Thank you, the 'other' person. Haha. Well, at least I know I'm not the only one typing things up. But to post it here, is to know that your posts has very slim chance they're going to be read. Write at your own risk. Here, you can say anything you want without any kind of judgement, because I know the people who read here do not have any judgement. Please continue on, because it feels lonely sometimes here.
In the world of stories, imagination, the virtual world inside our heads, there will always be another you. That you is the main character of so much things in life. He sees what you see, and you talk to him, considering on how to judge the situation. Some of us discuss with him openly, some discreet, and a lot others do not even realize it. But that one character that you ultimately wound up using in any kind of story, the one that you like the most, is you.
I do not mean to brag or sound arrogant; I never did want anything of the sort. The feelings I've shown to other people makes them wary of me. Rest assured I found out about this a long time ago, and since then my parents have been the subject of my tests. Show a little bit of anger, and this happens. Show a little bit of excitement, and that happens. I adapt. When the situation demands excitement, I'll show it, albeit not keep it. So it has been for a long time. And I am adapting to the situation I'm in. The feelings you show to other people, is how other people will look at you.
Thus, we reflect ourselves within our words. We use our own personal traits that we consider unique and special to template them into the main character, or a sub character that you seem really fond of. These kinds of persona in your stories always seem to make an impact in the smallest way possible. Sometimes, the hero needs a push to do things, and you will provide him with it. Some other times, the world just need to realize that it's in danger, and you will give it danger. In our own ways, we are imagining who really want to be in the world. Most of the time, it is not who we are.
In the stories that I've posted, its always present. The kind of person I want to be. A hero the world doesn't need. But most of the time, small things move that resilience in me. People who are popular, have many friends, who always seem to be on top of things. They always seem so happy and people appreciate them for that. The feelings they show, people like it. As for me, when I am being happy most of the time I'm with someone special, or when I am enjoying the day, or just simply because I've reminded myself of that day. There are only one person present besides me, and never with a whole crowd who would share such joy. The joy of opening a new game. The joy of finding a way to make a sword. The joy you have when you know there is only one person that will read this. Or two.
If I tell you how many characters I have in my head, you will not believe it. The amount of person that I want to be, the feelings that I want to show. They manifest themselves into a character in a book, a story that who knows will be told or not. Even if they are written down, will people read them? Will people understand the things that a piece of imagination wrote? That is the fate that has been passed down to this blog. The entries left to dust and spiders, the feelings inside them rot till they turn to sand. I pity them. Indeed I do. I try to keep them alive, but day by day the voices crowd in my head, this spark inside my chest seem to overwhelm me. I cannot keep up. Some will die, some others hide.
Fenrir, Ledge, L.E.G., Fate, Aegis, Tenji Nakamura, Hash, Jake Freelancer, Clerics Aceal, Howard, Rilzen, Alvuin, Andyanne, Lilith, Virtual, Abyss, Greed, Wrath, Michael, Kyle Wanderer, Garroth, Merc, Dean, Marcus, Fred, Vivian, The Doctor, The Lady, Raatul, The Ju Squad, Kotaro, Morphus, Jynx, Salokhnir, Greandal, Lust, Felix Haais, Michael Ragnarok, Captain Suleiman, Aisha, Brian White, Kaiser, Dee Dee, Viral, Ashe, Julius, The Sword Guy, Sword Bearer, Cursed Swordsman, The Merchant, Bazaar, Prince Jun, Hector, The Spy Company, Helgard, that gravity girl who plays the band, the other fire girl who plays the guitar, the water girl who leads as the vocal, Vector, Lynx.
So many people. So many voices. This does not include the ones who are yet to be named. They all demand a page in a story.
I can go on to describe what I feel but it will take another 10 pages to do so. I am not good at explaining. How do you explain the sensation of ignorance when you are blessed with such gift and the anger that it has been given to you without the determination and the resilience in order keep said gift? Mix them up with a little bit of sadness and a little happy that I am useful in a way. And came the uselessness of such things. Simple people, simple feelings. Once, I would've given anything to be like that. Once.
The world knows not the contents of my heart. It doesn't need to.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 7, 2013
Untitled Love Story
This is the first time I am writing on this blog besides the 'other' person. Since there has been fantasy adventure story in this blog, I am making a change today. For now on, I will write a very interesting love story. Let's all hope everything goes well shall we?
He was walking down the corridor of his class. The first week of the new semester had just begun yet, he was burdened with tons of assignments. Jake never minded assignments before as long as it doesn't involve people. It's not like he had an allergy with people or anything but he just doesn't really know how to interact with them. To be safe from humiliating himself, he always kept to himself.
" I wonder what I should say during the club meeting " Jake kept thinking. Lines after lines he tried to make up but everything seemed like it was not right. Not 'perfect' enough. Giving a speech on the first club meeting was sure becoming a headache for him. Sure, he was the president of the Art Club. But he was only selected as one because one of his picture won an award on the National Art Competition for three years in a row. But that doesn't make him a good speaker.
It was hectic when he entered the room. People were talking here and there.
" How am I gonna talk? It's like the whole campus is here " Jake asked.
" Chill man. It's not the whole campus. You just think it's the whole campus. Besides, we got a lot more freshmen this year than last." said Matt.
Though Matt is entirely different in character than Jake, he was the only person that Jake ever feel comfortable with. And the only person he ever responds to. Maybe because Matt never think he's weird for being alone all the time in the art studio. But being Matt, he has always been a cheerful and friendly person. His personality, added with his good looks and his height made him the centre of the spotlight, especially among the girls. He didn't have an artist's hand though but he joined the art club anyway and Jake never knew why.
'You need someone to take care of you' Matt always says to him whenever Jake asked for his reasons for joining the club.
Jake stood at the front and tried to get attention.
"Umm.. Hello everyone.. "
Hoping everyone would be quiet and listen but alas, nobody ever does.
"Yo! Shut up guys! The president's gonnna say something" yelled Matt, seeing nobody is actually paying attention to Jake.
"Umm.. Thank you Matt.. Umm... I am Jake Summers. I am the president of this club. And today, we are going to discuss this year's club agenda."
It was like forever for Jake. As much as he wanted to finish the meeting early, the new members kept asking him unrelated questions which made him quite uneasy. Who would ask their president if he ever went or a date or does he prefer pasta or macaroni for a birthday present. Though the questions seemed silly, Jake answered them. He guessed they just like asking him stupid questions to irritate him or something since he barely show any expressions when talking. Luckily Matt was there to stop them.
" OK guys! That's enough. The president is tired and he has tons of work to do"
" Like what? " asked a boy sitting at the back.
" Like finding an inspiration. You all should start looking for one too if you ever want your artwork to be nominated on the National Art Competition. If not for the competition, at least you will get some extra credit if the campus likes your artwork and hang them. That way, you can reward yourself with a five minute fame then" said Jake a little annoyed.
Though he meant it, not all members usually take seriously when he say something. But he doesn't really care. But a girl far in the corner did pay attention to everything he said. From the moment he walked up to the room, till the moment he left.It was so weird to think that a guy like him could have the hands of an angel. Normally, artists are all shabby and looked as if they haven't taken a shower or something. But Jake was different. He was well groomed and very neat. His sense of fashion can also be praised. If not for his attitude, he would be Mr. Perfect for her.
Judy wanted her artwork to be hanged on the wall of the campus. She wanted her artwork to be nominated in the National Art Competition. Not to sound greedy but she wanted her artwork to won an award or something. She had loved to paint since she was six. Her mother was a famous painter and was very well known. She usually goes off to another country for her exhibition and Judy would follow her. Sometimes, she would follow her mother to the park or other places where they would paint together. But that was years ago. Judy's mother had died of cancer when she was just fourteen. And since that day, she had never wanted to paint ever again.
It has been a very long time since she painted. But it all changed when Judy when she saw a picture Jake had painted when she was at the National Art Exhibition. To others, it was just some paint splattered together on a canvas but to her, she saw more. She saw the artist's feeling. His anger, his sadness, his happiness and his confusion. It was as clear as crystal to her. And just by seeing the artwork, she immediately fell in love with the artist though she had never meet him before. And so, she tried her best to enter the same college as the artist.
He was walking down the corridor of his class. The first week of the new semester had just begun yet, he was burdened with tons of assignments. Jake never minded assignments before as long as it doesn't involve people. It's not like he had an allergy with people or anything but he just doesn't really know how to interact with them. To be safe from humiliating himself, he always kept to himself.
" I wonder what I should say during the club meeting " Jake kept thinking. Lines after lines he tried to make up but everything seemed like it was not right. Not 'perfect' enough. Giving a speech on the first club meeting was sure becoming a headache for him. Sure, he was the president of the Art Club. But he was only selected as one because one of his picture won an award on the National Art Competition for three years in a row. But that doesn't make him a good speaker.
It was hectic when he entered the room. People were talking here and there.
" How am I gonna talk? It's like the whole campus is here " Jake asked.
" Chill man. It's not the whole campus. You just think it's the whole campus. Besides, we got a lot more freshmen this year than last." said Matt.
Though Matt is entirely different in character than Jake, he was the only person that Jake ever feel comfortable with. And the only person he ever responds to. Maybe because Matt never think he's weird for being alone all the time in the art studio. But being Matt, he has always been a cheerful and friendly person. His personality, added with his good looks and his height made him the centre of the spotlight, especially among the girls. He didn't have an artist's hand though but he joined the art club anyway and Jake never knew why.
'You need someone to take care of you' Matt always says to him whenever Jake asked for his reasons for joining the club.
Jake stood at the front and tried to get attention.
"Umm.. Hello everyone.. "
Hoping everyone would be quiet and listen but alas, nobody ever does.
"Yo! Shut up guys! The president's gonnna say something" yelled Matt, seeing nobody is actually paying attention to Jake.
"Umm.. Thank you Matt.. Umm... I am Jake Summers. I am the president of this club. And today, we are going to discuss this year's club agenda."
It was like forever for Jake. As much as he wanted to finish the meeting early, the new members kept asking him unrelated questions which made him quite uneasy. Who would ask their president if he ever went or a date or does he prefer pasta or macaroni for a birthday present. Though the questions seemed silly, Jake answered them. He guessed they just like asking him stupid questions to irritate him or something since he barely show any expressions when talking. Luckily Matt was there to stop them.
" OK guys! That's enough. The president is tired and he has tons of work to do"
" Like what? " asked a boy sitting at the back.
" Like finding an inspiration. You all should start looking for one too if you ever want your artwork to be nominated on the National Art Competition. If not for the competition, at least you will get some extra credit if the campus likes your artwork and hang them. That way, you can reward yourself with a five minute fame then" said Jake a little annoyed.
Though he meant it, not all members usually take seriously when he say something. But he doesn't really care. But a girl far in the corner did pay attention to everything he said. From the moment he walked up to the room, till the moment he left.It was so weird to think that a guy like him could have the hands of an angel. Normally, artists are all shabby and looked as if they haven't taken a shower or something. But Jake was different. He was well groomed and very neat. His sense of fashion can also be praised. If not for his attitude, he would be Mr. Perfect for her.
Judy wanted her artwork to be hanged on the wall of the campus. She wanted her artwork to be nominated in the National Art Competition. Not to sound greedy but she wanted her artwork to won an award or something. She had loved to paint since she was six. Her mother was a famous painter and was very well known. She usually goes off to another country for her exhibition and Judy would follow her. Sometimes, she would follow her mother to the park or other places where they would paint together. But that was years ago. Judy's mother had died of cancer when she was just fourteen. And since that day, she had never wanted to paint ever again.
It has been a very long time since she painted. But it all changed when Judy when she saw a picture Jake had painted when she was at the National Art Exhibition. To others, it was just some paint splattered together on a canvas but to her, she saw more. She saw the artist's feeling. His anger, his sadness, his happiness and his confusion. It was as clear as crystal to her. And just by seeing the artwork, she immediately fell in love with the artist though she had never meet him before. And so, she tried her best to enter the same college as the artist.
Dec 5, 2013
Day 1 - A Cold Start
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| Raatul in her grace |
So, tonight, I got started with our character, the female Bosmer archer with Legolas style. Now, to say the least, the Bosmer people are wood elves, relative of the Altmer, high elves. They came from Valenwood, somewhere west? I don't really know but they are the wood people of Tamriel. Now, as I go along I would explain what mod I'm using and so on. The picture of Raatul above is far from the vanilla one. I used CBBE - Caliente's Big Bottom Edition mod. A body mod for female and I chose the Curvy set. Because who doesn't like boobs? Anyways, I also installed Sporty Sexy Sweat body texture, providing a sexy glisten on Raatul's body... currently unseen because she's wearing clothes. I assure you, when I unequip them, you will definitely see the sweat... You may also notice the hair mod, ApachiiSkyHair. Because females need to look fabulous. As for the face, I go for Bella's Beauty mod that makes the whole feminine face. Trust me, the vanilla female either look like guys or old women. Another mod in the pic is also FNIS - Fores' New Idles, which gives her the pose there, like a model. I like short women but to be more lore friendly, Bosmer are generally high, like the other elves, so I gave her the vanilla height. One last mod in the pic is the Alternate Start - Live Another Life mod that gives you options other than the vanilla one for you to start your adventure.
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| If you see the statue there, you've a good eye. That's the Temple of Azura. |
I sort of chose the "I was attacked and left for dead" option, and I got this place. Snowy... way north and between two cities, Dawnstar and Winterhold. But I'm not going there. The main storyline starts when you go to Helgen, a village wayyyy south of here. By the way, in the picture above, I used Climates of Tamriel, because I love how the author makes the sky looks so wonderful. I tried Realistic Lighting Overhaul but since the new update, everything was either too bright or too dark. Talking about snow, I also installed Frostfall, a survival mod that I love. I mean, Skyrim is a snowy region of Tamriel and well... let's say you're supposed to die if you don't have much protection and preparation to face the cold climate. Another mod, also running in the background is Realistic Needs and Diseases, which makes you EAT and DRINK and SLEEP like a normal human being. Right now, I have to get out of this cold, before I freeze to death.
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| Frickin mammoth... almost killed me |
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| Nightgate Inn - a place of warmth |
Yup. A jester, transporting his sweet dead mother to a new crypt. I found him when I entered the Southern region of Skyrim, as you can see with the green and warm climate. Let's just say, I helped him with his broken cart, getting help from a farm nearby, and he paid me 250 gold just for that. Wow. Anyways, I quickly got out of there because who knows what's in that big box of his. For all you know, he's transporting contraband. Weapons. Skooma (read: drugs). I stumbled into the Eastern fort of Whiterun, on the way and I saw some bandits patrolling that area. Since, I am still level 1 and only have like 60 HP, I quickly decided to let the guards handle them. The fort had 3 men stationed there, so I had to lure the bandits close to the fort and WHAM, guards with their crossbows quickly killed the 3 bandits with ease. I looted all three of the bandits and got new gears; fur armors, and a broadsword. At last, a weapon. I made my way onward to my first waypoint, Whiterun, city of trade and the center of Skyrim.
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| Dragonreach - Jarl of Whiterun's palace |
That's Raatul in fur armor and broadsword on her back. I am using Immersive Animations mod to go along with Dual Sheath Redux and also XP32 Maximum Skeleton, so I can get the swords to be on my back. The Dragonreach is in Whiterun, by looking at it I have to circle around the hill to get to the entrance.
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| Katixas' Cider House |
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| Cider Press |
Now, after this, I will start writing the adventure in a first person mode. Meaning, it will be a story based on Raatul's perspectives, with her own characteristics, preferences and attributes. I will try to get Raatul to become one full fledged character and somehow get you to know about Skyrim and modding more...
P.S. I had to restart once because there was something wrong with a save and I quickly found out that you do NOT push the Grass fade too high because laptops aren't supposed to handle such high processing. Oh, and for those who are wondering... Raatul's name came from a certain... person that has a special place in my heart. It also means queen (Ratu), in malay.
Skyrim Adventure
It is 11:01 P.M. on a Wednesday night, looking at the invisible stars in my hostel window. I am eating chicken, with spices, that my roommate has blackmailed me to buy, two bags of them, and I know it is unhealthy to eat at this late hour but hell... I won't let good chickens go to waste. It was at this hour, I congratulated myself for having The Elder Scrolls V : Skyrim : Legendary edition. I bought it for a good RM200+ and it was the most worth it purchase I have ever made. This game just adds spice to an already good seasoned life of mine. Every new start, it completely changes, except of course the main storyline, but Skyrim has never ceased to amaze me with random encounters, bandits, cats that talk, assassins trying to kill me for some reason I never know, weird and funny bugs and glitches, and of course... the dragons.
So, it was at this time that I found a mod. A mod is a modification to the game that players add. In it's core, Skyrim is beautiful. Except when you're running a PC. It's a console-oriented game and consoles are not PC. The Xbox 360 is a good console, but even it's successor cannot match the power of a PC. It just can't. Not even the PS4. I'm not going into details about this but essentially, consoles are worth it's processing power but it sucks at graphics processing. That's why Skyrim on a PC looks like a PS2 version of Crysis 3. That's why Bethesda thought, "Well... we made the game.... but it kinda sucks on PC. Hell to that, I'm not going through that again." And then they made the CK, Creation Kit, for Skyrim.
CK is the GUI for adding things, or deleting, to or from Skyrim. Believe me, a lot of people has gone into making Skyrim but in the 2 weeks of Skyrim release, there's already some billion copies of it sold. Therefore, the power of the user comes in action. CK has made it possible for a lot of Dovahkiin to make Skyrim their own unique place. You can... add people, make more houses, make everything looks more beautiful, modify appearances, making nude females, add new systems, FIX BUGS AND GLITCHES, deleting things that cause bug and glitches, make you look badass, add new spells or shouts, make a new interface, gives Skyrim some penises (not too much thank you UGH WHO WANTS TO SEE THAT), make children killable (nobody's immortal in the game... except you), add lingeries, make new enemies, transform into dragons, make everything super big, and of course... makes everything harder and more realistic. In vanilla (read: original) Skyrim, you don't have to sleep, eat or drink for the whole adventure unless you want to. That's not how a human behave. Not even Dovahkiin.
Therefore, I have installed 208 mods (and counting) to my Skyrim. It has transformed Skyrim into Skyrim-how's-it-supposed-to-be. I made females look better, males actually look like males, reptiles do not suddenly have invisible heads when you decapitate them, and enemies now don't stand around like punch bags waiting for me to kill them. I love it how SkyRe gives meaning to play as a Breton. Summoning 10 fire atronachs in 30 seconds is fucking cool. And overpowered MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA. I love Bretons. They don't just make the cutest females in the game but summoners are the first classes I look forward to in any game. In SW2, as Mitsunari Ishida always say, "I let you do all the work, while I take all the credits."
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| Fire atronach = Hot Lady on fire |
In any case, the purpose of this post is not just to give a general good idea of Skyrim and it's hundreds of thousands of mods, but also to make an announcement for my first ever project for this fricking blog. I think I have installed as many mods as possible and it's actually time to actually PLAY the damn thing. There will be say... few restarts as I try to balance 200+ mods in an already fragile game (I'm looking at you Papyrus), but I will try to make it at a minimum. I've made thousands of characters for testing Skyrim and I only made it to Alduin ONCE. God. I feel so ashamed of myself right now.
So... I've played Bretons and summoners too much and now to switch to a different play style of wood elves and archers. I like bows and arrows but I am really going into the Legolas sort of play style. Bows and two sabres. With SkyRe, this is possible. Except that Wood Elves, Bosmers, are among the weakest playthrough anyone can get, until you get crossbows. With that, even dragons can fall easily.
Now... in the next few posts I will try to update as much as possible of my Bosmer playthrough of Skyrim. Here's to... Raatul, the female Bosmer archer, and her companions, Lydia and Faendal. Of course, when you go with a playthrough of Hard dificulty and Expert on Deadly Dragons, shit just ain't gonna happen. It's going to be a norm for me to flip shit up and it's up to my Housecarl and Archer to fix things for me.
P.S. Actually when I look back, I always have this "ultimate triforce" in my playthrough. Tank, Damage, and Support. Thank you for that Final Fantasy.
Nov 11, 2013
Summoner
This is one of the most keeping story I have ever created because of the similarities between the settings and characters to that one favourite game of mine. Sort of anyways but if you ever play FF XII, you would kow about half of the settings and how the customs are done inside this one.
Here we go.
The dark sky was made darker by the contrast of flames that was licking the whole city, spreading from one rooftop to another and the chaos within the buildings themselves are making grim of the city's fate. There were bodies, bloodied or blackened, scattered everywhere. The war had taken the north gate first, the armies of the great Empire, led by the Lord General Haxin himself, had crashed through magical barriers and physical alike. The hand crafted duralumin gate now stood bended and broken by it's hinges. Starting from there, the bodies were piled up one after another at the sides of roads, marking women and children as well as men in shining armor. Now, their eyes stared into void, claiming for a cause to end this war.
At the center of The Shining City, Rousce, the armies of Great Emperor of the Cena was immobilizing. The march had continued from the north gate to the adjacent east gate, where the enemies now stood, marking their territories, a magical barrier between them and the 7th Platoon, a whole 500 men wielding pikes in bulky armor, even now eyeing the barrier as suspciously as the gathering men on the other side. One of them shifted his shoulder muscles, trying to adjust to the strain on his left one. His arms were slapped with a metal clang from another man coming from behind.
"Get ready, the mages are bringing the paling down. Once it's down, we are sure to meet the fury of Rousce's defenders. Those guys out there are really asking for it," the man from behind addressed to those within earshot, causing a turbulence in the straight line. He was wearing a helmet like all the others but his looks older than any of them and looks weary from repaired dents. His was also decorated with chips and carvings only a master craftsman could've appreciate, matching the ones on his gauntlets down to his metal boots. Evidence of fighting bloodied the chips now.
"Yes, sir! Sir... Why are we even at the East gate? We could've charged through to the center and take the city before dinner," the pikeman asked.
Silence filled in amongst shifting men, each of them looking at the new recruit. The man in decorated armor looked at him, his eye holes seem to be frowning. Yet, he looked away almost immediately and went to the front. He turned around and looked from one of the line to the other. Five stretches of men, each of them designed at their places specifically. The great wall of Haxin, some called them. That would be an understatement. This wall are fearless and they could charge through thousands of man within minutes. But they are also made to be the first one to fall.
"Listen! Rousce will fall tonight because of its betrayal of our treaty! They will know despair throughout Cena! We stand here to mark that betrayal and to strike fear into the other nations! The mighty Empire will not fall down tonight! I ask plenty of you all. So, I will ask again tonight! Who are the defenders?"
As an answer all of the pikesmen hauled up their spears and roared out a single word. "Men!"
The commander in front took up his halberd. "Who are the men?"
The rows of men brought their pikes down and slant it towards an angle, with their big shields covering their ranks, shouting "Ingrods!"
Commander Faam turned to face the other armies, now getting ready to meet them as well, with their long and short swords. After this, I am done with all of these wars, he said inside. Outward, he asked one last question.
"Who are the Ingrods?"
"Us!"
The Paling was down even as the question asked. The men Rousce charged on like cornered rats, fighting a futile battle against them. That day, the Ingrods won but none of them cheered when the charge was cleared. Another wave was coming and they were marched to the south gate. Inside those steel helmets, the men of Ingrods frowned in grim determination. A madman was leading them, from one place to another.
The only reason they are delaying the succumb of the city was because the madman wanted the Shining City to surrender. Not to be destroyed instantly. Instead, the madman wanted to make the Emporer of the Cera crawl to his legs and beg for peace. A madman was leading these grim men. And none of them could breath a word of defiance.
The night was long and the battle hard. But the Ingrods stood high and tall throughout, claiming their name of the Wall of Haxin.
Here we go.
The dark sky was made darker by the contrast of flames that was licking the whole city, spreading from one rooftop to another and the chaos within the buildings themselves are making grim of the city's fate. There were bodies, bloodied or blackened, scattered everywhere. The war had taken the north gate first, the armies of the great Empire, led by the Lord General Haxin himself, had crashed through magical barriers and physical alike. The hand crafted duralumin gate now stood bended and broken by it's hinges. Starting from there, the bodies were piled up one after another at the sides of roads, marking women and children as well as men in shining armor. Now, their eyes stared into void, claiming for a cause to end this war.
At the center of The Shining City, Rousce, the armies of Great Emperor of the Cena was immobilizing. The march had continued from the north gate to the adjacent east gate, where the enemies now stood, marking their territories, a magical barrier between them and the 7th Platoon, a whole 500 men wielding pikes in bulky armor, even now eyeing the barrier as suspciously as the gathering men on the other side. One of them shifted his shoulder muscles, trying to adjust to the strain on his left one. His arms were slapped with a metal clang from another man coming from behind.
"Get ready, the mages are bringing the paling down. Once it's down, we are sure to meet the fury of Rousce's defenders. Those guys out there are really asking for it," the man from behind addressed to those within earshot, causing a turbulence in the straight line. He was wearing a helmet like all the others but his looks older than any of them and looks weary from repaired dents. His was also decorated with chips and carvings only a master craftsman could've appreciate, matching the ones on his gauntlets down to his metal boots. Evidence of fighting bloodied the chips now.
"Yes, sir! Sir... Why are we even at the East gate? We could've charged through to the center and take the city before dinner," the pikeman asked.
Silence filled in amongst shifting men, each of them looking at the new recruit. The man in decorated armor looked at him, his eye holes seem to be frowning. Yet, he looked away almost immediately and went to the front. He turned around and looked from one of the line to the other. Five stretches of men, each of them designed at their places specifically. The great wall of Haxin, some called them. That would be an understatement. This wall are fearless and they could charge through thousands of man within minutes. But they are also made to be the first one to fall.
"Listen! Rousce will fall tonight because of its betrayal of our treaty! They will know despair throughout Cena! We stand here to mark that betrayal and to strike fear into the other nations! The mighty Empire will not fall down tonight! I ask plenty of you all. So, I will ask again tonight! Who are the defenders?"
As an answer all of the pikesmen hauled up their spears and roared out a single word. "Men!"
The commander in front took up his halberd. "Who are the men?"
The rows of men brought their pikes down and slant it towards an angle, with their big shields covering their ranks, shouting "Ingrods!"
Commander Faam turned to face the other armies, now getting ready to meet them as well, with their long and short swords. After this, I am done with all of these wars, he said inside. Outward, he asked one last question.
"Who are the Ingrods?"
"Us!"
The Paling was down even as the question asked. The men Rousce charged on like cornered rats, fighting a futile battle against them. That day, the Ingrods won but none of them cheered when the charge was cleared. Another wave was coming and they were marched to the south gate. Inside those steel helmets, the men of Ingrods frowned in grim determination. A madman was leading them, from one place to another.
The only reason they are delaying the succumb of the city was because the madman wanted the Shining City to surrender. Not to be destroyed instantly. Instead, the madman wanted to make the Emporer of the Cera crawl to his legs and beg for peace. A madman was leading these grim men. And none of them could breath a word of defiance.
The night was long and the battle hard. But the Ingrods stood high and tall throughout, claiming their name of the Wall of Haxin.
Sadness inside for the truth that she hides
10th November 2013
Around 2.00 P.M.
Room
Around the descriptions of the date above, I knew now that I was right. I was right about everything, and I was right about the part about when I look at people and I know what their inner feelings are before they even open their mouths. But hey, I've been thinking that that is a bad thing and I should stop it. Being the perhaps some small percentage of the world's population that has been able to do this, I do not consider myself unique. Unique is word you describe a three headed lamb with each head having two mouths and a three-pairing birth mark on their foreheads.
I am a complicated man with a simple heart. That's all there is to it. These may not be the feelings I've shown to other people but hey, a man can have many secrets. And INFJs have more than you can imagine. They are like the solitary piece of Orihalcum in a mine of Quicksilver. You don't know what I'm talking about? Good, neither do I most of the time. Don't ask me what I'm writing because free hand writing is what I do best and I am doing it right now. What's an INFJ, you ask? Well, its an archetype of psyches that has been categorized by... a lot of psychologists and whatnot.
The name of that categorization is the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBIT) that has been used for a long time it seems. Wikipedia doesn't say anything about that. Short story : MBIT categorizes the general people into GENERAL types. Imagine a plate of chicken chop, with nothing else. Just the chicken. Some people would think it's too simple and decides to go to the shopping and mall and buy some black pepper sauce in a bottle to spice things up a bit. Some other people would think it's just nice, plain chicken and plain chop. Some other people would look at this dish and thinks to himself, "How much calorie would this have?" and eat it anyway because she's hungry. But some few people would look at it and thinks to himself "Chicken chops... chicken shops.... Hicken Shops... Hicken Shop of Weaponry... Hicken Glare of the Northen Wind with his best sorting of weapons that he had made himself... Hicken Glare who wrought the piece of blade that had destroyed the last of the dragons..." And he ends up eating the chicken while all kinds of stories appear inside his head like mushrooms until he doesn't have space at all for barely anything else and he doesn't even know it's happening. It feels like a curse if that happens.
Long story... well the one before was long but this one is longer. MBIT is made up of two broad categories; Extrovert and Introvert. Extrovert means you are in the "real" world much more than the Introvert, who lives inside his head. Then there's more categorization. The way you make decisions, by perceiving (Intuition or Sensing) or by judging (Thinking and Feeling). Remember, though, that these are theories. And in theories you cannot really know a true definite answer. These are just guidelines for yourselves. I've long since really put honest trust in these kinds of labeling. I hate labeling for one. It's like having a price tag on your personality and the world is trying to buy you as cheap as possible with rubbish bargains. The way I see these categorization is that it makes it easier for us to understand who we really are, and try not to feel bad about it. I don't feel bad about it.
So, after sifting through the webs, I came to this website. CelebrityTypes is a website that takes the MBIT test a step further by giving famous personalities a personality test. Most are famous history-making people like Socrates, Plato, Hitler, Mahatman Ghandi or Roosevelt. Some are less obscure like Marilyn Manson. Whatever it is, there's a test that you can take on that page and once you done it, you would be generally categorize as one of the 16 broad categories. Congratulations, you have set a price on your toe. Now its up to you to increase or let it decrease. Want it or not, the world is like that. I may live inside my head, but that doesn't mean I don't look out the windows. I do. A lot of times. And it's very ugly outside. I don't want to go outside.
I am INFJ and I do not feel unique. Trust me, for our kind, feeling unique is what we detest the most. About 7 years before, when I was in secondary school, I would've given anything to become like other people; fit, talkative, social, likable, handsome and so on. Instead, I became this... socially awkward (like "Hi... Erm..." socially awkward) with a complete suspicion that everyone is plotting against me. The world was evil and I was the victim. So, around when I was 14 or 15, I decided to make myself a hero. I did. A lot of times too. It nearly felt as good as sex would've been... if I know what sex feels that is. I didn't stop making myself a hero, except that... it became more than that. I started to write things down. Names, plots, details of the world and so on until it became second nature to me to just look at one thing, let my mind wander and boom, a novel out of nowhere. I haven't even gone to make it into a trilogy yet, so don't go anywhere. Eff why I, I did make a trilogy but... it became more than that. See what I mean by curse?
Anyways, try and go to CelebrityTypes and take the test, it's in the left margin of the page, you can't miss it. If you miss it, you're blind and I suggest going to the Optimitrist and preparing several hundred dollars for a pair of concave or convex glass, held by plastic frames. Don't feel bad, blind people. A lot of people are blind actually. Blind about the truths that has been under their very noses... Such arrogance. And they call me ignorant. Butt-sniffing bastards. I'm not talking about dogs by the way. Just so you know. Ahem.
Did I mention that INFJs are people who think Intuitively inside and Feeling outside? No? Well I am now. That either means I have a serious problem saying what I mean to say or not saying what I mean to say and making other people really confused of what I'm trying to say. There you go. Oh and don't go to chats and say that you are INFJs and that makes you feel good because you are the 1% of the global population. One percent of 6.9 billion is a lot. We may come rare these days but look at the world now... almost everyone has a smart phone with a touchscreen. Thirty years ago you would've paid more than 3000 dollars for a 500 MB hard disk. I'm not even kidding.
And as always... Look out for a guy named Hicken Glare for the next weeks of the month. I'm sure I'm going to think something up. God, I hate it when I think up stuff and I missed a floor from my room. Mind you, I went up an extra floor, not left one behind. And only realising it when I nearly went into "my" room. THESE AREN'T MY UNDERWEARS.
Around 2.00 P.M.
Room
Around the descriptions of the date above, I knew now that I was right. I was right about everything, and I was right about the part about when I look at people and I know what their inner feelings are before they even open their mouths. But hey, I've been thinking that that is a bad thing and I should stop it. Being the perhaps some small percentage of the world's population that has been able to do this, I do not consider myself unique. Unique is word you describe a three headed lamb with each head having two mouths and a three-pairing birth mark on their foreheads.
I am a complicated man with a simple heart. That's all there is to it. These may not be the feelings I've shown to other people but hey, a man can have many secrets. And INFJs have more than you can imagine. They are like the solitary piece of Orihalcum in a mine of Quicksilver. You don't know what I'm talking about? Good, neither do I most of the time. Don't ask me what I'm writing because free hand writing is what I do best and I am doing it right now. What's an INFJ, you ask? Well, its an archetype of psyches that has been categorized by... a lot of psychologists and whatnot.
The name of that categorization is the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBIT) that has been used for a long time it seems. Wikipedia doesn't say anything about that. Short story : MBIT categorizes the general people into GENERAL types. Imagine a plate of chicken chop, with nothing else. Just the chicken. Some people would think it's too simple and decides to go to the shopping and mall and buy some black pepper sauce in a bottle to spice things up a bit. Some other people would think it's just nice, plain chicken and plain chop. Some other people would look at this dish and thinks to himself, "How much calorie would this have?" and eat it anyway because she's hungry. But some few people would look at it and thinks to himself "Chicken chops... chicken shops.... Hicken Shops... Hicken Shop of Weaponry... Hicken Glare of the Northen Wind with his best sorting of weapons that he had made himself... Hicken Glare who wrought the piece of blade that had destroyed the last of the dragons..." And he ends up eating the chicken while all kinds of stories appear inside his head like mushrooms until he doesn't have space at all for barely anything else and he doesn't even know it's happening. It feels like a curse if that happens.
Long story... well the one before was long but this one is longer. MBIT is made up of two broad categories; Extrovert and Introvert. Extrovert means you are in the "real" world much more than the Introvert, who lives inside his head. Then there's more categorization. The way you make decisions, by perceiving (Intuition or Sensing) or by judging (Thinking and Feeling). Remember, though, that these are theories. And in theories you cannot really know a true definite answer. These are just guidelines for yourselves. I've long since really put honest trust in these kinds of labeling. I hate labeling for one. It's like having a price tag on your personality and the world is trying to buy you as cheap as possible with rubbish bargains. The way I see these categorization is that it makes it easier for us to understand who we really are, and try not to feel bad about it. I don't feel bad about it.
So, after sifting through the webs, I came to this website. CelebrityTypes is a website that takes the MBIT test a step further by giving famous personalities a personality test. Most are famous history-making people like Socrates, Plato, Hitler, Mahatman Ghandi or Roosevelt. Some are less obscure like Marilyn Manson. Whatever it is, there's a test that you can take on that page and once you done it, you would be generally categorize as one of the 16 broad categories. Congratulations, you have set a price on your toe. Now its up to you to increase or let it decrease. Want it or not, the world is like that. I may live inside my head, but that doesn't mean I don't look out the windows. I do. A lot of times. And it's very ugly outside. I don't want to go outside.
I am INFJ and I do not feel unique. Trust me, for our kind, feeling unique is what we detest the most. About 7 years before, when I was in secondary school, I would've given anything to become like other people; fit, talkative, social, likable, handsome and so on. Instead, I became this... socially awkward (like "Hi... Erm..." socially awkward) with a complete suspicion that everyone is plotting against me. The world was evil and I was the victim. So, around when I was 14 or 15, I decided to make myself a hero. I did. A lot of times too. It nearly felt as good as sex would've been... if I know what sex feels that is. I didn't stop making myself a hero, except that... it became more than that. I started to write things down. Names, plots, details of the world and so on until it became second nature to me to just look at one thing, let my mind wander and boom, a novel out of nowhere. I haven't even gone to make it into a trilogy yet, so don't go anywhere. Eff why I, I did make a trilogy but... it became more than that. See what I mean by curse?
Anyways, try and go to CelebrityTypes and take the test, it's in the left margin of the page, you can't miss it. If you miss it, you're blind and I suggest going to the Optimitrist and preparing several hundred dollars for a pair of concave or convex glass, held by plastic frames. Don't feel bad, blind people. A lot of people are blind actually. Blind about the truths that has been under their very noses... Such arrogance. And they call me ignorant. Butt-sniffing bastards. I'm not talking about dogs by the way. Just so you know. Ahem.
Did I mention that INFJs are people who think Intuitively inside and Feeling outside? No? Well I am now. That either means I have a serious problem saying what I mean to say or not saying what I mean to say and making other people really confused of what I'm trying to say. There you go. Oh and don't go to chats and say that you are INFJs and that makes you feel good because you are the 1% of the global population. One percent of 6.9 billion is a lot. We may come rare these days but look at the world now... almost everyone has a smart phone with a touchscreen. Thirty years ago you would've paid more than 3000 dollars for a 500 MB hard disk. I'm not even kidding.
And as always... Look out for a guy named Hicken Glare for the next weeks of the month. I'm sure I'm going to think something up. God, I hate it when I think up stuff and I missed a floor from my room. Mind you, I went up an extra floor, not left one behind. And only realising it when I nearly went into "my" room. THESE AREN'T MY UNDERWEARS.
Aug 30, 2013
FictionPress
Yesterday, or rather today's earliest mornings, I was chatting with Rabbia on Facebook and you know what it's all about. I tried to find out what she likes the most, like talking about a specific topic or something, but so far... we just miss each other too much it seems.
But talking about me is not going to get far, so today I'm talking about this site I found. It is the equivalent of deviantArt for writers. Writers and roleplayers it seems as I tried to find out digging through all that stuff...
fictionpress.com is the place where you can post your stories, doubtless copyrighted to your name I hope, and I think it 's a good way for amuteur writers to try to get some feedback from total strangers. Remember that long ass draft you did when you just needed to write something, like I am right now? Yeah, you can post some of it here (I say some because I'm still trying to find out how under the Light do they keep copyrights) and strangers will click and read through it, or a portion of it, and they will write reviews of it. If they deem it suits their styles.
Personally, the ones I've read so far has that beginner's style of writing. It reminded me of younger times when I tried to write down several words without seemingly to repeat them. One way or another, I'm probably one of them, despite me trying to improve further on. I felt at home there for a while until I came to the forums.
Oh the forums. Some of those threads are YEARS old and at least few of them are still active. The forums are divided into stories and general but if you're thinking to discuss an important aspect of writing, be ready to dig through all those words because MY WORD, there are so many roleplaying threads here! Seriously, guys, roleplaying is cool but can we get some words in about character personalization, plotting, improving styles, or dialog writing. I did stumble about this thread, comparing each other's dialogs and battle scenes, it was cool first until I noticed the date the thread was created. It was created 5 years ago. My sister is 5 years old. God.
Ah well, I felt at home right there and then though. Writing samples, reading stories, and even people that apparently enjoys a little bit (even if it's too much) roleplaying.
Oh and, I noticed a lack of a beginner's section. Where the heck is the Introduction thread?
But talking about me is not going to get far, so today I'm talking about this site I found. It is the equivalent of deviantArt for writers. Writers and roleplayers it seems as I tried to find out digging through all that stuff...
fictionpress.com is the place where you can post your stories, doubtless copyrighted to your name I hope, and I think it 's a good way for amuteur writers to try to get some feedback from total strangers. Remember that long ass draft you did when you just needed to write something, like I am right now? Yeah, you can post some of it here (I say some because I'm still trying to find out how under the Light do they keep copyrights) and strangers will click and read through it, or a portion of it, and they will write reviews of it. If they deem it suits their styles.
Personally, the ones I've read so far has that beginner's style of writing. It reminded me of younger times when I tried to write down several words without seemingly to repeat them. One way or another, I'm probably one of them, despite me trying to improve further on. I felt at home there for a while until I came to the forums.
Oh the forums. Some of those threads are YEARS old and at least few of them are still active. The forums are divided into stories and general but if you're thinking to discuss an important aspect of writing, be ready to dig through all those words because MY WORD, there are so many roleplaying threads here! Seriously, guys, roleplaying is cool but can we get some words in about character personalization, plotting, improving styles, or dialog writing. I did stumble about this thread, comparing each other's dialogs and battle scenes, it was cool first until I noticed the date the thread was created. It was created 5 years ago. My sister is 5 years old. God.
Ah well, I felt at home right there and then though. Writing samples, reading stories, and even people that apparently enjoys a little bit (even if it's too much) roleplaying.
Oh and, I noticed a lack of a beginner's section. Where the heck is the Introduction thread?
Aug 27, 2013
Electric Feel
The days are becoming shorter. It always is when most of it was gone to being with the local gangsters. Not really. They're not really gangsters, or loan sharks but his days with them are being seen as one of them. Most of the time, he watched the other guys do the dirty jobs. Most of it. Whenever he felt particularly filthy that day, there's always his brass knuckles. Those brass knuckles are what saved him most of the time when the days are just bad. That, and his disgust towards himself.
He couldn't bring himself to leave them. There's always a reason. It has to do with this honor situation where you don't really leave them, you just take a vacation somewhere and when you feel it back again, you can go back. You're still part of them. The whole thing seems like a joke to him but the more days he spent, looking at the other guys burning someone's wife, or punching someone to the brink of death, or even just strutting about like they own the world, the more he realize he's being part of them. You can't just leave when you're part of something like this. More thoughts became from that single thought. Tonight though, he can't seem to think other than that one day.
The house was burning. He was holding the matchbox. It all seemed reasonable before. The guy didn't pay up for what he borrowed from them. He's been warned three times and they don't usually go three times. You either pay up the first time, or there won't be a second time. The day was Thursday, he remembered vividly because Johnny Killer was premiered that day and he loved that series. That episode, Johny 'Killer' Bern had a job to take out a couple of villains who stole from the National Bank. The plot was the usual; hero gets job, hero finds clues, hero finds villain, villain took something from hero, hero took it back with revenge and completed the job in the meantime. It was a pure joke, straight from the studio.
His family was in there. Burning to death or choking from all that smoke. The whole building was on fire and it seemed like a party with a bonfire in the middle. The other guys laugh histericaly while he stared at that fire, straining his ears for screaming. The guy had 2 kids, probably 6 and 8 both. A beautiful wife, it was strange the guys don't drag her out with him too. There was a lot of oil and there he was, the only one with a lighter. It all seemed like a dream. The guy was screaming, shouting for his wife and children while being gagged and kicked by the other guys. He stared at that fire long after the man was already dead from all that beating.
Then, Hewlitt happened. The first company to bring Crysta. Some chemical crap mixed together with some hard to pronounce stuff that emits electricity. Actually emit the stuff, he saw on the tele the other day. Globally needed, Crysta was all out and in energy. You just buy the stuff from the Hewlitt branch. It sold like hot pies on a rainy day. Their factories grew like mushrooms. Even the other guys were into it. Mainly because it also emits a strong hallucination from the clouds of smoke the stuff emits. It wasn't toxic but who knows. Crysta was the meth of energy that the world desperately needed. But times change, and not long after 6 months, the city of Iskandar was transformed into an all out industrial area. Main occupant: Hewlitt.
He didn't approve the use of the stuff. He never did. But he can see the transformation it brings. Business was business but business with Crysta is another matter. Soon, the gang was involved in the black market. It brings in more money daily and doesn't need much time to handle. They were rich once, then the whole thing collapsed with a new invention from that some company. Nicknamed, Juara, which means Hero. The over powered security robot was custom designed to track misuse of Crysta. Even the police avoid them. They roam around town, the Hewlitt practically own the town, and about 100 of those things could be seen, walking around with those blue eyes. Powered by that electricity - emitting stuff, those androids don't give up easily.
Then news reached his ear like a thunder. Some guys died when they tried to over heat the crystal-like substance, in order to make more of that cloudy smoke. He barely reached the place before the authority got there. It was a mess. Blood was on everything and there wasn't even a hint where the body was before... something happened. Nobody was alive to tell the tale. Including one of his own. That guy wasn't the nicest but sometimes he helped him through times. At that time, that reason was enough to track down what happened. He dug for information about Crysta, traded for infomation. Twice, he nearly got caught by the Juara, trading some drugs for information. Apparently, the police got their hands on those things and made some adjustments. It was apparent that the mafia age was coming to an end.
He got this contact with a cop. He hasn't had sleep for the last 3 days, not even naps. He was desperate to get to the bottom of this. One of his contact had successfully convinced a cop to reveal some really top secret stuff about the Juara, and the usage of Crysta. He found out that Crysta was made from acid or something, he can't pronounce it, but the other stuff what made him surprised. Originally, the substance was found on Mars, some space guys got ahold of it and brought it back to earth for study. Then those guys in suits found out that they can actually reproduce the stuff, taking like a stem from it and copy it again and again with some really scientific notations and procedures. He skipped that part. After heating the plant-like substance, they heat it at high temperature, making it 'sweat' or some stuff. The 'sweat' was what was mixed into acid and eventually it will clot into this piece of rock that emits light and electricity. They call it Crysta.
That was before he met the cop. Now, he's sitting in a chinese stall, eating some kind of noodle with a spicy soup. His leather jacket was making him sweat but he doesn't want to reveal to the shopkeeper the numerous amounts of tattoo he has around his arms. People will see that too and some are wiser than most to call the police or worse, a Juara. The bright bulb, that lonely little bulb, was the only thing lighting the place up. Behind him was a road, filled with cars and people, so the place wasn't that dark. It was just in a corner and the light doesn't go well there. It was a wonder why he chose that spot for the meeting. Someone said the place had good food but it seems he lost his sense of taste.
Not long after he finished halfway through the noodle, a guy sat slid into the stall beside him. He doesn't need to look up to know that his contacts was right. It was a cop. With that aura around him, and that sense of neatness. It was a good cop too. Probably was in the force not long ago, with some SWAT or something but now too old or too wise to be ordered around like a tool. He probably asked to be an inspector or something. He was wearing that bloody shoe. That dark and shiny shoe that every cop there seems to think it's stylish. It's not. Especially when you're wearing a shirt like that.
"You're the guy? I thought so," the cop said. He was an indian. With that accent that rang out like he was singing while talking. But that small smile all indian has is gone from that face. He looks weary and old. Probably bored to death now that the Juara are taking up all his jobs. Probably has a grudge or two. "Didn't expect a Malay to get into this kind of stuff. Where's the payment?" Tch. He didn't lose his sense of ordering people like dogs though. He hated being ordered around. So, he slurped the rest of the noodle before meeting eye to eye with the guy.
"I see the papers, you see the payment, ya?" he asked.
The cop was no idiot, he gave credit to that. He knows a dangerous man when he sees one. And he was more than that. Cautiously, he stood up and took out some folded papers from his pocket. The trousers are slick, neat and he bet his last cent that it was ironed before he came here. The papers were a little crumpled but the information was there. He made no move to grab at it. He knew better not to.
"The payment?" the guy said.
He took one look at the papers and decided that it was real. Cops like that don't lie, even if the order of the day wasn't that honest. He slipped a hand into his jacket, felt for his left pocket. The other guy was readying into a stance, he can see it. He gave off a little smile, amused. Then he took out some Black Crysta, the pure stuff. These things emit double the amount of hallucination smoke than the regular ones but sucks in conducting electricity. Better, and safer. He practically lived on the money he made selling that stuff around. The other guy's eyes glitter like seeing naked lady in front of him, swallowing.
"Good," he said and put the papers on the table, beside the bowl of noodles. "There, now give me that."
He didn't even reach his hand out fully before it was snatched away. The guy was probably addicted to the stuff. Poor guy is dead within years if he does. Months if he doesn't regulate like the others. The smoke itself wasn't toxic but when it reached into the lungs and fused with your blood, the iron inside the blood loses to the stuff and if you don't regulate your treatment, your blood will lose that taste of iron and soon you may found yourself unable to breath, move or do pretty much anything else. The stuff eats your blood inside out. It was horrific but that's probably what happened in a lot of cases. No more blood, no more you. Simple as that.
The indian guy left in a hurry, probably back to his nest. Soon, the chinese guy holding the stall came to him, asking what happened to him. He said the guy just left, and took his order. He was a full and happy man that night.
Until he reached his car, started the engine, opened the air-conditioner, switched on the indoor lights, and took a look at the papers. There was a lot of notations here and there, markings. None of it makes sense except one part. That part made him read that same sentence twice, three times before he looked up.
"Juara is equipped with the most advanced technology of modern times and the AI is based on a super-controlled part of the human race. It's brain is developed into an actual size of the human's and powered by life itself, a Crysta in it's heart core. But that isn't enough for the Juara programming. It needed another ingredient, a secret one that can make the Juara the most human-like response towards a lot of things. That is this: "
"The human brain," he whispered the word. "A live one."
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and gulped down saliva. When he opened them up again, he was looking at a street corner, a dark alley where nobody would care about anything there, if there was anybody. But there was somebody there. It looked like a boy. No, it's coming closer. There's something wrong with it. He switched on the lights and move his head forward.
"Oh shi-"
The silencer made two burst of twitch. Both the bullets took him at the temple, right at the head. He was dead. The culprit made his way to the car, pulled at the door, and shoot him twice more. Just to make sure. Then he reached inside, took the papers, now bloodied, took a look and turned away. The light on the car was still on, it's engine still burning. The culprit reached the end of the alley and ran. A smoke escaped the back of his head, now noisy with sounds of respiration, like a steam train. But it ran on forward, towards a factory that marked as 'Hewlitt'.
It was 50 years after that when Iskandar City was renamed as Hewlitton. Crysta was becoming better and better and a new model of Juara came out, named Juara Runner. A smaller frame, almost boyish teenage outer layer and a whole new system to it. It was powered by Crysta, of couse, and every 30 minutes or so, a smoke of yet-to-be-toxic substance escaped from the back of it's head. Right about then, a 19 year old boy stumbled into an amazing discovery in his small secret cave beneath the city. His name is Tuah and he discovered what a dead man discovered 50 years before. He was not surprised.
He couldn't bring himself to leave them. There's always a reason. It has to do with this honor situation where you don't really leave them, you just take a vacation somewhere and when you feel it back again, you can go back. You're still part of them. The whole thing seems like a joke to him but the more days he spent, looking at the other guys burning someone's wife, or punching someone to the brink of death, or even just strutting about like they own the world, the more he realize he's being part of them. You can't just leave when you're part of something like this. More thoughts became from that single thought. Tonight though, he can't seem to think other than that one day.
The house was burning. He was holding the matchbox. It all seemed reasonable before. The guy didn't pay up for what he borrowed from them. He's been warned three times and they don't usually go three times. You either pay up the first time, or there won't be a second time. The day was Thursday, he remembered vividly because Johnny Killer was premiered that day and he loved that series. That episode, Johny 'Killer' Bern had a job to take out a couple of villains who stole from the National Bank. The plot was the usual; hero gets job, hero finds clues, hero finds villain, villain took something from hero, hero took it back with revenge and completed the job in the meantime. It was a pure joke, straight from the studio.
His family was in there. Burning to death or choking from all that smoke. The whole building was on fire and it seemed like a party with a bonfire in the middle. The other guys laugh histericaly while he stared at that fire, straining his ears for screaming. The guy had 2 kids, probably 6 and 8 both. A beautiful wife, it was strange the guys don't drag her out with him too. There was a lot of oil and there he was, the only one with a lighter. It all seemed like a dream. The guy was screaming, shouting for his wife and children while being gagged and kicked by the other guys. He stared at that fire long after the man was already dead from all that beating.
Then, Hewlitt happened. The first company to bring Crysta. Some chemical crap mixed together with some hard to pronounce stuff that emits electricity. Actually emit the stuff, he saw on the tele the other day. Globally needed, Crysta was all out and in energy. You just buy the stuff from the Hewlitt branch. It sold like hot pies on a rainy day. Their factories grew like mushrooms. Even the other guys were into it. Mainly because it also emits a strong hallucination from the clouds of smoke the stuff emits. It wasn't toxic but who knows. Crysta was the meth of energy that the world desperately needed. But times change, and not long after 6 months, the city of Iskandar was transformed into an all out industrial area. Main occupant: Hewlitt.
He didn't approve the use of the stuff. He never did. But he can see the transformation it brings. Business was business but business with Crysta is another matter. Soon, the gang was involved in the black market. It brings in more money daily and doesn't need much time to handle. They were rich once, then the whole thing collapsed with a new invention from that some company. Nicknamed, Juara, which means Hero. The over powered security robot was custom designed to track misuse of Crysta. Even the police avoid them. They roam around town, the Hewlitt practically own the town, and about 100 of those things could be seen, walking around with those blue eyes. Powered by that electricity - emitting stuff, those androids don't give up easily.
Then news reached his ear like a thunder. Some guys died when they tried to over heat the crystal-like substance, in order to make more of that cloudy smoke. He barely reached the place before the authority got there. It was a mess. Blood was on everything and there wasn't even a hint where the body was before... something happened. Nobody was alive to tell the tale. Including one of his own. That guy wasn't the nicest but sometimes he helped him through times. At that time, that reason was enough to track down what happened. He dug for information about Crysta, traded for infomation. Twice, he nearly got caught by the Juara, trading some drugs for information. Apparently, the police got their hands on those things and made some adjustments. It was apparent that the mafia age was coming to an end.
He got this contact with a cop. He hasn't had sleep for the last 3 days, not even naps. He was desperate to get to the bottom of this. One of his contact had successfully convinced a cop to reveal some really top secret stuff about the Juara, and the usage of Crysta. He found out that Crysta was made from acid or something, he can't pronounce it, but the other stuff what made him surprised. Originally, the substance was found on Mars, some space guys got ahold of it and brought it back to earth for study. Then those guys in suits found out that they can actually reproduce the stuff, taking like a stem from it and copy it again and again with some really scientific notations and procedures. He skipped that part. After heating the plant-like substance, they heat it at high temperature, making it 'sweat' or some stuff. The 'sweat' was what was mixed into acid and eventually it will clot into this piece of rock that emits light and electricity. They call it Crysta.
That was before he met the cop. Now, he's sitting in a chinese stall, eating some kind of noodle with a spicy soup. His leather jacket was making him sweat but he doesn't want to reveal to the shopkeeper the numerous amounts of tattoo he has around his arms. People will see that too and some are wiser than most to call the police or worse, a Juara. The bright bulb, that lonely little bulb, was the only thing lighting the place up. Behind him was a road, filled with cars and people, so the place wasn't that dark. It was just in a corner and the light doesn't go well there. It was a wonder why he chose that spot for the meeting. Someone said the place had good food but it seems he lost his sense of taste.
Not long after he finished halfway through the noodle, a guy sat slid into the stall beside him. He doesn't need to look up to know that his contacts was right. It was a cop. With that aura around him, and that sense of neatness. It was a good cop too. Probably was in the force not long ago, with some SWAT or something but now too old or too wise to be ordered around like a tool. He probably asked to be an inspector or something. He was wearing that bloody shoe. That dark and shiny shoe that every cop there seems to think it's stylish. It's not. Especially when you're wearing a shirt like that.
"You're the guy? I thought so," the cop said. He was an indian. With that accent that rang out like he was singing while talking. But that small smile all indian has is gone from that face. He looks weary and old. Probably bored to death now that the Juara are taking up all his jobs. Probably has a grudge or two. "Didn't expect a Malay to get into this kind of stuff. Where's the payment?" Tch. He didn't lose his sense of ordering people like dogs though. He hated being ordered around. So, he slurped the rest of the noodle before meeting eye to eye with the guy.
"I see the papers, you see the payment, ya?" he asked.
The cop was no idiot, he gave credit to that. He knows a dangerous man when he sees one. And he was more than that. Cautiously, he stood up and took out some folded papers from his pocket. The trousers are slick, neat and he bet his last cent that it was ironed before he came here. The papers were a little crumpled but the information was there. He made no move to grab at it. He knew better not to.
"The payment?" the guy said.
He took one look at the papers and decided that it was real. Cops like that don't lie, even if the order of the day wasn't that honest. He slipped a hand into his jacket, felt for his left pocket. The other guy was readying into a stance, he can see it. He gave off a little smile, amused. Then he took out some Black Crysta, the pure stuff. These things emit double the amount of hallucination smoke than the regular ones but sucks in conducting electricity. Better, and safer. He practically lived on the money he made selling that stuff around. The other guy's eyes glitter like seeing naked lady in front of him, swallowing.
"Good," he said and put the papers on the table, beside the bowl of noodles. "There, now give me that."
He didn't even reach his hand out fully before it was snatched away. The guy was probably addicted to the stuff. Poor guy is dead within years if he does. Months if he doesn't regulate like the others. The smoke itself wasn't toxic but when it reached into the lungs and fused with your blood, the iron inside the blood loses to the stuff and if you don't regulate your treatment, your blood will lose that taste of iron and soon you may found yourself unable to breath, move or do pretty much anything else. The stuff eats your blood inside out. It was horrific but that's probably what happened in a lot of cases. No more blood, no more you. Simple as that.
The indian guy left in a hurry, probably back to his nest. Soon, the chinese guy holding the stall came to him, asking what happened to him. He said the guy just left, and took his order. He was a full and happy man that night.
Until he reached his car, started the engine, opened the air-conditioner, switched on the indoor lights, and took a look at the papers. There was a lot of notations here and there, markings. None of it makes sense except one part. That part made him read that same sentence twice, three times before he looked up.
"Juara is equipped with the most advanced technology of modern times and the AI is based on a super-controlled part of the human race. It's brain is developed into an actual size of the human's and powered by life itself, a Crysta in it's heart core. But that isn't enough for the Juara programming. It needed another ingredient, a secret one that can make the Juara the most human-like response towards a lot of things. That is this: "
"The human brain," he whispered the word. "A live one."
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and gulped down saliva. When he opened them up again, he was looking at a street corner, a dark alley where nobody would care about anything there, if there was anybody. But there was somebody there. It looked like a boy. No, it's coming closer. There's something wrong with it. He switched on the lights and move his head forward.
"Oh shi-"
The silencer made two burst of twitch. Both the bullets took him at the temple, right at the head. He was dead. The culprit made his way to the car, pulled at the door, and shoot him twice more. Just to make sure. Then he reached inside, took the papers, now bloodied, took a look and turned away. The light on the car was still on, it's engine still burning. The culprit reached the end of the alley and ran. A smoke escaped the back of his head, now noisy with sounds of respiration, like a steam train. But it ran on forward, towards a factory that marked as 'Hewlitt'.
It was 50 years after that when Iskandar City was renamed as Hewlitton. Crysta was becoming better and better and a new model of Juara came out, named Juara Runner. A smaller frame, almost boyish teenage outer layer and a whole new system to it. It was powered by Crysta, of couse, and every 30 minutes or so, a smoke of yet-to-be-toxic substance escaped from the back of it's head. Right about then, a 19 year old boy stumbled into an amazing discovery in his small secret cave beneath the city. His name is Tuah and he discovered what a dead man discovered 50 years before. He was not surprised.
Aug 12, 2013
It is times like these
where I just want to ask:
Why can't I sleep?
Why can't I play games?
Why can't I write?
Why can't I do a job?
Why can't I stop thinking?
Why can't I stop thinking about her?
Why can't I stop thinking what's going to happen?
Why can't I stop thinking I have to do something really important and be done with it?
Why can't I stop asking why can't I stop asking things?
My God. Seriously.
It's time like these where I just want to ask
Why, for everything that is within the boundaries of the sky and earth, do I feel like a bird with torn wings in an unlocked, open cage?
The world just went upside down in a month and here you are, still trying to sit on the sky, forgetting that the sky has turned into the ground and the ground has turned into the sky.
Get a grip on yourself. Final exam is 3 weeks away and here you are fumbling like an idiot. I'm probably going through one of those phases, but being a uni student just makes it damn more difficult to handle with.
Well... at least there's 5 more hours until morning.
How can tomorrow be so far away? I mean, really. All I want now is... dammit.
What have you done to me, Rabbia?
Why can't I sleep?
Why can't I play games?
Why can't I write?
Why can't I do a job?
Why can't I stop thinking?
Why can't I stop thinking about her?
Why can't I stop thinking what's going to happen?
Why can't I stop thinking I have to do something really important and be done with it?
Why can't I stop asking why can't I stop asking things?
My God. Seriously.
It's time like these where I just want to ask
Why, for everything that is within the boundaries of the sky and earth, do I feel like a bird with torn wings in an unlocked, open cage?
The world just went upside down in a month and here you are, still trying to sit on the sky, forgetting that the sky has turned into the ground and the ground has turned into the sky.
Get a grip on yourself. Final exam is 3 weeks away and here you are fumbling like an idiot. I'm probably going through one of those phases, but being a uni student just makes it damn more difficult to handle with.
Well... at least there's 5 more hours until morning.
How can tomorrow be so far away? I mean, really. All I want now is... dammit.
What have you done to me, Rabbia?
Jul 24, 2013
Andyanne
Prologue
The only sound coming from the dusty mansion was the rasping breaths of a mummified human-shaped tube, it's yellowing silk and cloth heaving once, twice and brought down again. 5 seconds of total silence and it heaved again, as if trying to test out his decaying lungs, trying to figure out what is happening and seemingly successful in his awakening. An awakening that he knows that he hated and relished at the same time. After 200 years being held up in coffin, embroided by sculptures, rubies the size of plates, saphhires that glittered like lions' eyes, and blasphemous runes that shout for mercy from unknown beings, he knew that he was alive once again.
He hated being one of the living. Yet, the living can walk upon the world again and he has work to be done.
The one that brought him out of his dead sanctuary was no necromancer nor a mage, but a group of gravediggers or adventureres as they want to call themselves. Even now, they still ventured within his elaborated home. A home that once he called "Duralumin." They are either dead by now or in the process of one, for Duralumin is none but a series of deadly traps, designed to let no one but only the deserved and loyal to pass through the place.
The mummy opened his eyes, and through the thick cloth, he sees nothing. He remembered now his own true name, and the names that he use to bring fear out of his rule. A rule that expanded for thousands of years. One of those name was King Garldrun. Although people call him the other name, a name that he didn't invent and a name that he doesn't know to be totally true or a bogus lie.
Garldrun the Undead.
He smiled within that cocoon of his. Reaching out to the power inside of him, the one that courses his vein, he lashed out with his mind and torn apart the cloth. He struggled to move but managed to sit up. Looking around, he felt the heavy air of the place and decided the first thing he will have servants to do, was to clean the place up. After all, a King is not one unless for his palace.
A huge thud sounded from deep within the place, Garldrun whipped his head about, bones creaking and tendons strained. A series of shouts sounded, and the silence dropped like an anvil. Galrdrun knew his first dinner was served. His crusted lips turned into an arc. He was hungry. Very hungry. Two hundred years of being a mummy, and noticing it, tends to make one like that. He got up, and strolled into his home, all sorts of plan already forming in his head. He would reclaim back which was lost to him, and take the rest. Garldrun was a simple man, albeit meticulous.
*
In another place, the sun was rising up as the wind picked up the scents of the coming spring, making the people of the bustling trade town of Skyhord expectant of the next month. The cold was already melting away and business was picking up. Along the straight road that pierced through the humble town, a tower managed to present itself, its bricks felt old and the layers of plaster was peeling away to remind it's inhabitants of the age of the town. The first building in it, was the building that nobody knows what for, but a mead hall used to be there, until an accidental fire turned the place useless. But a thriving community had already taken deep root around it. They just wouldn't want to leave.
Now, a man of age where he should be getting wife, or wives, was tinkering with a piece of locket, trying to pry it open but proving futile in his attemps. The frustration on his face shows the work unsuccessful for a long time. He sighed and slumped into his stool. His robe, made of leather and seemingly to amplify his form so he looks buffed, was dirty and looked unwashed for days. His thoughts are dragging in his brain, trying hard to figure out the meanings of the locket he had on the table in front of him. "Open the locket and I'll pay 2000 gold. I want it in 3 days." That was the order given to him by a noble south of here, in his arrogant and proud voice. But the mage knew that uncertainty marked the essence there. Whatever that is, that is none of his business.
"Flames above, who in the nine circles did you steal this from?" he mumbled. A growing beard made his face look scruffy and unclean. His eyes wore black shadows to mark sleepless days. But what dragged him down was neither. For 2 days, he had forgotten about dinner and only one person managed to remind him of it. He felt guilty about not passing his times with that person and trying his hardest to remind himself that he is an important part of her life.
3 rasping knocks on the door as the handle turned. The mage stood up and faced it, thinking to straighten himself up first but thought otherwise. Even if he try to, he looks like a dirty beggar on the streets. The door turned sideaways to reveal a girl, some years behind the mage, with a frown on her face. And the mage knew he was stuck between a hard place and a mountain.
"It's been 2 days. Why don't you take a rest and at least eat something?" the girl's voice was sweet and sounded as if floating on the ears, albeit with a hint of worry and frustration. She was wearing breeches and a simple collared vest, leather and looks hanging on her shoulders. On top of that, an emblem that marked her as a Courier, an eagle gliding, was clearly shown on her loose vest. A small satchel was strapped to her waist, and a piece of paper was sticking out, with some flowers in it too.
"Spring is coming and everyone's getting ready for Ol' Nunix. You remember the festival, right? Where guys your age should be seen dancing around with some girl. I was spinning some baskets for them in exchange for some money. And there is a lot of letters suddenly to be delivered," she said, trying to make a smile. The worried frown was still there. "At least have dinner with me this time. I'm done eating alone."
The mage looked at his shoes, worn out and black. He tried to think up words. In his deep voice he said, "I need to do this work. With it, I can be assured of more dinner for at least months from now on. Andyanne, don't go."
The door slammed in front of him. Angry footsteps followed. Another slam as the tower seemed to shook a bit. Something tumbled behind him making a metallic noise, and a click. The mage didn't register in his mind at first, it was filling with regrets. Then he slowly turned back, only to have panick filled his chest as he found no locket on the desk. He dropped down below and started searching.
He stopped suddenly. Hands reaching out towards it. There it is, the golden locket, and it was opened. He took it in his hands and flipped it to see what was inside. It was a picture of a woman, black and white, with a smile as sweet as sugar candy. A tingle of magick made the hackles on his neck rise. Slowly, he reached into himself and released the power in his blood, touching the piece of magic in the locket, bound in that smile.
The picture moved. It seemed like it, then the mage concetrated and saw that the woman's mouth is moving, but no sound came from it. She was saying something, trying to tell him a piece of silence voice. Then it remained back. The bound magic was still there, but he can sensed it was somehow new again, like a room dusted after a long time. He smiled with a full teeth. I don't know what happened but thank the Divines it did.
He slipped it inside his pocket, his mind blazing again. There is another problem he needs to face. And this one is far more difficult than the last. He thought up ways to make up for the long days he confined himself in the place. Then he settled for one. But first, he needs to wash himself. With a light heart, he picked up a wash cloth and went to the rain barrels.
"Useless piece of lummox, thinking like an ox all the time, and always in that flaming room, talking to himself, eating all alone with his flaming work, and the flaming magic, leaving me flaming alone out here, piece of great hairy lummox he is. Well, he can flaming eat alone in that flaming room of his tonight. I don't care," Andyannne's furious mumbling continued on the main street. Those within earshot quickly raised eyebrows and avoided to get in her way. Even one of the Dun twins seemed to step out of her way, and not make eyes with her. The peddlers from the city out south howled its wares, and saw her. They seemed to lower their voices down a bit after that. The blacksmith, Master Ruffban, was oblivious to anything, but even he felt the fury and stopped for a while looking around, a piece of iron steel in his hands, bended to form something. "Fury of a woman is to look into the serpent's eyes with challenge."
She found herself sitting in her usual spot, beneath a tree that overlooked the entire town. The tower which she called home, was usually the beacon that marked the place as Skyhord. She lived there for 6 years now, and the trade town was like the back of her hand, and she can pace the entire place blindfolded. For 6 years, she was considered to be fortunate to live in that place, with the mage. The town seemed to think it's fortunate. That was not her true home, though, for she came here with the mage when she was small, after her parents died. She tried not to think about it. Her memory before this place was blurred somewhat, since she was small and she was the one who buried it deep down inside trying to forget. Being a courier wasn't all that bad, and she was great at running with her figure. And it was fun, meeting with a lot of people. The money she get was worth the work.
But everyone knew that she was rich, even though she doesn't show it. Everybody knew about her and the mage. She as lots of money. Well, lots of money for a commoner. A noble would've lots more but she was considered more adequately financed among the town folks. Some of the peddlers even know of this. The only piece of proof she has is the necklace on her neck. About 2 years ago, the mage had given it to her for her birthday. It was the only thing that she knows that is important to her other than the mage. At the thought of him, she exhaled outwardly, sagging on the tree. She knew he had done so much for her, and he probably doesn't deserve that kind of attitudes toward himself. But she refused to back down to that feeling. He left her alone to dine with only herself. She realized she just wanted to have a bit of attention from him. Her cheeks flared up.
"Here," a hand appeared behind her, holding a cloak. "The sun's setting and the nights are cold," the deep voice somehow soothed her feelings. A delicious smell waffed up from him when he sat down beside her to look out over the town. Some of the peddlers are packing up, closing the stall. Some of them even had carriages to load their items into. The inn's Guard, Lum Hughin, was lighting up some of the torches. But the sky was clear and the moon's light is sure to be bright. A man, holding a stick with a ball of light, came from the other end of town. He hung the ball stick at the center of town, on top of a pedestal. The light shone a soothing yellow light.
"He's not afraid of that thing anymore, is he?" the mage asked.
"Why don't you ask him?" Andyanne sulked. He hug herself beneath the cloak. It was getting cold, and she doesn't want to give into the man beside her.
"It's done. The work. I guess we can eat together tonight," the mage turned and in his hands was a big plate of pie. The crust was even steaming with warm heat. The mage inhaled and seemed to taste the pie in his mouth. "Mistress Fogturn was quite mad at me when I asked for this, saying it's too late and whatnot. Well, nothing that a bit of gold wouldn't solve. And a smile."
Despite herself, Andyanne smiled. Mistress Fogturn, wife of Berrault Fogturn, was a plump woman, sweet on the outside and strict of the inside. Nobody steals from the bakery when she's in charge, and she is always in charge. But she do have a weakness, and that is however big or tedious the work is, she will do it. Once, a peddler asked for 50 breads for his travel companions, the woman chased him out with a roller, knocking him on the head, screaming how prepostorous was the request. But the next day, the peddler had 50 breads, and was happy, even if he had a huge bulge on his head.
The mage conjured up a blunt knife and cut out a piece, handing it over to the girl, warning her of the heat. It was blueberry pie and even though it was hot, it was a welcome warmth. Winter may be ending but spring can be pretty cold here. She dipped a finger into the center and licked it. Her cheek turned red at the taste. Her favourite.
"This is great," the mage said, with a mouthful.
"Don't talk when you're eating," Andyanne smacked his shoulder.
The mage swallowed. "You're getting busy nowadays, running back and forth. You know you don't have to do it, if you don't want to."
"I need to do something to pass the time,"
"Are the twins still bothering you?"
"They're just being kind,"
"Making eyes and that kind of smile is asking for trouble from me,"
"Well, they do deserve some words on how to treat a woman,"
"Oh, I'll explain to them how treat a woman. With a cudgel."
Andyanne laughed a bit. The twins are always after her, and she knows that. They had been friends for a long time but soon enough, the boys will become men, and men are always like an ox trying to find guidance. She picked up the cooling pie on her lap and chewed. Mistress Fogturn never dissapoint.
"Do I need to say sorry to you? I know I've been... less attentive to you. For some reason, there is a lot of people that needs a mage to do things. I'm no errand boy but the money will ensure our future. I should've paid more attention to you. Sorry," the mage said. His hands were on his lap, legs stretched out. The robe was still there, and it smelt of burnt things. His face was clean shaven now and no dirt was on it. His deep blue eyes, like deep beneath the ocean, was strong and clever. But a sense of toughness was in them too. He looked handsome with it, a strong and clever face, like he is always thinking about something.
"Probably. If you give me another piece of the pie," Andyanne licked her fingers.
The mage looked surprised. He smiled and handed over another piece. He went on to his piece too.
"You know, I'm still trying to figure out what you did with this necklace," Andyanne reached inside her shirt and and brought out a cylindrical glass, held by frames. The glass was blue in colour but the line and frame was deep golden, almost seemed like bronze.
"I didn't do anything to it. Well, maybe a little but nothing big," the mage said.
Andyanne looked at him, disbelievingly. The other person took a bite and shook his head.
"Really. I did nothing much," he said.
"I still don't believe you,"
"Oh, cut me some slack, will you?"
Andyanne laughed. Her chest was full of warmth and even though the cold winds bite at her face, she felt nothing of it. This is all she could wished for. The mage, her favourite food, safety and a memorable view. The mage. Her own brother beside her. That's all she needs in the entire world.
"Alvuin," she whispered.
"Yes?" the mage answered.
Andyanne looked at his brother, noticed that she thought aloud. She shook her head and continued eating. She remembered the day when he was just like this. Always full of surprises, and when she seemed down or sad, he always perked right up. Seemingly to know what she wants, and when she want it, the mage was always there for her. She hoped, prayed to anything, that it will always remain like this. She couldn't bear the thoughts of losing her one own important thing in this world to anything. That's why when he went to travel, for days she couldn't sleep and worry filled the nights. Only 3 days later, he came back with a sack full of souvenirs from other cities and places. She smiled again at the sight of him, at him a tired smile.
"Do you remember our parents?" the mage suddenly asked. Looking down at the town. "I tried but it's all a blur."
"Me too," the girl answered, frowning.
Both her and his parents were supposedly killed, and they ran from the house before they themselves gotten into the same fate. They tried to remember their faces, father and mother alike, but the memory is not there. It's just not there at all. Like someone had wiped that space clean of anything.
"Don't worry about it. I'm always here for you," the mage said. He turned and smiled.
Andyanne melted and smiled back. "I'm happy to hear that," she leaned on his shoulder, looking at the bright moon and the activity down below, hoping with all her might that it will remain like this forever...
Jan 20, 2013
The General
"He was smiling. He was smiling the whole time we talked about it."
Huang, one of the concerned party of the council, ruffled his red hair. His face was a mask of puzzlement and curiosity. He took out the pipe from one of his pockets in his robe, lighted it and smoked. There was faint aroma of rose coming from it. He looked to the left of the garden house he was walking into. Thoughts swirling inside his head, he puffed once, twice and inhaled. His age of 42 was never shown on that always curious face, but instead a youthful 25 man looked through those eyes. Effects of becoming one of the King's right hand man, no doubt. But none more than that, he kept a clear schedule every day to train his body and mind, not only for health but for war.
"Yes, I suppose he was. It was his plan that held the most effectiveness, does it not?" the woman beside the man spoke. Her silver was tied to a braid that held on her right shoulder and as she walked, it bobbled beside her breasts. There was a hint of maturity and tightness in her small yellow eyes, that held secrets and hints of understanding. Her calming presence balanced out Huang's own aura of restlessness. She wore her robe tight under her chests that flowed out like a butterfly. It was decorated with silver flowers that enhances her fake youth; another one under the right hand of the King.
"Yes, but we were not only talking about strategy here. When we spoke of causality and the importance of a good back up plan... he not merely just push it aside, he stomped all over it. Makes me sick, when he talk of 'minimising casualty' or 'technological improvement'," Huang walked a little ahead of the woman, head held high and crooked mouth. A puff of smoke hid is eyebrows.
"I do agree with you but you have to understand on his perspectives too. He thought of the men's, the infantry's, importance in such of a scale and he also thought up a way to reinvent mankind's own weapon of war, the crossbow. A revolving barrel of arrows, didn't he say? And he did mention a prototype..."
Huang spit out his pipe, and sling it across his back. It spun away behind the woman, dropped with a clang with a sudden burst and it was no more. The man himself, was fuming from head to toe, fists clenched as if to fight. There were maids out in the hall and some of them scurried away when they heard the tiny explosion.
"That little piece of flaming meat. How dare he ignored me. I wasn't just the King's war advisor but I am one of the Tigers that fought beside him in the war against the Ravens! I proven myself on the battlefield countless times, and each time I came scathed and times again I survived near death injuries! He is nothing but a recruited strategist from the lands of the west! If he mocks me again, I will make sure that west will mean nothing to him again,"
Lain was rubbing her hands, cold from the weather. Her robes covered everything except her head, and her hands, but the tight knot under her breasts made it plentiful that she was a prime woman of ripe. She inhaled, close her eyes, and opened them up again.
"Calm down. There's no more use of that now since his plan was accepted and the other generals wouldn't be convinced to change it easily. I agree with you about how he mocked us but we must not lose control of what we already have in our hands. I fought beside you, remember? And I died once out there,"
"I know that. That's why we have to stop that man from trampling on us like idiots!"
"He wasn't trampling on anything and we are not idiots. His plan was the most effective and the most reasonable, you would see that yourself, didn't you? Unless you are blind, you can see that he treated us merely as rivals. He wouldn't come out to the opening like this, even for a westerner that holds no ground on our eastern lands, he knew about us. Our stories are not fiction to him and most are facts. He does not plan to treat us like fools but he wanted us to come up with a better plan than he got. Unless you would burn yourself up in futile anger, we can never achieve that, now would we?"
Huang looked at the lady as if possessed. For seconds, they stared at each other until Huang got himself up and breathed. He looked around, refused to eye her again even for a glimpse. Deep inside, he knew that. That western man, he came into this place without a sword or any kind of weapon. All he got was a servant, age old enough to be his grandfather and a suitcase full of clothings. His anger fused for a moment, but then flared up again. He controlled it though but the strain was showing on his face. This sensation of burning wrath wasn't as bad when the Ravens betrayed them. He could sense something was coming.
"Come, walk with me. We may not be partners in life, but we are partners in work," Lain walked on, not waiting for Huang to join her. She was shivering for a while, he thought.
Huang growled and went ahead. "Are you fine? You seemed tired."
"Oh? What is this? Does the Tiger of the Northern valleys suddenly cared for an old woman like me? Must be puberty,"
"Shut it. You don't seem to be yourself back then too. You used to be the center of it all but in there, you were too quiet for my taste,"
"I sensed something. Not from the westerner but from what he brought upon us. Remember the piece of paper he brought? The ones that he laid out his plans? That was made just hours before the meeting, and to do it at a scale like that would take weeks, even for a master. It never felt like that since the Ravens,"
"You too, is it? Then its not the cold,"
"No, I do not think so. If it's the war, then we are used to it. But this..."
"We better ask Shio if he feels like this too."
With that, they quicken their pace a little. The two heads bear a mask of queasiness when the exited the hall. Maids from the opposite side bowed their heads low, and said greetings appropiate for the King. There were no response though to any of them. When they were both out if sight, an old man, dressed in a butler's uniform, holding a piece of cloth on his arm, showed himself from the other end. There were chatters from behind him.
"What do you make of it, Jais?" a solitary deep voice sounded beside him and the old man looked up.
"At least parts of the Legend were true," the butler replied with a cracked voice. His back was bent a little and there was hints of tiredness in his movements.
"Well, at least they spotted our little secret, eh?"
"Be careful, thought, master. They have sharp eyes, these eastern men,"
"Ah. But we have faster hands, us 'westerners',"
"They didn't spot that at least."
With that, they both spun around and head outside of the garden into a room full of 6 men in armors with pikes and all of them were trying out a piece of metal bracelet that fits into their gauntlets. It was glowing a shiny blue. Their faces were full of uncertainties.
"Are you sure about this thing?" one of them asked. "And how did you ended up being the Palace's strategist?"
"Yes, I am sure of this," the one with the deep voice replied. His face was smile, sinister and yet warming that touched his eyes beside a glint of warning. "Because I asked, really."
"Ceh. You gotta be kidding me. You better have what's in store for us," the other man said.
"Really. All you think about is that. Now, hand me that sword, will you?"
The sword was the usual one made out iron and a crude handle.
"Hold your hands out, please."
The other man did it. His face was full of scars but there was a trusting frown on it too.
"Observe."
He brought the sword up and slashed across the hands. A loud crack and pieces of shining iron went everywhere. Gasps could be heard and the one with the hands out retracted the hands as quickly. The handle bar was the only thing left of the sword. Shards, big and small, were scattered across the floor beneath him. A scar was bleeding on the man's face, but it was small on the left cheek.
"Now that's cool," one of the armored man said.
"Indeed," the other echoed agreement.
The butler was trying to hold out his arm to wipe the blood from his master's face but was swept aside. His master's eyes were full of delight before but now, it has a glints of crude excitement, and a mask of success. His smile stayed the same, though. That smile that seemed to know the minds of men.
The butler was trying to hold out his arm to wipe the blood from his master's face but was swept aside. His master's eyes were full of delight before but now, it has a glints of crude excitement, and a mask of success. His smile stayed the same, though. That smile that seemed to know the minds of men.
"Now all we need to do is make a full scale set of that and I have myself a team of indestructible men," he mumbled.
"We don't come in cheap, you know," the proposed leader of the men said. "We're still Easterns and we don't trust you."
"Not yet, you won't,"
"You're not just a simple man, are you?"
"I think myself as one,"
"Who are you, really?"
"Just a man with a clear goal."
With that, the master and the butler went out into the corridor, closing the door behind them. Scents of foreign flowers filled their nostrils, but the master wasn't paying attention to any of them. Inside his head, a maze of plans and arrows, words and graphs, times and dates, proposals and causes, fixes and repairs, they were all making out one at a time. In his head, he was a playing a game of chess against a game of shogi with the rules of Millionaire and the cards of Poker. And he was winning, at least from his point of view. He proceeded to just walk in front, the bleed from his left cheek was dropping to his chin. The butler given up on the task. When he doesn't want something, he doesn't want it.
The door on his back opened again, to admit the leader of the six men. He was breathing hard and clenching his fists.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man in front turned around and answered with a voice full of confidence.
"I am Lead Clefer."
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