Before A Lion's Shadow

"Throw a cub off the cliff, a lion one will see. Kill the boy before his time, a man all shall see."

~Erik, Lord of Berserkers

Lyrics

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A Ranger's Tale

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Naked body stained by blood not of her own, Leeysa can only flee with nary a direction. Believing at first a heroic Elf arriving to save her, every sliver of hope has sold itself for despair. This is a rabid madman high on drugs, a Demonic maelstrom leaving behind a bloody wake. This is surely some bastard child conceived from heroic tales and fiendish myth, the power displayed in full nothing less than a storm of swords. Gone are her only friends, companions making her inevitable fate somewhat bearable.

 
“Ye’ll fectha’ fine hella’sum, slut!”

What has she done to deserve all these? He father is a hopeless gambler, her mother in turn a drunk without hope. Tiny shreds of joyful memories matter not, only an eternal nightmare awaits. The image burns deeply in her like a ewe lamb branded, screams and body parts scattered staying in her. The bandits are the ones guilty, not her or others doomed to pleasure drooling men!

……

The attacker said nothing, his silence betraying something amiss. Why did she choose to run towards him? If she never done that, maybe… just maybe there’ll be a happy ending. She’d leave behind her past for good while finding a worthy husband. Her kids will be forever happy, her husband always cheerful. Who knows, mayhap her parents will one day beg for forgiveness!

“It’s your fault… you murdering dog, worthless mongrel…”

Weeping whilst running, Leeysa curses the monster before her. That monster verily true both in her eyes and heart…

“Save me! Plea…”

Comes the moment, comes the surrender. Damning moments at last devouring her mind for good, Leeysa’s strength caves in.

No strength to run, no strength to think… no strength to…

Her skull suddenly feather light, Leeysa's throbbing head promptly collapses like a fortress made from cards. Her vision brimming with inexplicable giddiness, incoherent thoughts start swimming like voracious sharks. With nothing sustaining the poor lass’ mind, nothing else is felt apart from a single voice heard.

Fret not, for you will survive this night. May the murderer face a wrath rivalling the Holy Quintet scorned…

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Taking a sip from his wine, Fergie Malom cast his sharp brown eyes on various mission reports submitted days ago. The Gaffer of Manchester has guarded his post for three decades like a possessive youth, the Empire's decision of appointment benefiting the Red Lions till no end. Exceptional leadership having ensured success true, systematic reforms coupled with an inner fire keeping alive his stubborn streak.

Real arrogance means producing the real goods.

Such is the sole mantra of his life, Fergie has earned a notorious repute before his detractors. A penchant in telling off every critic to shove his own words up the arse is merely one of his more common statements, they say no one crosses Fergie Malom without risking a new hole somewhere below.

Should there be a stain in his glittering career thus far, it would be those slipping away from under his hooked nose. Those are the very same soldiers joining other Divisions, the very same people incurring their own losses. After all, rejecting the glory of Manchester means snubbing that once-in-a-lifetime chance. A particular Fabras Cesc still leaves behind a bitter taste with Arsun Wengas of the Highbury Division stealing a march. Fergie has guessed correctly during the same year a certain Ronal Cristan as a rough gem destined for dizzying heights, yet why stop at one when two are available? Another recruit more recent then comes to mind.

Guy Cody remains an interesting prospect, having trained under one of his former students. As one of the very few worthy of Pallister Scholes’ praise, nothing was said from his ex-protege apart from remarks pertaining to combat and passion.

“The only problem I have with him is a questionable intelligence at times. No, make that most of the time.”

Sadly, Teesside was to be the final nail in Guy’s coffin. Fortune always favours the pragmatic, not those recklessly bold. Guy is a lad valuing personal kinship and honour, only if Demons end up threatening him can a compromise be possibly made. Garyth Parkins has based his own roots there for an entire lifetime, Moggray is truly one lucky sod. Shaking his head slightly in resignation, this loss for Manchester is tantamount to everybody's loss. Fifty five years of staying alive, the veteran has never felt so much like a clown before.

“Then again, Demons are likelier to get a ‘fuck you’ from the lad,” chuckles Fergie.

Frantic knocking cutting off his thoughts, the iron haired Gaffer clears his throat as an unspoken signal. A runner lanky and fair haired wears an ashen face as he stumbles through the oaken door. His reaction surprising Fergie, the Gaffer knows Evans Jonno as another talent unearthed. Nevertheless, the sign is anything but well boding.

"Ronal Cristan rescued an unconscious girl… found her lying at the Headquarters' entrance!" blabbered the lad.

"What the fuck?” snaps Fergie, “Aren't he supposed to be under Pallister Scholes’ command for that mission in Citias? You better tell me some answers I want to hear, boy!"

Ronal, you’re so gonna get screwed…

Swallowing his saliva, Evans starts praying to the Holy Quintet even though he is never the religious type. If Fergie hears word of his pet earning temporary leave via unwarranted means…

“Well, he stated that he got himself a slight stomach cramp…”

“Evans, I know you haven’t got laid before… why not I introduce you a serving wench or two from the nearby tavern?”

“But that’s before the mission!” adds Evans.

You better keep true your word, Ronal…

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"Have you ever wondered about what you’re pursuing?"

I stare at the ginger bloke, an eyebrow raising in surprise before that dude I call mentor. I don’t know what Scholes is trying to put across, but guess I should just try going along the flow.

"Of course it's all about the Red Lions! What else?"

Yep, that’s the best answer I can give.

"I'm not talking about a simple life without any purpose. Don't bail out from my question!"

Oh shit, I’m seeing a pissed off Pallister Scholes for the very first time in my life. Or maybe he's just plain annoyed over my half-assed answer. Okay, make that him getting a wee bit piss drunk since we're bumming in the local bar anyway.

"Erm, so what's the real deal then?"

Wow, that’s some amazing stuff coming from me here.

"Very simple. Just tell me your first answer coming into mind."

I cocked my head along the right since it’s not an everyday honour to have Pallister Scholes giving you a mind fuck. Wait, is that counted as a legal mind fuck anyway?.

"To win Alestrial's hand of course!"

In that very moment, a shiver creeps down my spine. That dirty look hailing from him... seems that he’d have gladly shafted my arse with a foot long pole on the spot. I better thank the Holy Quintet once I reach the nearest chapel since me and Scholes do know each other as teacher and student. Wait a holy sec. Did I mess up this sentence somehow?

"Do you understand what a turtle is made of?"

Oh man, not even you as well, Scholes? That’s the kind of answer I always hate much more than death. And to think this is someone who knows me best. Apart from Ales of course. But still in Pallister Scholes I trust. Yeah, he could and would have buggered me for good back in Merseyside if he wanted to. Plus only a retard will try testing his luck against such a black face. So here's going for broke then...

"Too bad, Scholes. I don't think you understand the type of relationship between a guy and a girl."

"Too bad, Guy. I don’t think you know anything."

Damn, why do I even try opening my golden mouth?

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Sapphire eyes snapping wide open, Guy Cody only feels his mentor's words fading away like a lingering trail of smoke. The scenery where the cub was preparing to leave its den still a stronghold in his mind, Guy only harbours fond memories of that man himself. Pallister Scholes is a renowned drinker, his threshold for liquor more than able to match a barrel's worth. He on the other hand, can only afford to know what the real deal is made of. After frying his brain briefly, any in-depth thinking is judged pointless. Yet, obsessive stigma stifles his much desired sleep, rhythm singing from the heart whispering events long gone by.

Alright, Guy Cody. Try forgetting the dream. It's just random shit anyway.

Slapping hard his cheeks with both palms several times, the pain is indeed all too real. Alas unknown taunts from the past never bid farewell, the sandy blond lad crashing back onto his bed. Cutting a frustrated figure, Guy Cody can only throw himself into a chasm of emotions. Detecting a state of brain damage on the cards, the tolling of bells signals a brand new morn. Any hope pointing to challenges ahead being the only way out, Guy strengthens his resolve as a lion’s visage suddenly flashes across the mind.

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For reasons known only to the Holy Quintet, a sombre feeling starts chafing Guy from inside. Unable to discern the cause behind this ever-present turmoil, the only thing unable to evade him is an ominous feeling akin to a prey cornered by the hunter. People tend to say fortune favours the brave, yet Guy cannot be sure whether the truly brave is himself. If there's anything to go by, something in him suggests that whatever awaiting isn't about some simple fishing trip along the upstream of River Portar. In the Red Lions’ own words, it means fire burning in the backyard.

Upon sighting Moggray Tonn entering the training square, a stance of attention is reinforced by unified thundering from the boots. Reading every face belonging to his charges, rampaging pangs ten times worse than a thousand swords stuck inside corrodes the veteran’s soul. Knowing well the combination of events, any upcoming conflict they may face can easily spell a premature swan song.

Moggray, I got bad news for you and the rest. Especially Guy Cody.

A terrible being of unknown origin annihilating an entire battalion hailed from the famed Manchester Division is no a laughing matter.

We only got one survivor telling the tale and she’s not even one of us.

Can an army of rabbits truly bare their teeth in the face of a wolf untamed? This is the most damning question ever asked from Moggray. Not to Fergie, but to himself. Never has he imagine the day where the Red Lions are likened to the likes of rodents and other little critters, yet this is the only impression coming up to mind. If the elite from Manchester couldn’t deal with such a monster, what manner of a chance would Teesside have? This very county belonging to the Empire’s north east is never known for anything else apart from blood and thunder.

"Alright lads. I'm gonna keep this short," Clearing his throat, Moggray tries forcing out a casual bravado out of himself, "Official word stated by all ten Divisions is this: Every man shall be put under red alert. Know that every Gaffer has reached a bugger-all… well, that's all. Briefing will be done in fifteen minutes time. Take note that assume under any case is only this: Making an ass out of you and me. Okay, squad dismiss!"

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"Do you think I phrased my stance correctly?" questions the Northern Lion quietly, a steaming mug of tea being sipped.

"I believe the lads know it. No problem to be brutally frank,” smiles Southgate while lounging on a leather couch, his expression alike that of Moggray, “Fifteen minutes of rest before ten minutes of outright mind fuck… you made your point clearly, there's no reason for them to imagine otherwise."

"May the die be with us then. If I’m to say things straight to the point, it means I mean business,” answers Moggray, his gnashing of teeth acting as proof pointing to a facade erected minutes earlier, “Don’t underestimate foolhardiness. Everybody knows history is full of actual shit."

"Moral of the story: One shot glory does have its own advantages," sighs Southgate, his cynicism all too obvious, "Well, what about Guy Cody then? Your number two here is no clown, Moggray Tonn. Remember who’s that poor bloke watching your back for the past donkey years?"

"Yes, I do remember you," chuckled a scar lined face bereft of mirth, "You're the only lucky sod surviving everything."

"That's because no sod is crazy enough to do so," grumbles the stocky brunette in a mocking tone, "The Northern Lion has always been a batshit crazy looney once he started charging like a madman. You're lucky to have me because you could’ve shared Crazy Park's half crippled fate."

"Oh yes, Parky… that brings us back to Guy Cody," growls Moggray in a guttural tone not unlike an elderly lion, his tea swiftly downed, "We’ve got to break the news to him somehow. The longer we delay, the worse it gets. Only a moron will bank on what-ifs.”

"So we're gonna give him that big red slap?" murmurs a morose Southgate, "Discretion is our only SOP and I'm not interested in burning down the bath-house."

"I can assure you no sane leader would ever boot his own guy off the cliff. Figure you should know it by now," nods a terse Moggray, "We better start burning offerings to the banker, shit’s definitely getting more real with every passing day…"

"But it's likely he will be hatred's bitch," Southgate's hazel brown eyes narrows sharply, his words hollering with clarity, "I…no... We still remember what happened eighteen years ago."

"No choice, suck thumb!" retorts Moggray with a sudden bang on the desk, a finger wagging in front of Southgate, "Different situation, but same logic. Let me repeat myself one last time: We better start burning offerings to the banker."

Crumpling back to his seat, the jaded warrior massages his temples in frustration. Southgate feels suddenly gutted for the Northern Lion. Back in their halcyon years, Moggray Tonn would always cut an imposing figure leading the line. Ironically, the flustered veteran before him actually reminds him of what could possibly be otherwise.

You’ll always be right there taking the fight to others like an awesome squall. Now that I look at you this way, it seems that you’re able to retrieve merely a shadow of your glory days, Moggray.

"We're banking on his anger management? Fingers will somehow be pointed towards me making a gay gamble, so don’t you worry about getting sucked into this shitstorm" assured Moggray with a wry frown, his fiery temperament minutes ago finally cooling down.

"Why not we take a swig later in the evening?" suggests Southgate Garrat, "Wiser Bud's still charging the brew, no?"

“Wiser Bud’s always charging the brew!” chortles Moggray, his mirth again remaining dead.

)0(

Briefing already done by then, a plainly furnished locker room is brimming with excited chatter and nervous nods. In an isolated corner, Guy Cody and Catterm Leen start exchanging words.

"Can I label this as the most retarded miracle in human history? Only a dream trip back to the past and you ended up stoned?" huffs redhead offhandedly, his locker filled with soiled smelly clothes rummaging about.

"We're not talking about buff poker, Catts," frowns the sandy blond, contemplation on his dream bubbling up more questions unanswered.

"Don't give me this bullshit with this kind of bullshit face, Guy Cody. Gotta bath now," sighs an apologetic Catterm, a change of unsoiled clothes wrapped separately finally fished out, "Gonna be the sixth cycle tomorrow, but everyone’s gotta stay."

"Maybe I’ll end up asking whether my life being a celestial comedy?"

Before self-deprecating reply verily given, nobody bothers giving Guy Cody a reply, let alone his best friend already off to the baths. Not that words matter much, but inner comfort at the very least might come his way should silence most unsettling be broken. Even if it's merely for a split second.

Dude, this doesn't feel good. Reminds me of the time where that bothersome fart actually grilled me straight just because I pecked Alestrial by accident... wait a holy sec, should it be considered kissing? It's just an accident!

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“Ales…”

“Don’t worry, Joenne. I’m here.”

Grabbing my friend’s arm tightly, I can only watch in awe and shock as the unruly boy decimates our tormentor. No one knows whence the wild child hails from, neither can we discern the reason behind a smallborne entering a school reserved for nobles and the rich. Sneaking a glance towards Karen, I realised she’s wearing an expression no different from mine. Only Joenne is scared stiff, yet who can blame her?

The three of us have been close since our first year in Form School, yet it is my mother’s death which brings us closer still. Joenne detests her family watching her every move, the less said about Karen’s father the better. The gaze Graniar Tenias sent me a fortnight ago remains a nightmare I can never shake off, perhaps this is why sweet gentle Karen will always have nothing good to say about him.

Then again, no one has yet to discover why that boy managed to evade the security. What I do know, however, is this: the bully has gone too far by ripping off our skirts and calling us unsavoury names.

While I am able to keep calm, Joenne broke into tears. Karen, on the other hand, is still trying to fight back her emotions.

“Kill you! Kill you! Kill you!”

Those are the words screaming out from the boy’s lungs, his voice resembling a lion’s roar. Prior to her death, mother has brought me to the Imperial Park. I remember two animals standing out from the rest, the lion happens to be one of them.

Is this then how a real man should be like? Full of wrath against what is wrong and blessed with an unruly, yet upright soul?

“Ales, stop him! We’ll get implicated if Victis dies!”

I stare blankly into Karen’s pleading look, Joenne shaking her head vehemently.

“No! Let that bastard die!”

“Joenne!”

Promptly interrupting Karen's rebuke, a crippled man lays a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Your father may be a scoundrel, but you are not. Lady Karen of House Tenias, I give you my word that I’ll stop this child.”

Calling out his son’s name, the kindly man seems to have fulfilled his promise. Then comes the most shocking twist to the fight, his question resembling an animal’s growl.

“How many girls have you fucked?”

His question raises blushes from every girl while the boys can only stay speechless for whatever reason inside their minds.

“Garyth! Tell your boy to shut up before I terminate your service!”

Garyth? Isn’t that the name of our school chef?

“No wonder he looks familiar…” sniffles Joenne, “His meat loaf is the best we’ve ever tasted.”

“None…” sobs Victis Blaem, “Please, no more…”

Without saying a single word, Garyth’s son turns his back on a defeated foe.

“Watch out!”

Joenne’s warning comes too slow, Karen can only stare in tears and horror over a rock smashed across our boy knight’s head. Yet, he manages to survive a hit which could have killed someone our age. Just how old is he? Only twelve winters like us?

“Hu… huh… HAH!!!!!”

Victis Blaem runs away as fast as possible, all the girls present including Joenne laughing at his plight. The boys, on the other hand, start whispering to each other. ‘Tis one thing believing you are the only god among the rest, quite another to understand a god does not soil himself. As for me, I only keep my eyes on what has made the firstborn of House Blaem flee this way.

Our saviour’s eyes and his smile… nobody noticed his features moments ago, but I know another person bearing the same feel. Guy Cody is merely someone around my age, but his anger indeed reminds me of that True Apostle I met under that blue full moon.

)0(

Silent Night, Chaotic Night

"No man is ever free from paradox and irony. For every good we are capable of, an evil of exact measure we are able to do. We desire freedom, we become freedom's slaves. We abhor slavery, we ourselves are our own slavers. This is why our years of life shall always equal the years of suffering, be it self or others."
~Erasmus Eliaden, First Patriarch of House Eliaden and First Warden of the North.

Lyrics

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A Ranger's Tale

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The morning sky is uncharacteristically warm, the sun blazing from high above wringing sweat out of the young recruits. Three months’ worth of orientation after graduation finally reaping its profit utterly deserved, only some prissy rich man’s son would protest against the Father’s will. They say boys are meant to enjoy, but men are made to fight. The journey for every boy has ended, ‘tis up to the men to decide whether to be mere mortals or a pride of lions in fiery red.

Thrill and anticipation playing vanguard to his first day of duty, Guy Cody decked himself in a leather suit of scales. Like members of every Support Command, fervent pride burns in him as he takes note of his tunic in green. Visualising a spangenhelm donned atop his head, the feel of an oaken shaft belonging to his spear ignites forth a flurry of passion. The time is now at hand, bugles blaring aloud the Gaffer’s coming. Knowing not what is to come, the lad nevertheless hopes his first mission will be a major one.

“Stand guard, attention!”

Atmosphere formal permeates the Teesside Division, excitement verily gives way to tension threatening to overspill. Moggray Tonn makes his entrance with nary a pomp, this is a seasoned veteran used to braving fires of war. Orbs of iron grey dare all comers to challenge his stand, an old soldier’s features scarred betraying an old lion yet to fall. Scaled shirt of shining mail sparkles forth an aura of steel, the Gaffer’s helm bearing a roaring lion's face.

"Is everything okay, Southgate? You better don’t fuck this up."

"All fine and dandy, Sir," replies Southgate, his respectful salute defying the manner of his words.

"Alright then," mutters Moggray curtly, his heart nonetheless amused by Southgate Garatt’s expression, "As the Division Gaffer of Teesside, I hereby welcome you all to the Red Lions. I'm not good with words and far worse off in tolerating morons. Might as well allocate your duties accordingly until any of you happens to get promoted.”

As thunderous bellowing from the boots affirmed their stance, Moggray inhaled deeply before his actual briefing. Erecting a stoic facade every day seen was the only solution, battling a sense of real unease being the only way out.

The system of Support Command is there for a reason and everybody knows why.

“Most importantly, take serious note of this,” hollers Moggray, the Northern Lion realising how harsh his tone was just now, “All you people here are part of the entire Support Command, hence direct combat should only be engaged under orders. It's either you learn to obey or prepare to be brayed. Understand?”

They’re just merely boys embarking on the path of men.

The Gaffer of Teesside now has to take that inevitable plunge, his thought mirroring the dire circumstances at hand.

“As you all have known by now, there’s a case of someone causing trouble at Lindel. Just don't ask me how that brown bugger managed to kill and bail, but at least I'm pretty sure the description is dead-on,” Moggray feels his throat going dry, yet the leader has to keep battling away till his fears banished, “Refer to the info issued to you an hour ago unless you all want to die. Southgate, elaborate further please.”

“It’s been rumoured that a suspicious figure was seen around our Teesside County three days ago. Just don’t ask me whether a pretty lass is more capable of fibbing.”

Laughter abruptly invading the square, Moggray heaved a hidden word of gratitude towards his second in command as Southgate Garatt continues, “Hence your immediate task is to scout the surrounding areas. Every single inch of ground belonging to our beloved Teesside, that is.”

“The First Support Command has already been mobilised together with the Fifth, Sixth and Eighth Engagement Command,” interrupting Southgate’s speech, Moggray Tonn displays nary a remorse over his decision, “As for the Second Support Command, necessary deployment will be on the cards if there's a need for additional back-up. Until then, stay red!"

"Erm, Sir?" raising up his hand, Guy Cody wears a nervous look on his face, "What about the blokes at Manchester? I thought they are supposed to be best of the best."

"Sound opinion voiced out here. Others tend to call you a moron, but obviously you're not too shabby in the humour department. Good try of sarcasm here, Guy Cody,” answers a stoic Moggray, inner mirth nevertheless blooming in spite of struggles prior, “Learn from him, lads."

"Erm, Sir... it's not too good to say things like that," whispers Southgate.

"Well, I'm just stating the cold hard truth,” comes a deadpan reply, “And Southgate, you're also included in this statement."

)0(

My blood… is it just only mine?

A metallic warmth and taste… I fucking hate this bullshit.

Am I already dead... executed by my own sins?

Fuck my sins. Do I even understand the meaning of death?

My loss, my pain… everything is nothing but a myth. A big fat bullshitting lie…

A bloodied blade… my sole apology… is it my hand gripping its hilt?

That moron whose death has saved me for good… is he still there?

"This is my parting gift to you. Live on, Aeranath... even if your life has been nothing more than a mistake."

)0(

Jolted from his slumber, Aeranath finds himself baptised in sweat. Stagnant air feeling frigid, its bite brings forth the blackest dawn. The last True Apostle is doomed to be a dreamer, someone living out a nightmare and nothing more. An eternal crucible is to be the Ranger’s only way of life, a past sowed via an unfeeling race mocking his misery.

“In the name of Avalon, I henceforth sentence you and every unfortunate soul here to oblivion.”

This was his first statement uttered, those were his first words spoken since bidding farewell to his father. The future has always meant nothing, morals defining the True Apostles would always define the present.

Fuck the morals, fuck the present, fuck them all.

Aeranath knows what should be done. To become a hunter so that he can attain the end of his life. He who is the beginning and the end of the last True Apostle’s path, he who created this tragedy named Contra Mundum.

Aor, the First True Apostle.

He-Who-Builds-And-Destroy.

…Contra Nihilo.

The moon suddenly turned a bloody red, its crimson face forcing the night to be a silent one. A bluish hue briefly flickered, then it becomes no more. The wind stilled its course, the balmy air warping into a wintry bite. Only howls from a nearby wolf can be heard, the beast continuing its soulful dirge.

Guided by omens both seen and felt, Aeranath buckles down on his knees. Ominous woe soon to befall all bereft of good fortune, a galloping heart keeps begging for a mercy not granted. Clutching his chest with both hands, Aeranath knows the Answerer will taste blood once again more.

The beast can only break free, there’s no other choice. Chains restraining a rabid animal forced to their greatest limit, the wolf would never be sated.

No guarantee of sanity, no chance of staying intact.

This familiar feeling.

Kill.

Even if only for this very night.

Kill and you'll verily be free.

Skies were broken, the heavens will never weep for him. Persistent laughter despite a resilient will festering like a massive sore, this is a twisted solace lasting till dawn breaks.

The killer is prepared to dominate, a primal roar projecting forth another victory easily won…

Marked by a full crimson moon shining brightly above the slaughter come...

)0(

Wasting little time over the scout's tip-off, Pallister Scholes knows only too well the manner of bandits residing at Potter’s Mound. Equally dire, if not worse is the knowledge of Citias’ current straits. Just as vultures enjoy circling over the dying, a city boasting beautiful buildings and womenfolk befitting such a repute would always end up attracting unwanted attention. Rumour has it that Citias was recently attacked by a bunch of Demons, yet no one could describe what these monsters look like. It’s one thing scoffing at fibbers and the fibbed, quite another to acknowledge the importance of the Red Lions this time round. With nary a doubt, Citias’ defensive strength has swiftly been halved.

No, make that more than half.

If not for the Church sending much wanted aid, this proud city of cultural excellence would have been wasted like a chaste beauty forced to whore. Like most of his fellow Lions, Pallister detests dogma with a certain zeal. Yet, everyone has to admit that the Church is the only reason why the Greater North is able to retain a decent semblance of stability.

Demons or no Demons, it doesn’t matter. Really hate this fucking retarded truth.

"Sarge Scholes! All lads on the pitch!" exclaims an excited runner, his message prompting Pallister to prepare himself for war.

"Good," hails a dry reply without turning to face the informant, "Relay my orders that we'll be mobilising after three minutes. Ten companies, twenty men each. All must stay within a five mile radius from each other, positioning should be our highest priority.

“We all know the basics, Sarge,” pointing out his superior’s mistake, the scout never felt intimidated all the while.

“That's just me talking cock,” smirks Scholes, his cockiness all too evident now, “Time to up the bozos, no turning back."

)0(

Potter’s Mound, a hillock renowned for its namesake. A decade and half ago, this was where potters of finest quality gathered and lived. Fifteen winters later, bandits and knaves claimed it for their own. Word has it that not only was Potter’s Mound famous for the earthenware, the whorehouses there were also without peer. Mayhap ‘tis coincidence, perhaps a strange force at work. Regardless of whatever said and whispered, Potter’s Mound has indeed became a haven for rape and whore dealing.

"Dude, I can't wait for the fucking fun to start," gripes an unshaven man in a chainmail shirt, his sword belted at the waist while he and a few other friends squat outside their encampment.

"Yeah, you're right on that, stud. Even a ‘tard knows we’ll have tons of fodder under us, so why not hoard some of their finest bitches by then?" quips a ratty lad around sixteen winters, his lazy drawl drawing hoots of approval.

"That's a good idea! Why di... hey you see that, Obtsan?"

"Seems to be some random sucker coming our way... oh shit! Fucker's armed! Doubt he wants to bant. Go rat Chief Ben!" snaps Obstan, his hands gripping a spear tightly.

"No need for that, Tanner. It’s only us vs one. Even a hamster can easily guess the correct winner here," leers a rotten toothed hulk towering beside Obstan.

Encouraged by a grown up’s words, blades and axes drawn themselves against an intruder looming into view. Indulging himself in sexual fantasies involving ravished girls of noble birth offering themselves wholeheartedly, the last thing greeting Obstan isn’t some nubile brunette half naked.

A flash of lightning blue and flaring red, something explodes within him. Then darkness claims Obstan.

)0(

Reconnaissance halted under Pallister's order an hour ago, every Red Lion nears the intended target inch by inch. Silence unbearable for every lad bearing his Lion's pride, a round of good humoured jape erupts. Simple jest surrounding girls and sex passing from one man to another, immature bravado soon evaporates to nary but emptiness. Not a single cricket chirps, tension stages an all-out assault. Seasoned veterans like Pallister Scholes would not hesitate in staying put, but not anyone else no older than twenty winters. No matter what, pointless decisions should be the last thing needed. And to a field leader like Pallister Scholes, staying put is just that. Combat has never been won on bravery and valour, only little boys and girls believe so otherwise. Conflicts are won via decisions, every duel of arms is decided by a mind swifter than the opponent’s blade.

Fuck pragmatism, fuck procrastination. I'm first a field sergeant and leader, not some brainless taskmaster.

Slivers of doubt extinguished, the ginger haired commander begin barking out orders. Every man bearing arms marches headlong into the bandits' base in response, their organised ranks uncompromised.

Then all freeze in their tracks as they stare aghast at bodies of sentries strewn. This is nothing less than an incursion initiated by blood and death, bloodied pieces of flesh decorating the sturdy gates red. Adopting a cautious approach this time round, fear seized even Pallister’s heart. Beckoning in front for his men to follow up, the Red Lions join ranks to create one massive phalanx. Then it all starts unfolding before every watcher present.

Dozens dismembered and charred, only the dead were visible. A motley group brutally slaughtered, the crimson moon reveals forth a testament inked by Chaos' quill. Hair of purest frost contrasting starkly with fairest features dark, an Elven visage becomes wholly static in an unholy state. Insane rhythm sung from Pallister's heart the last thing felt, a predator suddenly ravages a battalion of lions helpless and armed.

Oblivion's hand finally revealed, Pallister Scholes witnesses heads detached from the lads and blood erupting from every lifeless corpse. A burning pain invades his heart, a searing fire tearing into his belly. The Demon is already before him, both the killer and the killed staring eye to eye...

Then it all ends here, his body and soul utterly immolated.

)0(

I watch my past seven years ago unfolding like a play, myself seated as the lone audience. Everything is too surreal, this has never been the way to spend my eighteenth birthday. Lecherous leers exposing my fear back then, my kidnappers spare no efforts in unmasking their hopeless lives. Who would ever commit his lust onto an eleven year old girl yet to see maidenhood? ‘Tis a question I will never know. Joenne said outlaws like them only desire money and ransom, Karen asking why money and ransom at the same time. That was two years ago, I still remember a sombre Karen nodding in response.

"Only money if you’re a son, both money and virginity if you’re a daughter."

They claimed themselves to be after my father's gold, said gold is nothing to these ravenous animals licking their lips. Two things they only aim, one goal is all they want. To get their undeserved reward and taking my body, to renege on their word so as to sell me off as a whore. I know what they’re thinking because I heard each man speaking out his mind.

Should sins and evil overrule all things rational?

I ask myself this question, rumoured tales of potent brew running rampant in my head. Any contents within such a drink should be meant as whispered warning to every maiden desirable, yet here I am being both the witness and victim.

"There is no honour in fuelling your evil desires, 'tis why even gods are guilty thus."

My mother not from birth has taught me this much, this is why I abhor such a life. What purpose does the promise of power serve if your soul knows not what you're living for? What manner of gods are appeased by such heinous individuals unless they claim to do it in their holy name? My father is no stranger to scoundrels doing so, this is why I know certain things without being cursed with the luck to see them.

Then he enters the act abruptly and chaotically. All twenty bandits bereft of repentance hacked down without respite, his blinking movement outrageously alluring. Yea, to truly feel my saviour travelling to and fro with impunity is indeed a beauty by itself. I see nothing less than a marvellous sequence of somebody disappearing and reappearing at will, me being both the audience and the little girl saved. They tend to shun me because they say a Cinha is no Causacean. They call me a harlot and a whore, yet his eyes betrays a life seventy times worse than mine.

His eyes of crimson red... should I be fearing him?

Is he a Demon so many have whispered in fear or merely an avatar of death?

Or mayhap this man is chaos itself assuming flesh?

My mind pays no heed to this question asked, I know with nary a doubt that this dream will never be the end. 'Tis but only a beginning I cannot foresee, my heart reaching out to my saviour brandishing a sword baptised in blood.

As the main actress on the stage, is he the main actor?

As the only audience seated below, should I adore him akin to how Joenne and Karen desiring that comely actor years ago on the stage?

He is truly a living sigil embodying conflict between what-ifs and reality, surely he is not the type of man Joenne or Karen likes.

Is he comely?

More likely the rugged type of man more used to charming smallborne girls serving in any tavern. Twong always enjoyed saying such men are only good enough for whores, that was when I was only twelve winters or so. My father was not amused by such bluntest jest, a stinging slap and words which stung equally in public ensured a learning environment less than eventful.

I then see the full moon gradually laying down its cards, I witness a captivating sea of blue invading the lunar sky. The resultant clarity ensnaring my soul for good, this has to be the obscurity otherwise named the True Apostles. Understanding bereft of words greeting that rugged form, his back becomes the most poignant portrait ever. Mother has spoken before of beings both fair and powerful, their long ears and hair of winter snow setting themselves apart.

I never expect his complexion bronzed like a Tamurian, yet I will never accept that stark white hair and his distinct features as a lie. Our eyes meet each other for the first time, burning jewels of crimson red supplanted by the most beautiful colour never before seen...

The colour belonging to that azure moon hanging above...

The never-ending blanket of clearest blue…

Yea, this is everything representing a True Apostle...

If only I could tell him that night my name is Alestrial Eliaden.

)0(

Ranger Tactics (only for phones which are smart)+Ex Thrylos (only for individual meant to console)

Girls most likely to play Nintendo:
Lolyx, Yeras Wynda, Lara von Dirkwind and Kazama Asuka
(acts/want to live like a free lass)

Girls most likely to play Xbox 360:
Karen Tenias, Joenne Nances and Seung Mi-na
(live/treated like a princess)

Girls most likely to play PS3:
Sarel Aprhos, Ceres and Aozaki Aoko
(looks/acts like a hot redhead)

Girls who play smartphones:
Alestrial Eliaden, Kagetus no Hyo'Ah and Nanaya no Geun'Jin
(East Asians high on Stark Tech*)
*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KSvvLOYcYto**
**http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2erEi4e6h8k***
***http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_ubVVnWglk

Guess this one will be brief... gonna start w/the smartphone ver first...

Touchscreen interface:
Self explanatory.

Character menu:
Every character will have his/her own menu.
Character menu consists of 7 slots.
4 slots are reserved for Skills and Magic with the last 2 slots occupied by Feat and Surge Drive respectively.
First slot belongs to Basic Attack.
Each character menu also has a second set reserved for Items.
You can toggle between both sets of the character menus.

Stamina and Adrenaline:
Applicable to smart ver also, finer details below.

Now for the universal stuff/ARPG ver...

Gameplay:
Default party size is 4 (for turned based ver) and 5 (for ARPG ver).
In addition to your default party, you can also hire sellswords (maximum number is 2 for turn based ver and 3 for ARPG ver).
Every character has 6 parameters. 3 of them are considered Elemental stats while the other 3 are known as Spirit stats.
Elemental stats-Fire, Earth, Air, Water
Spirit stats-Mind, Technique, Body

Elemental stats:
Fire-affects amount of actual damage dealt.
Earth-affects your character's overall HP and resistance to Hinder effects.
Air-affects evasion* and movement (for turn based ver); affects Dodge (for ARPG ver).
[*Evasion merely affects the chances of avoiding damage altogether.]
Water-affects amount of XP earned, chances of avoiding Hinder effects caused by opponent Skills (for both ver) and character turn order (for turn based ver).

Spirit stats:
Mind-affects critical damage and Adrenaline buildup.
Technique-affects Parry, hit accuracy and chance to critical hit.
Body-affects base damage and maximum Stamina.

Differences between Elemental and Spirit:
Elemental stats are subjected to buffs and Hinder effects.
Spirit stats are subjected only to Hinder effects.
Hinder effects targeting Spirit stats will have the duration halved.

Skills and Magic:
Skills will consume a certain portion of the character's Stamina.
Hinder effects caused by Skills can only target Elemental stats.
Magic consumes a certain percentage of current HP.
Hinder effects caused by Magic can target both Elemental and Spirit stats.
Magic has a higher average hit chance and damage.

Details on Item usage:
You can decide for your characters which items to use when exploring.
This must be done in a Settlement.
Only 4 Items can be selected with maximum quota per slot listed under that Item's description.
Holding down the Item usage button and pressing the relevant button (i.e. Basic Attack and Skill 1-3) will trigger that Item's effect.
You can use more than 1 slot for the same Item. However, slot quota still stays at 4.

How to sort/group Items for usage:
X/Triangle/Y-Item slot 1
Y/Square/X-Item slot 2
B/Cross/A-Item slot 3
A/Circle/B-Item slot 4

Stamina:
Stamina regenerates over time.
Using Basic Attack and Skills will take up Stamina.
Amount of Stamina left will affect the maximum amount of Adrenaline.

Adrenaline:
Adrenaline acts as an important modifier in dealing damage, i.e. the higher your character's Adrenaline, the higher damage dealt.*
Adrenaline builds up faster whenever your character receives damage; damage amount received will affect how much Adrenaline is earned this way.*
[*A/N: Above factor applies to both Magic and Skills.]
Adrenaline builds up whenever your character executes a Basic Attack or any damage oriented Skill.
Adrenaline will start decreasing if your character isn't fighting during combat.
Adrenaline will NOT affect any Hinder or buff effect.
If your character's Adrenaline reaches 0, that character receives -10% in ALL damage dealt.

Parry and Dodge:
Both actions are automatically executed in accordance to the relevant stats, i.e. Air for Dodge and Technique for Parry.
Executing Step after a successful Parry will ensure one free attack/action.
Executing Step after a successful Dodge automatically results in a Basic Attack which cannot be avoided by the opponent so long your character is of a higher level.
Using Step before engaging any opponent heightens the chance of a successful Parry/Dodge.

To be cont'd...

Asian Exodus Deux

Feedback (?)

To the 4 nation gang, I know this ain't some consolation. In fact, chances are that I'll be vilified as a total jerkass b/c S'pore can and will never be able to participate in the World Cup. Let alone hosting one. Therefore...

Aussies, pls take note...

Possible role-dubbed CV+BigWorld Tech

Persians, pls take note...

Possible influence-Tamuria (i.e. 0% actual participation, 100% plot impact. Apparently, the Persians should be rightfully feared in terms of the ancient military badass metre)

日本人, 注意してください...

Possible impact-original CV+吉田 明彦+Uncle George (Nakata)

한국인, 참고하시기 바랍니다

Possible position-programming+you know what loketest means?. :P

Diff pattern for diff console LOL!

Nintendo 3DS/PSP/PS Vita/PS4/XBox360

ARPG

Android/ iOS/Windows Phone

Turn based RPG

How to Control like a boss

[Turn based RPG first]

For a lack of better comparison, try playing Marvel Avengers Alliance Tactics. Then you'll most likely grasp the fundamental concept. Actually come to think of it, isn't that the type of correct creativity them Japanese are still famous for?

At the same time, I need to thank everyone @Gazillion Entertainment  working his/her ass off. Granted no game is perfect unless the creators happen to be gods and goddesses, but at least I managed to glean an idea or more by playing Marvel Heroes.

Disclaimer I

Note that I'm not advertising any given brand b/c I'm just a piss poor blogger with an honest daily job. In short, no one paid me to do all these nonsense thus far.

Disclaimer II

Realised I can never pull off any endorsement deal like all those famous kings and queens of blogosphere. Either I'm used to being piss poor or too used in staying a free man. Most likely both added together.

How to control like a boss

[Order from left-Nintendo > Sony > Microsoft]

X/Triangle/Y: Basic Attack

Y/Square/X: Skill 1

B/Cross/A: Skill 2

A/Circle/B: Skill 3

Bumper ver.S+M

R1: Stance

R2: Item usage

L1: Tumble

L2: Step

R1+L1=Invulnerable

R2+L2=Sudden Cancel

R1+L1+R2+L2+70% Stamina/100% Adrenaline=Feat

R1+L1+R2+R1+30% HP or less+100% Adrenaline=Surge Drive*

*heightened effect with 30% HP or less

Bumper ver.N

R: Stance

L: Item usage

R+L+70% Stamina/100% Adrenaline=Feat

R+L+30% HP or less+100% Adrenaline=Surge Drive*

*heightened effect with 30% HP or less

Describing like a boss

Basic Attack

Consumes 1% of your character's Stamina

Skill

Will consume whatever amount of Stamina listed in the skill description.

Stance

Will trigger certain effects once your character's Stance is interrupted. Increases Stamina regeneration so long the Stance animation remains uninterrupted.

Item usage

Self explanatory.

Tumble
Knockdown recovery. Note that your character will be vulnerable this way.
Character's Adrenaline will automatically reset to 0.

Step
Your character will either hop backwards perform a sidestep. Can only be used under two circumstances:
1. Successful Dodge/Parry
2. When your character has yet to engage the enemy.

Invulnerable

Removes all Hinder debuffs suffered by your character. You character gains immunity against all Hinder debuffs this way.

Duration: 10 seconds

Cooldown: 3 minutes

Sudden Cancel

Post 90% like this...

You can manually interrupt your character's Stance this way. However, this will also nullify the Stance effect.

Consumes 40% Stamina.

+10% maximum Adrenaline for 1 minute,

Plus the rest...

Ever played BlazBlue? Def not me. Then I realised I ended up playing Black Panther like some 2D fighter chump... T_T

Feat=actual Overdrive 

Surge Drive=similar concept to Astral

Roaring Dawn

More oft than not, one will not find a hero blessed with wealth and standing. Legends do not live to be mortals bearing arms nor exalting some righteous cause. A hero is meant to be immortal even though he is not. Indeed such an individual can only be a lion hidden amongst men.

~Ser Jon Wood the Young; Marquis Warden of the Throne

)0(

A Ranger's Tale

)0(

"Guy, I have something to tell you..."

Damn, I don't like where this is going. Dammit, Ales!  Stop rocking back forth like that!

"Actually... I like you."

Wait a holy sec… what the fuck is that? Guy Cody, you lucky, lucky sod. I can't be hearing fairy tales, right? Is that her confession of love? The intoxicating fragrance from her dark flowing locks... is that a dream as well? Rosy cheeks now slightly flushed? Her doe-like eyes shying away from me?

"Wait a holy sec… me? Why me?"

"Why yes, you heard me, Guy… YOU."

Oh damn… this is some weird shit. I must have been smoking some funny herbs. Catts is gonna get it from me. For the very first time in history, I manage to believe that anything is possible once your brains go ‘pop’…

Wait a holy sec… I think I've just kept my composure.

Her affirmation to incredulous thoughts playing catch with me ends with a timid nod, a blissful smile sealing the best deal of my life. A lifelong dream finally arrives, the dreamer in me hitting an all-time high.

"Yes! Finally you've accepted me! Alestrial Eliaden! The one and only!"

Leaping in joy, I pump my fist like an eighteen year old virgin about to score with his first date. Finally freed, this rabbit here is now free to munch his carrot.

Wait a holy sec… am I using the correct term?

"I've always liked you all the while. It's just that I never had the chance to tell you," smiles my petite Cinha angel as she rested her delicate hands against my chest. Holding onto Ales’ shoulders, I can only bob my head like an enthusiastic puppy while feeling fountains of joy gushing from my eyes.

"I understand now, Ales. Our Father in heaven will bless our union for sure!"

"Of course He will. The Church has always been a fair system for the entire North. In my opinion, that is,” giggles Ales, “He will definitely give us His blessings as the Head of Quintet Faith, but if only..."

"Tell me, Ales. I'll do it for you! Even if it’ll cost me my life and my greatest pride! Unto the abyss and heavens high!"

They say pointing towards the skies is a guarantee of sincerity. Yep, I always saw that in the mimes and I learn stuff really fast.

"Oh, don't worry. Your life won't be at stake, but you're correct on the other count," says my fair lady as her eyes start emitting a green eerie glow, "I just want to take your manhood."

Wait a holy sec, that's the greatest comedy skit ever, right? Or maybe she just wants my manhood?

"Why are you giving me this expression? You've heard me right. That 'thing' in between your legs," giggles my fair lady again as a knife abruptly appears out of thin air. Great, just like epic tales recounting feats of Magic.

"You know one thing, Guy Cody? I really like my man to be incomplete. Please accede to my demands if you really love me," smiles my innocent Cinha angel, her knife flipping about with crazy dexterity, "Don't worry though. I know this will be painful, but we both know I shall take care of you forever. Unless of course you want to renege on our promise made six years ago."

Wait a holy sec, me getting chained all over and trapped in a dungeon? Great, marionette Guy is now shackled for life.

Wait a holy sec… am I gaping like that fish Uncle Parky boned years ago?

Shit! Shit’s all too damned real now! I can only shake my head violently in denial as my fountains manage to warp big time from joy to despair. Yeah, I know I’m getting way too calm. Sucks to be me alright.

"No! It shouldn't end like this! You're not the real deal! A faker! The real Alestrial Eliaden will never do such a thing to me! No... Nooo... NOOOOOOO!"

I really hate that stupid knife now! I know that vilest abomination is starting to dominate my sweetheart!

Then…

"Shut the fuck up!"

)0(

The sandy blond finds himself sprawling face first on the lacquered wooden floor, his eyes opened wide greeting every face glowering before him. Veins bulging along every temple sending him his mates’ regards, Guy Cody feels a sore bump on his forehead.

"Erm... it's a dream, no?" smiles a sheepish Guy in the face of all dressed in brown shorts and white collarless shirts.

"You're obviously having a nightmare," growls his closest friend, a fiery grimace complimenting his fiery hair, "To be straight, I don't give a flying ass on why you're drooling and screaming. But for the love of the entire Holy Quintet, DON’T WAKE US UP!"

"Eh, did I really scream that loud, Catts?" Guy replies, one hand still rubbing his forehead gently.

"There's no such thing as a quiet arsehole," snarls another lad, massive hands seizing by Guy by the collar, "Hopefully our bunk officers didn't end up hearing a stuck pig screaming. If not…”

For the first time in his life, Guy feels like a swine ready for slaughter. The image of a million knives stuck inside his body playing a macabre game with him, he’d rather be sentenced to castration by his beloved.

"Erm, okay Morris. I get the picture."

"What are all of you doing here?"

A question hollered out swiftly cutting into every listener’s ears, the impact akin to setting a hot knife against butter. Hastily shuffled themselves into position, the group of fifteen stand in ranks of three as a stocky bunk officer receives a proper salute.

"Catterm Leen! Guy Cody! Why are the two of you still not standing at attention?" barks their brunette superior decked in padded armour.

"Sorry, sir!" exclaims Catterm, "Erm, actually we're pretty much surprised at your surprise assault. As you can see, I was way too engrossed in teaching our stuck friend here some lessons on how civilisation works."

"Teach? You, Catts? Puh’lease, you're balmy beyond cure! And why mention civi..." before Guy can finish his statement, his best friend slapped him across the head.

"Shut up, fuckwit! You'll only get us all buggered good."

Delivering a wry smile conceived from his well humoured nature, Southgate Garrat doesn’t have to be a half-baked idiot in reaching a conclusion.

"It’s only natural for people to have nightmares especially those your age,” clearing his throat in an exaggerated manner, Southgate continues his speech, “But I do not desire any more shenanigans being shitted out. The Third Company’s repute within the Second Support Command has officially preceded everything else. Understand me, laddie bucks?"

The youths under his charge sing a song of relief within their hearts as they managed to escape jaws of the abyss. They could have easily been screwed ten times over, each individual making a mental note to buy himself a carving knife.

"Okie, lads! With all things said, prepare yourselves for the roll call. Dawn is nearing ‘pon us and may the Roar be with us! Understand?" exclaims a grinning Southgate, his right arm dramatically sweeping across.

"Yes, sir!"

"Man, it's a good thing seeing nice bloke Southgate as our bunk chief. Definitely luckier than us playing buff poker with them mad cats from Wearside and Tyneside years ago."

"Do you mind, Guy Cody?" snaps Catterm, “When was the last time an idiot mopped the floor with anyone from either Division?”

"Erm, last week? Or last month? You need to tell me, Catts."

“Guy Cody, I swear you’re asking for…”

Peals of intent tolling forth disrupting his best buddy’s threat, anticipation towards a long day ahead washes over the sandy blond like a cold morning bath. Cheesy smile worn like a badge of pride, Guy Cody instinctively cracks his knuckles. Four rigorous years spent in the Merseyside Academy and the life he has wanted so much since adopted begins to unfold like a drama on stage. The Red Lions' infamous quote instantly burnishing in his heart, strides stoked by passion taking him all the way unto the bathhouse.

Time to roar off the monkey piss.

)0(

Breakfast is a simple platter of bacon, scrambled eggs and plain buttered toast, both officers and recruits dining side by side. Military regulars always gladly steer clear from such practice, this is something used to earning sniggers. They call it a rarity in society, an insult to the military. The Red Lions would have nothing of it though, their penchant for trouble appreciated only by the smallborne. Frequent arrests beget only a slap in the wrist, no ruler is ever foolhardy enough to rile the masses. And the Red Lions belong to the smallborne in every sense of the word.

"Never bounded by blood, our pride will never fall. If one elite bugger pummels one of us, let him taste a hundred of us. "

"Eh, the food here rocks..." quips Guy with an off-tune whistle blown, his own plate cleared and returned personally.

"A blimey as well. This ain't the Tyneside Division because no one knows what their cooks are smoking before lighting the stove," chuckles Catterm, his foul mood dissipated fast, "Hey, there's still a bit of time before we gear up, so why not a little bant?”

“Hell yeah! Beater and Dickhead are back!”

Guy Cody promptly receives his reward for outspoken enthusiasm, a punch across the back of his skull being his keep.

)0(

“Do you want to get me killed?” snarls Catterm, his fiery hair ruffled in frustration, “Who told you out ourselves? Do you even know what Beater and Dickhead means?”

“Whoa, calm down! Cool your fire, Catts!”

“I suspect the only way to cool my fire is to roast you alive. I know Guy Cody is Beater, but are you so obsessed in letting Elys know my nickname?”

“Erm… yes? You’re damn good in pleasing girls.”

“I swear you should have fucked Adine when you got the chance,” growls Catterm with a palm placing over his face, “At least you won’t die a virgin.”

“Adine?”

“Yeah. Anything wrong?” questions Catterm with an eyebrow raised.

“That hot pretty serving girl who got every dude hot under his pants?”

“You’re not just a cretin I see,” sighs the redhead, exasperation wearing him down like some insatiable lover, “You blind cretin. Which Adine are we now talking about?”

“Old Crocker’s daughter?”

“Yep, bingo there. Ugly as fuck, I hope you’re at least wise enough to remember,” comes the snorting reply. Then shock starts creeping into Catterm Leen, sudden realisation staking claim on him like a hungry lioness, “Wait a fucking minute, please don’t tell me…”

“Yep, bingo there!” grins a victorious Guy, “Saw her while during on job training just last cycle! At Old Crocker’s watering-hole no less. Can you believe she recognised me first?”

Oh shit. I must be hearing things since lying is the last thing Guy will ever do. Errgh! Why must I be his friend?

)0(

Welcome to Crocks, this is the sign greeting every patron upon stepping through a door of birch. Famed for its sweet apple ale and fluffy lamb pastries, Crock Tayn will always ensure only the best should suffice. Despite rival establishments earning more profit via adding harlots and gambling sport, Old Crocker, as old timers enjoy calling him, firmly believes in principles and integrity. Troubadours, in particular, enjoy his hospitality granted without deceit while children, young lads and fillies alike will always enjoy a mug of berry tea with tales of yore sung.

“So how’s business?”

The crippled man eyes his friend, emotions pulsating inside the soul. Silence means only one thing. Bad news. Crocks has endured plenty of years and recent losses. The old timers, their children and grandchildren are still around, but stubborn insistence has given many a leeway for those carving out a niche or more. Times change and people change, let alone honour and rules. Word has it that Old Crocker will close down his fruit yielded through hard work before the current winter starts, the greatest worry will surely be Adine.

“Closing by autumn.”

Three words it takes to wrench a fighter’s guts, Garyth Parkins starts cursing those unscrupulous upstarts. Old Crocker has aged quite a fair bit, only the Holy Quintet knows when he will ascend. And speaking of the gods…

One does not simply offer prayers and righteous act to succeed. Wonder how Parish Blauser is doing right now in that humble little shithole we call chapel.

“The age of lions is now standing at nadir, I’m afraid our time has ended long ago,” says Crock, wistful tone giving birth to welling tears.

“The Red Lions remain strong!”

Waving off Garyth’s protest, Crock puffs his cheeks. Getting up from the wooden stool, he fingers a portrait framed in reddish wood. The picture remains clear, yet one of the three is no longer around.

“If only we can get Guy and Adine together.”

“They would make a stunning pair,” nods Garyth, determination fuelling his inner fire, “Don’t worry, Old Crocker. I’ll take good care of her after you’re gone.”

“After this place is gone,” corrects a smiling Crock, the cold hard reality no longer strangling him like weeks before, “The poulter has predicted I won’t live anywhere beyond the coming month.”

“A little wonder why you’re so eager to sell this off. You’d rather sell out your hard earned keep than to sell out your only kin,” thumping a fist against his own chest, Garyth Parkins displays his approval, “My brother in spirit, I’ll back you this time round.”

“What’s wrong with the fearsome Crazy Park?” chuckles Crock, a wrinkled thumb caressing his chin.

“You know how besotted that stupid boy of mine is when it comes to a certain false noble.”

“Oh, you mean Alestrial Eliaden? Let them be, I say. Reckless youth will always make one wiser. Aren’t we the same as well? Me, you, a few others and the ten division gaffers?”

“Life is all about method training, but…” Garyth’s words trail off into nothing bar grief.

“I know your brother and his wife were good honest folks. Not even the gods could’ve predicted Redcart utterly razed.”

“Is it okay for us to change the subject right now, right here?” smiles Garyth Parkins abruptly, mischievous glint seen in iron grey eyes failing to obscure his lingering wound, “Remember how my boy met Fatty Leen’s boy?”

“Ah yes, Beater and Dickhead!” guffaws Crock Tayn, unbridled mirth reversing his age by half, “Wasn’t that because of Catterm insulting Adine? Holy Quintet be praised, for Catterm was merely insulting her looks.”

“Glad Adine proved Dickhead wrong. Feels weird seeing her and Elys being best of friends though,” shrugs Garyth, wry humour adorning both his visage and Old Crock’s like accolades allotted to veterans.

)0(

“You can’t touch me! I am under protection!”

This is a load of bollocks. I might’ve been to the Imperial Zoo only once, but I don’t remember some bloody animal on display that reads “seventy three winters.”

“C’mon, Guy. Bastard’s not worth your time.”

That’s a load of bollocks, Bruno. If Guy Cody wants something done, he’ll get it done.

“GUY! YOU HEAR ME???”

I’m getting sick and tired of people telling me about the law. Whatever happening to the good ol’days before I'm born is irrelevant. Change in the law? Bullshit if you tell me. Sorry, Catts. You’re yelling and Bruno’s advice won’t work on me. At least for this time.

“I am protected by the law!”

That’s it, you seventy three year old freak. You’re fucking dead.

“Tell me, old fuck.”

Wow, I must have sounded cool. Scoundrel’s face seems to freeze on the spot. Now that’s priceless.

“How many funeral songs have you sung?”

Anger boils up in me as I ask him this damning question. I don’t care who the fuck he is or what the fuck he did before coming here. Looks like Ales’ fellow Cinha, but he stinks of money and piss. You stay in Teesside, you better respect those in Teesside. If he thinks making fun of those kids drowned in some boating mishap is funny, I’ll show him real comedy.

“HOW MANY?!”

Fury finally becomes my food, the steel pole gripped in my hand released. There’s no point sending my own ass to jail since there’s a promise I need to fulfil with Ales. But if I must recall any lessons learnt from uncle Parky, this will be it.

“Well, you know what people say about retribution…”

Wow, I must have learnt well from those mimes two days ago. You seventy three winters jackass, betcha never see a pissed off Kalaran, let alone three. Should’ve wagered a tenner with Catts and gay Bruno on whether you’re impotent.

“Wait, what are you doing to my wheelchair? Help! Somebody! Security!”

What am I doing? Go eat some shit, you dumb fuck.

“NOOOOO!!!!”

This has to be the best part of my life. Seeing a scoundrel scream is one thing, knowing you’re the one shoving his wheels is seven times the value.

“By the gods! Garyth’s boy killed him!”

“Pah! That bastard!”

Then a strong hand grips my shoulder, relief taking over me when I realise who.

“Moron! What if you killed him? Trading a scum for jail time, who’s your classroom teacher by the way?”

I’d like to say uncle Parky, but Catts would flay me like a dead cat.

“Catts, he’s still alive!”

Wait, he’s still alive? What kind of freak is that old bugger? Some weird being infiltrating Teesside? Think I need to do something about this.

“No, Guy,” snaps Bruno, his sharp tone holding me in place just like always, “The Cinha geezer might be okay, but it seems that he has lost control of his bladder.”

“So how, Luk? I heard this old bum is some high end merchant doing business in our Saltburn. Just a few trot apart by my guess.”

Well, no one can fault Catts for being rational. Brains plus package, no wonder Elys is so desperate for him.

“I’ll make sure he lives,” smirks our pretty buddy, “And while I’m at it, staying noiseless as well.”

Okay, slight change in statement. Catts is rational, but Bruno is crafty. As for me, seeing old folks somersaulting like some lame acrobat is more than enough.

)0(

“Erm, sir…”

“What is it, Southgate? Spit it out before I do it for you.”

“You seem stressed out.”

“More likely pressed out of shape due to those jokers from the Third Company. Now do you want to talk? If not, please get the…”

“It’s Guy Cody again. Lost big time against those lads from Tyneside and Wearside. Via buff poker no less.”

“What did he do?”

“Floored the entire lot with only his boxers on. And in public view no less. Permission to summon, sir?”

“THAT’S IT! Get that little bugger in, I’m gonna bray him fucking hard.”

Moggray Tonn grins ruefully before a past not so distant. Three months have passed by swiftly, the moment where he will step forth into the training square igniting fire within his heart. He has known Garyth Parkins for years, the only individual in Crazy Park’s generation closer to the Northern Lion being Southgate Garatt. A knock then makes its presence heard, the guest none other than Southgate himself.

“Announcing combat readiness, sir! Permission to…”

“Don’t ask me a stupid question in private, Southgate,” chortles the war veteran, a friendly slap knocking the wind off Southgate’s lungs. As his number two tries catching his breath while remaining bent, the grizzled soldier sneaks a glimpse towards a banner of white emblazoned with a pouncing lion in red. The past revisiting him like one mass deluge, the Northern Lion recalls only too well Garyth Parkins’ shocking revelation.

“He ain’t even my nephew, can you believe it? I know this sounds absurd, but please keep this secret between us. That boy… I mean Guy… he’s actually discovered by my sister-in-law as a baby suckling from a lioness’ teats.”

“Parky, you fucking idiot,” glowers Moggray as he prepares to step beyond the door, “If the lad ain’t your kin, why did you lie by telling him your brother’s name ends at Cody?”

Futile questions growled merely begetting a bugle blared afar, Moggray Tonn can only settle for something crystal clear from the start.

That boy may not have any share in Garyth Parkins’ blood, but he’s truly the heir.

)0(