun. Merchants were everywhere, attractive women accosting themselves with willing men. No man was spotted dressing in drab, every lass worth her price flaunting her goods. Winter was nearly unheard of, only spring and summer prevailed nine seasons out of ten. Welcome to Histalonia, every local would surely say. There you shall find your finest pleasure and dearest indulgence, they promised.

“Master Lukas, the osprey has arrived,” bowed an attractive girl no older than sixteen seasons, her tanned complexion somewhat different from the local harlots plying their trade.

Lukas Brun uttered nary a reply, his only answer only a beckoning hand. The unnamed girl strode forward and entrusted unto him a tiny parchment, she was duly dismissed afterwards. Hazel green eyes browsed through the contents, a quaint smile creasing his face. Then he lit up the parchment with nothing bar a sudden combustion.

Eliador was right. Mink is now heading to Edwood to negotiate terms with Jarl Ironstone. There goes victory for the Homm’Eot, so much for rapers trusting a knave.


A massive crack resounded the evening sky, horrified onlookers could only stay their silence. Here before them was a fight between two men, a brawl with one dishing out punishment and the other gladly accepting it. Tanee was part of the spectators, her heart remaining in her mouth as the third blow ceased its fury. This was a brutal man wielding fists equally relentless, she loathed imagining what would happen if such a gauntleted hand connected with her abdomen.

O’Father above, please don’t let this be murder…

“Oi, why are you still here?”

Before Tanee could utter any statement of reply, she felt a sharp pain stinging her forehead. Guided by instinct, she planted a foot down firmly against the offending man’s foot. Blind aim proving true after all, the fairly tanned lass could only look at who the culprit was with her jaw gaping wide.

This is a lie… I must be drinking too much last night! Wait, I never drank any wine or brandy!

“Get out,” a gruff voice snapping her out of thoughts akin to a rushing river, Tanee felt like some helpless hamster in front of a hulking man dark and handsome.

“That’s not the correct way to treat a lady, most honourable Ser,” grinned the victim of the public assault moments ago, a brief hacking bout shocking Tanee, “I survived three punches per promised. So no more going after Aera Darko.”

His unnamed counterpart merely frowned, an armoured fist clenched crackling with volatile power. Moments earlier, the two of them were engaging in a fight. If not for that Demon Hunter offering an alternative, the Berserker would have given chase. As it turned out however…

“Why are you doing this for someone who hates you?”

“Because we are all sinners and this person you’re out to go after is the least of them all. I know this doesn’t make much sense, but rest assured that I’ll be the first one to kill him if shit goes horribly wrong.”

Arondight wasn’t a fool, his status as a Berserker serving up naught when it comes to clouding judgment. Surely there was something about the Ranger unsettling enough, yet sensibility had dictated him not to pursue. Why then did he choose to start an unwanted fight in the first place?

“It’s only natural for Aesir and Vanir alike to do the same thing as you,” called out an impassive Lars Alterfate, an unconscious girl in his arms, “Contra Mundum and Chaos Incarnate will always attract those of likeminded nature.”

Before the conversation could go anywhere further, Arondight narrowed his glowering stare. In front of him stood a smirking lass no older than twenty winters, her ruby orbs latching themselves onto the duo. Raising a finger on her scarlet lips, she walked towards Lars with a gliding grace akin to fluid currents of a stream.

“What do you want?”

Her intended target’s sudden question slightly threw Sarel Aphros aback, yet she would be a fool to underestimate someone both blessed and cursed with the identity of a Storm Crow.

To think I am also one.

“Ah’na should have taught you proper manners when it comes to basic courtesy,” quipped the Grand Damsel, the impact of her words not lost unto herself, “Lars Alterfate, don’t make me face your back.”

Brief silence announcing its triumph, a sudden gale assailed the three. With a smile creeping up her sensual visage, two pairs of crimson eyes gaze at each other. Reaching out a delicate hand for the comatose lass in Lars’ protective grasp, Sarel Aphros finally received her reward in the form of a snarling Demon Hunter and her outreached hand pierced.

Don’t,” warned a defensive Lars Alterfate, blatant ire earning only mocking laughter as its keep.

“You think I’ll do to her what I’ve done to those innocent folks working in that eatery? I’m not that evil, rest assured.”

“You killed them all the same.”

“And I heard they’re relatives to a certain young lion.”

Realisation of whatever dire possibilities forcing open Lars’ emotions like a gaping wound, the Demon Hunter failed to spot a shadowy figure taking aim with a longbow firmly held. A flashing streak was all it took to snap the partial blond back to his senses, alas too late it was for him.

A gauntleted hand reached out for the fatal missile, a bestial roar accompanying an arcing slash. Another speeding arrow connected itself with Arondight’s newly crafted sword, the outcome deemed his victory even though the weapon got shattered.

“Sniper, hold your hand!”

Sarel’s command was absolute before her servant, simple was the relationship between one of Those Who Strike Alone and the Grand Damsel of Napishtim. Grinning like a confident rogue in spite of an iron grip threatening to snap his neck by half, Tristan Ajax let go of a knife hidden seconds ago.

“Can you let me go for the sake of that fine wine I gave you earlier?”

“I don’t remember someone so dishonourable giving me such a fine gift,” growled Arondight, his anger unabated and tightening hand unrelenting.

“Unfortunately ‘tis easier for one to swear by honour rather than through deeds,” shrugged the obnoxious Sudlhit.

“Shit, that idiot is courting death!” exclaimed an agitated Lars.

A bellow tore asunder the stranglehold enforced by silent tension, the Berserker withdrew his hand and took three steps back. His fury now directed towards a white haired maiden still maimed, not even burgeoning rage could force a reckless move out of him.

“You hold the power of life and death.”

“Only the key, not the gate,” smiled a winsome Sarel, the deceptive nature behind whatever intent barely disguised, “I hope you enjoy the fire of Muspelheim.”

Before Sarel’s mockery, Arondight could only stay his murderous urge. The burning sensation was all too real, yet his gauntlet remained whole and untouched. The Grand Damsel of the Holy Quintet Church was toying with him, this was a game between cat and mouse. How the knight detested being the latter instead of the former, whatever knowledge hinting at a possible outright death boiling in his mind.

“There’s no point starting a fight between those with something in common.”

Turning to the speaker, Lars betrayed a rare smile of genuine nature.

“Finely spoken, my Sudhlit brother.”


“That’s a lie!”

Against denial put forth by Karen, an Elf hauntingly fair merely sipped his wine with languidness. The wind caressed his flaxen hair now let loose, golden tendrils billowing like pennants aloft. Casting a frigid gaze against her defiant fort, the daughter of House Tenias felt courage freezing instantly and promptly shattered.

“A dead man’s due is his to keep. For every one finger laid on this lesser girl, I shall invoke once the swiftness of death.”

Profuse breathing abruptly seized her soul, images of lustful men brutally eviscerated making their visit once again. No one had ever told her about this Shadow Brotherhood, any rumoured word on Kerstein de Bladefort proven through actions. This was someone denying all she had dreamt about Elves, this was a slaughterer cold and cruel.

“You are ours to keep till I meet your father.”

What will they do, Karen asked herself in silence.

“I promise you my word and our honour that chastity shall remain untainted, no matter what.”

Will these Elves keep to their word, Karen questioned her heart.

“Oh shit, that lady busted us.”

What was the name of that offensive Elf again? Was Coner or Conwer? Regardless whether her guess was accurate, that damning scene could never lie to itself.

“Those not part of us have no right to partake and neither the freedom to question or judge.”

Shuddering to imagine what will happen should being a captive counts, Karen Tenias was nevertheless thankful to the Father for escaping a hedonistic show of mass orgy. Yet one person stood out from the rest: Kerstein de Bladefort.

“Why di…”

Before Karen could finish her words, a wizened Elf entered their room with nary a courtesy shown. His face wearing a frown, this was the only other Elf absent from that theatre of debauchery mere hours ago.

“They’re here, Kerstein,” informed Huan de Weon curtly, “Sorry for my tone.”

Uttering naught for reply, the Wraith Lord tied his hair up in a low ponytail. Elven sabre sheathed readied at hand, Kerstein de Bladefort departed from his room with fluid grace akin to a spectre living under the daytime light.


“You sure?” asked a bored Tristan Ajax, a frowning visage facing his hand.

“Yeah,” yawned Lars in an equally bored manner, fingers fiddling with his cards, “You can trust that kindest Ser to do his job.”

“Duty you mean,” grinned the Sudhlit Archer as he dealt a four card sequence, “Two Princes, one Queen and a King.”

“Royal House,” whistled the Demon Hunter, “Impressive… unfortunately though…”

Wearing a triumph upon his beaming face, Lars Alterfate dealt a five card sequence before a smirking Sarel Aphros.

Three Soldiers and two Generals… a Grand Assault. You’re good in playing cards, Lars ah’ni. A pity you’re up against a master…

“Can I deal one more card before you take my innings?” quipped Tristan Ajax with his hand upraised.

“You only got two cards left,” shrugged a cocky Lars, “C’mon, all the watchers are waiting for me to win.”

Upon such statement of intent, every patron and barmaid alike roared their approval. The comely Sudhlit abruptly snapped his fingers, the resultant sound reverberating through a crowd staying quiet seconds earlier.

“That’s your problem, not mine,” the Archer was surely grinning like greedy knave preparing to take his share of spoils. Then he slowly drew out his remaining hand.

“Look carefully, loser. I’ve got a Fool… and one Assassin.”

Gasps of outrage resonated throughout the tavern, the spectators hardly believing their eyes. If Sarel Aphros was wearing a chuckling face, Lars Alterfate only gave a frown. With one corner of his lips turned downwards, the Grand Damsel knew what it means.

Dealing with a crushing defeat.

“Argh!” screamed a frustrated Demon Hunter, his hands throwing up a blustery show, “I fucking give up, you asshole!”

“You must have been cheating!” exclaimed an outraged lady dressed in a low cut gown, “Tell me your secret, black dog.”

“It’s not nice calling me a black dog since I might end up being your next customer,” replied Tristan in a harmless manner, “It’s perfectly fine for a whore to fuck a Sudlhit, quite another for her to actually fuck a dog.”

Raucuous laughter punished the harlot for her reckless tongue, a blushing face betraying an innocence yet to be breached.

“That was devious, despicable scoundrel,” whispered Lars against Tristan’s ear, feigned ire giving way to unbridled mirth, “Using a Fool to nullify my final hand and sending an Assassin to rape my Queen.”

“I’d rather sleep with a princess,” shrugged the impudent Archer, his rascally visage showing nary a remorse, “Heard the Bastard King’s half-sister is truly a stunner. Tall, beautiful, blond… a pity I heard she’s a bit flat at the front.”

“Talking about Lady Caylon the Swift, I presume.”

Reacting with a slight nod, Tristan Ajax diverted his sight towards an Elf dressed in white and blue. His eyes were of sparkling emeralds, long flaxen hair braided neatly at the nape. Held casually was an Elven sabre sheathed, its weight resting upon his slender shoulder. A cloak woven from midnight black was draped across his athletic frame, every detail about him seemed eerily without flaw.

“Wraith Lord of the Shadow Brotherhood, Kerstein de Bladefort,” greeted the Elf with nary a bow, his tone nevertheless polite, “Pardon my bluntness, for I am not good in formalities other well learned folks are used to.”

“Forgive my straightforward nature as well, Wraith Lord,” replied Tristan, a vagabond’s smile giving way to a soldier’s visage, “Let’s get down to business.”

If Kerstein was listening, he merely held out a beckoning hand. A pouch made from softest leather fell into his outstretched palm, the irony behind such a gesture not lost onto Lars who happened to wear his wryest grin.

A beggar asking for charity against a sellsword asking for his rightful keep. No wonder why people like us are born to be despised.

“Fire rubies cut to perfection,” replied Kerstein with a sigh, soulless emerald orbs boring into his paymaster, “This is not what the Brotherhood demanded.”

“Neither did you demand any deposit as well,” smiled the Grand Damsel, her voice tinged with a seductive edge. No sooner Sarel Aphros started attempting a guess on Kerstein’s imminent reaction, roaring heat and sudden flare assailed the uneasy peace.

“It has been quite a while ever since I saw a stampede taking place,” commented a cynical Sarel, her counterpart retaining his inhumane frigid calm. Then he spoke out, but not towards anyone seated.

“Huan, you’ve committed a decision contrary to your nature.”

“My apologies, Kerstein,” sighed the wizened Elf, an annoyed gaze making his partner squirm, "I know equally well as you when it comes to the likes of the Grand Damsel."

Getting up on his feet, Kerstein strode over towards a half drunk slob oblivious to what is to come. With a single swipe, the drunkard fell on his rear as cusses rang out to Karen’s embarrassment.

“Sit,” motioned Kerstein in a commanding tone, his posture making things no less easy for the daughter of Granad Tenias.


It all happened too fast, Kerstein de Bladefort’s very movement undiscerned by all. One minute ago, that unnamed boor attempted to grab a terrified Karen. A minute later, an invisible force ripped the offending ruffian nearly into half. Turning away from a gruesome sight, the young noble lady nevertheless had her stomach turning against her.

“That’s not cool,” pointed out Lars with feigned outrage, “You made a lady throw up in front of a gutted corpse!”

“And would you prefer him castrated before his innards start falling out?”

Unable to devise a witty riposte against a sense of humour quite brutal, Lars could only laugh in spite of circumstances. This was an interesting meeting taking place in a hauntingly quiet establishment, only one person would be incapable of appreciating it and she wasn’t around.

Tamee… what a sweet name. Wait a sec. Is she called Tanee?

Realising the futility behind a stupid question asked towards himself, Lars smiled like a self-deprecating little boy. After all, the only other fellow not around had given his word that the lass will never encounter harm. Truly a knight blessed with honour worth his weight, such was the Berserker Arondight.


The bar was boisterous as usual, plenty a patron expressing their approval and booing. Times of war always brought forth the noblest in men and worst of humanity. Under the wooden roof unfolded a scene not so dissimilar. Beyond the windows perched languid crows cawing lazily, within the mortar walls a fight took place.

Tanee could not bear to look on any longer, yet she was unable to convince her protector to do the same. The hulking man stared impassively, apathy displayed stirring up the fire in her. She still recalled lessons in life imparted by her grandfather, the name of Fergie Malom bringing pride into her otherwise bland life. For this reason alone, she fell out with her only family. Her father died shortly after her fourteenth birthday, her mother always flying into a fury whenever the Gaffer of Manchester was mentioned.

You stupid half hulk, do something!

“That Ranger will be perfectly fine the way he is,” claimed Arondight, his reply catching Tanee off guard.

That’s a lie! He knows my thoughts! Tanee Malom, wake the fuc…

“Only fools and jesters betray their innermost being through words spoken,” answered the Berserker, his rippling muscles remaining flexed and taut. Before such a sight, Tanee suddenly discovered her heart skipping like a skittish doe.

The battle will soon be won, reminded Arondight unto himself.

Indeed his assumption materialised, the dark Ranger managing to evade a blindsiding attack. With a cruel feline’s grace, he executed a wide sidestep and shove a foot onto the back of his unlucky assailant’s knee. A trip was all it needed to snuff out a life, a fumbling man impaling a standing one.

As blood spurted out in a crimson stream, the unwitting killer also met his end at the hands of he who made this possible. A hand gripped his head roughly, a hunting knife concealed in a cloak releasing a tide of red from the victim’s severed neck.

The crowd hushed up immediately, this play had gruesomely ended. Never turning back to face his audience, the dark murderer cut off his two quarries’ heads nonchalantly. Feeling queasy before macabre theatrics, Tanee blacked out.

Seeing his charge rendered comatose, Arondight chose to stay his hand. As if having eyes on the back, the sellsword turned around briefly. With a slight nod and most sardonic grin, he walked away with two heads weeping blood in tow. Bounty hunting was always about violence and blood, for this was an industry dictating kill or to be killed.

Then the Berserker witnessed a scenario never before seen flashing by, the portrait painting a broken warrior standing tall. His form was majestic, his sword stainless and bright. In the middle of a tundra he remained alone, his back facing an icy fort. Three sets of questions were asked from heaven above, a poetic chant forged from conflict ringing true.

Unto whom did Aeranath admire? Was it that nameless girl betrothed to her dream?

Unto whom have Chaos Incarnate love? Was it not a maiden given to tragic death?

Unto whom will Contra Mundum guard? Is it not both a fiery dragon and defiled maid?

Wind blaring from winter's horn, an army of denizens I know not of.

Howling for my blood and mine alone, I mock them as beings I fear nothing from.

Elves, Dwarves, Humans, and all... every Demon comes to fore.

They are as violent waves shattering themselves against a laughing rock.

As wayfarers unschooled in terrain of endless plains and most treacherous woods.

Hence beckons my only friend forever gripped, Fragarach...

Let the Answerer's blade unleash my unrivalled wrath.


Background notes

Innings: Slang for stakes placed or winnings earned.

The card game played between Lars and Tristan is called Era where winner is the one securing victory after emptying his/her hand. Cards used in this game represent individuals of varying standings during war and politics.
A/N [1]-Jester is used to grant the gamer an extra card played while the Assassin can render any given card useless, i.e. "killing" the target.
A/N [2]-Era is NOT about history lessons, but rather the Spanish term for war.

During times like what Blomfeld is facing currently, entering/exiting the relevant settlement is possible since conflict has yet to be confirmed. However, stringent checks amounting to strip searching would be enforced with a fixed quota of those departing until the situation has been resolved.
A/N [3]-Okay, I'm technically attempting a bailout that will make even the Greeks go "wtf man???!!!" in their mother tongue.


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