Leave of absence

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While I think of how to begin this blog post, I’m just going put the kettle on to make some tea that’s been sitting in the corner of my room for a while. And now that the pressure of writing the opening sentence is lifted, let me carry on. While I have a number of reasons of not putting my writing up here, none of them will be good enough to justify my absence. And for that, I apologise. A red line is popping under “apologise” marking it as incorrect, and it’s annoying the hell out of since it wants me to put a ‘z’ instead of the ‘s’. Not today American spelling, not today.

While I want to spill the beans on whos and whatnots on why I had this absence in the first place, I’m quite confident that many of you, the ten followers I have, won’t find it that interesting; mainly because not many things happened worthy of your time. Rather than that, I’ll just say what I have, I don’t want to say planned since it will imply that I’ll do it and I don’t want to make any more empty promises, but planned for the future of this blog. Without further a due, I will go and get my tea.

So, first of all, I have a couple of stories piled up that need revising, maybe editing, and reviewing before posting them. It’s quite funny since I’ve never read an actual romance novel, and a couple of them are shorter versions of just that. It’s what I felt at the time and just wrote it. But I digress. Since I’ve never considered myself as an erudite, especially a verbal one, I’m still learning the nooks and crannies of the literary part of the English language. Also there a quite a few topics I was on the verge of writing but never did since I either didn’t think it was the appropriate time or it wasn’t my place or some other excuse I would come up. While all of those may have a pinch of merit to them, there are a lot, and I do mean a lot, like thousands of time worse stuff being written on the interwebs every single day.

Furthermore, I’d like to thank a few people for nudging my brain while I was on my leave and making me reconsider about why I should, in fact, post stuff here. Maybe, no, ‘maybe’ isn’t the right word, I’m quite sure they didn’t know it at the time, and there’s a slim to no chance that they will see this post and the sincere thank you I owe them. A person, who shall remain anonymous, said something along the lines of “because people got somewhere by not voicing themselves,” with a hint of sarcasm. Well, me saying ‘a hint’ is a huge understatement, but still what it did was it gave me a huge metaphorical push, or plainly rephrasing it, I needed to stop being such a huge wuss. Next up is James Garside (@jamesgarside_ and graffitiliving.wordpress.com is his blog), wizard extraordinaire on the Twitterverse. According to twitter, it was 349 days ago, and his advice is only hitting me (relatively) now. I asked him about some writing technique or something along the lines and he said, “don’t worry if people like your idea — write it and prove it’s awesome! Learn from the best if you can, but JUST WRITE.” That’s the actual quote, and you can see what he wanted to stress (hint, it’s in capital letters). Plus few of his tweets and his own blog posts made me like him quite a lot, and if I ever get the chance I’d buy him (you) a pint (of tea, of course, *waves the Union Jack*). And lastly, I’d like to thank my uncle. While we were making barbeque last weekend, he asked me what my hobbies were and I wanted to say that it’s writing, but just couldn’t. For one reason or another, he remembered that I used to write and asked me how it was going and I explained my situation. That being, I was too insecure whether people would like it, would bother to read it, etcetera etcetera. And he smiled, leaned back into the plastic chair, took a sip out of his beer and innocuously told me “look, because you chose that hobby you can never know what’s going to happen, how people are going to react to what you write. For what it’s worth, you may not be the next ‘that lady who wrote the Harry Potter series,’ but what if something does happen. You finish your story, try and get it published and it does, or someone offers you a job because of it or something like that.” It left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I know he wanted to end with something quirky like ‘you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take;’ but didn’t since he knew I would understand what he wanted to say.

Finally, I wanted to just shed some light on something that I had, have and (hopefully) will (not) have trouble talking about. In the past two years, there have been patches of time where I was just sad about my life and life in general. And I couldn’t openly talk about, or at least I felt like I can’t, because it may be considered a taboo or people may dismiss it because there are people who have it a lot worse than I. And I was stuck in this limbo-like state, shackled by my emotions not being able to say anything because of the place I was born, by the people I was surrounded, by the opportunities that I did and/or didn’t take. I’m not saying it is better now, but it doesn’t impact me as much as it used to, which is still good. And it’s not that I can’t take criticism, far from it, it’s just that I tend to sometimes make it personal, or the way people convey it to make it seem like it’s personal. [Having reread that sentence I can conclude that I need to work out how to properly accept criticism. Also, I have no idea why I initially changed from me being a cry baby to the subject to me not being able to take criticism, but for lack of a better conclusion to that paragraph I will just let it be.] [And by the way, this is not me openly saying, ‘hey, let’s talk about my feelings, problems, fears, view of the world,’ since that scares me. I think the safest bet will me writing them down, and you (not) reading about them, and maybe then talking about them. Since when I talk, I don’t actually; I just spew unfiltered shait because I got (both positively or negatively) worked up. And having them written down, taking my time and examining them closely, choosing the words will help both me and you understand what I’m genuinely trying to say. And contrary to what I wrote just mere minutes ago, I got an appropriate ending.]

Anyhow, that’s probably it. I have to admit, though, writing these thousand words plus feels good. It feels like stretching out your legs after a long walk or run, just the right amount before pain ensues. I want to finish with a poem I wrote and my first one at that. The first three lines were the last three lines I heard in on of my nightmares; when I woke up I wrote them down and they just sat there, taunting me for nearly three months. And a couple of weeks ago I tried to write the whole thing, and basically, this is what happened. Please don’t enjoy it, it’s *clears throat* not good enough. Eh? Someone? Never mind…

First comes the flint,
then comes the bang,
then comes my bloodied hand.
Then I hear her scream,
see her eyes filled with terror,
and I feel my bone marrow tremor.
What did I do?
Is this some kind of trick?
I think I’m going to be sick.
Knocking a lit candle,
it starts a small fire,
this wooden shack is like a pyre.
With puppet limbs
she grabs her kid,
the flame now dancing under my feet.
Left of the door,
that’s where he was supposed to sit,
not the child’s rocking crib.
This was not the plan,
I didn’t make the call,
thank fuck my knees ease the fall.
Words echo in my head,
try to focus, try to plea,
alas, I see Death coming for me.
First comes the flint,
then comes the bang,
then comes my bloodied head.

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Tales of the Goblin – The Genesis

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“It’s time to fondly shout!” Whispered the goblin that lives on my fingers.

I looked at the piano; it had a aged scent and a ruddy color. I loved Uncle. I loved Aunt. I did not want to take the piano from them. From uncle especially, loved the wood, Canadian Maple he boasted.

I studied the wooden handle, examined the ginger blade.

I remembered singing badly at the goblin’s will and knew I would comply again.

The moon made me tremble like the ground beneath a charging ram.

Crash! Crying a blaring howl with every swing of the axe.

The piano was destroyed.

The goblin that lives on my fingers faded away slowly.

The Royal Dance

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The Royal Dance

 

Shuffling through the thick woodland in the outskirts of Valeria, the Silent Knight made his way to heart of the forest, where the only waterfall within the kingdom resided. He was named ‘Silent’ not for his combat style, no, but for his inability to speak, or so it was said and know. This time around he wasn’t wearing his armor either, just adorned with a hooded robe that hid slender features perfectly. Skittering along a path he knew very well, jumping above some fallen trees, he hurried even though he knew he was not nor will be late. It was almost midnight when he arrived, in the bright night sky the silver light from the crescent moon illuminated the clearing around the waterfall whilst dancing on the splashing droplets themselves making a stunning view. Straightening up and clasping his hands behind his back, he took a deep breath. Fresh air filled his lungs, making sure to pick up all the marvelous scents that particular place had to offer, ranging from wild lilies spread all around the meadow, or the lotus flowers twirling freely in the stream or the tall pine trees and cones. His senses were tingling, the ceaseless grumbling of the waterfall where it met the stone below, the restless nightlife of the birds, the slight breeze that made the summer eves enjoyable. A jolt of ease ran through his shoulders rendering his posture restful, knowing full well that this was a rare moment of respite from all the quarrels he left behind in a city.
Out of a hidden pouch, he took out and curled the small missive open just to double check what he read earlier, and what he read was written in beautiful and neat handwriting in costly silver ink, which made the royal seal even more authentic. There was no mistake from whom the message was, despite being highly unlikely that it was actually meant for him, a Knight only in title. People didn’t see past his disab – a small crack of twigs  came behind him. With his honed surviving skills he wasn’t startled one bit, since no animal would dare pounce him. He didn’t change his posture, making the brigand fall in a false sense of security that he or she was somehow in an advantageous position. Nevertheless the intruder seemed supple on its steps, however the Knight could still feel its presence. A pair of hands smoothly come over his chest, while he stood idly, and undid the knot that held his cloak. It fell gracefully on ground nearby revealing both his apparel and his face. A well built, stout form yet young and svelte with pointy ears and bright white hair.
“Sa-elasa Tera Silent Knight-” a soft and elegant voice greeted him. It was her voice. He has heard it million times over while on duty and it’s burnt deep inside his mind. Vivian Silvermoon, was her name, Princess of the Wood. She circled around him to get a better look, since often she saw him only in his battle regalia. A gust of wind blew his hair and revealed a scar on the side of his face that isn’t usually seen. She tried to caress it with her palm but he tilted his head just a bit just so he’d deny her the pleasure.
“Now, now, never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you.” Now forcing her hand, still tenderly, on his cheek. Puffing out through his nose with a smirk that spoke for itself…that she was right, but still he did not enjoy the fact that someone physically was touching a memory he need not be reminded of. Vivian ran her fingers through his hair, playfully curling few locks.
“You know-” she continued now resting her chin on his shoulder, still dangling with his locks “-when I first saw you without your helmet I immediately fell in love, and you smiled back because you knew.” Both showing in color and in warmth his cheeks went red. She spun and directed herself right in front of him “-ha! I knew it, you share those feelings too, don’t you?” He looked bashfully downwards, which evoked a broad smile on her face; she was swept away by the silent response, and it was by far the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. Spinning again, so the Knight could eye her top to bottom and she was a sight to be behold – long blond hair, reaching up to her waist line, big sea blue eyes, but not as tall as a human in her years – then back, and this time with her back into his loving hug. She undid her red and gold cloak and took him by his sweaty palms. She knew he was nervous, and he knew she noticed it, though he did not try and hide it by any means.
“Come, dance with me Knight Thaneron-” she smiled slyly, knowing he’d be puzzled by both the dance request and how she came about his real name. “What, you thought I wouldn’t know-” tugging him closer “- and I am willing to bet you think of me as a empty-headed goody-goody two shoes princess who sits back and enjoys going to opulent balls and royal parties instead of hunting and staying true to the wild call.” Throwing back her head in a dastardly laugh, yet again she was amused in his perplexed expression “- well you’re not wrong, but I doubt you’d match my skill at-” with one eye close, she gestured like she just loosened an arrow from an imaginary bow.
Both smiling and embracing tightly they began dancing, his hands on her hips, hers around his neck. Thanerons instinctive nature allowed him to follow the steps closely, dancing at right pace, intensifying his personal enjoyment. Affectionately resting each other’s foreheads, they closed their eyes and let themselves go. They danced slowly, fluidly like they’ve done it many times before, carelessly like there wasn’t a single soul in the kingdom, freely like the moon shone only for them. He sought solace, comfort in her presence; she a place to reside her youthful nature from the latest calamity that struck the cities. Their heartbeats almost as if they synced, slaking the moment like a drunken galoot on a Fire Festival. They did not care if anyone stumbled upon them, this tryst, this night was something neither of them would forget. It seemed like hours have passed without uttering a single word, until he clumsily tripped over a pine root. They tumbled together, but he made sure he’d take the fall, not like she was fragile or anything but because he wanted to; it would server him as a reminder that this was not a lucid daydream. The ground felt cool and reassuring, and they rolled so he would be on top, so he could see all of who she was, not just the face she presented to the world.            Almost in a daze, he searched her eyes and didn’t find the answer he was looking for, so he pushed himself up. Swiftly running around picking up few flowers then disappearing into the darkness. When he got back, and it was pretty darn fast, he found her laying down in the grass hands behind her head, biting her lower lip. Gently putting the braided flower crown on her belly, she sat upright, surprised. Not only was this a present no one ever thought of giving her, but also that it was made by a man who was renowned for his martial skill, not for as kind and gentle a skill as this. She couldn’t not believe what was she holding, how beautiful it actually was; for good few second she was stunned in awe just looking at it. First the Knight motioned her to put it on, then reached out a hand so she can stand up. Pushing her delicately, they walked over by the calmer bit of the stream. With the bright moon shining, she could see her reflection flawlessly, and even more mesmerizing was how beyond the crown fitting on her head perfectly, its colors suited her attire too. And the smell, oh heavens the smell of the of the flowers stinging lightly, made her feel as if dazed. Some of them smelled like a bowl of sun warmed ripened fruit, other flowers like a kiss of the early morning sun on the face of the waking earth. So engulfed was she that it made her a bit too lightheaded; her knees weak, arms heavy. The Knight was there to catch her, hands gripping his sleeve. And right as he did so he whispered in her ear softly “-thank you for this.” Fainting more rapidly into a state she actually enjoyed for a reason she could not name straight away. It was high time to lay her down and she fell asleep with a smile, murmuring in her dreams.
When she woke up she was more than annoyed jutting her chin, shaking her fist. There was consolation see how she was quite cozy and her neck wasn’t hurting, one cloak wrapped up as a pillow and the other as a cover. Confused she tried to recall about last night’s conclusion and had hard time doing so. Not after few minutes when she sobered up from the morning laziness and some of the agitation went away that she realized that something in her pocked was poking her. It was the same note that she had used to ‘lure’ Thaneron here. And on the back it said
Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in my heart.”
Whatever it meant, she put the note on her chest, closed her eyes and hoped that it was not the last time she ever saw him.

The Last Breath

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The Last Breath

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High noon was well past and all the residents of Thunder Bluff were finishing their supper, tending to their last chores and  preparing for bed. His tent was set up on the edge of the Spirits Rise, before which his Shado-pan saber was sleeping calmly. He slowly opened the curtains to check whether his daughter was sleeping, and she wasn’t. Instead she was in her bed, playing around with one of the Totems – by the looks of it the water one – since it had a peculiar vial hung around it. Neptulon the Tidehunter himself gifted him the vial when they cleansed the water surrounding the Throne of Tides, and by doing so, defeating the mythical sea monster Ozumat. And even though you could hear his hooves from outside, he approached her with a tender smile, and with soft but precise move took the totem away. “These are not toys Olisa, you know that-” he warned her with quite a soothing tone. “I know papa, I was just asking the water friends for some rain, the soil of my Heartblossoms is pretty dry.” She is a quick learner he thought, and he wasn’t wrong. With a deep tone, as he usually sounds, he wished her a good night, patted her furry tauren head and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.
“Papa, will you tell me a story” she pleaded, with her beautiful green eyes he could never resist.
“Which one do you-” he couldn’t even finish when she sprung up in the blink of an eye, clapped her hands, hoping a bit on the bed “The Wind one! The Wind one papa!” A joyful chuckle came out, since he knew that story was her favorite. “It’s the Al’Akir story you want my heart and the Al’Akir story you shall get. Your wish is my command.” Tucking her in bed, again, he pulled up a stool, sat beside her holding her small hand and started
“…it was not long after you were born, Thr-, uncle Go’el told me that some of the there is a great unease amongst the elements, quite startled, because of someone or something, and asked me to investigate. Storms were brewing all around Azeroth, and violent ones too. A group of friends and I were chosen to seek out the King of the Air elementals, the Lord of Winds, to see why he wasn’t in the Elemental Plane anymore and why he wanted to unravel the peaceful harmony. We traveled through jungles, we crossed deserts, we made friends and foes alike until we reached his domain, the ‘Skywall’. There was his fortress, above the sun, invisible from the ground. It was made from thick stone walls, fashioned in rock stolen from the earth below, hanging suspended by permanent cyclones in the shape of pillars. It was a stunning sight, a feast in the eyes of a wanderer, marvelous in all of its glory. With the help of our sturdy mounts, we got there, only to be welcomed by constant swirling of strong winds and lightning. The hosts were the Windlord’s court or ‘Conclave of Wind’, the three Dijnn of the West, East and North winds. Sadly, they were not interested in any propositions we made, they forced our hand. Everyone with different strengths and weaknesses, they all fell beneath our wit and might. The platforms now empty, they provided a much needed respite for what was about to come.
At first we only saw whirling cyclone, with flickers of lightning dancing around it, then we realized it was more than just a rapid windstorm, it was Al’Akir. Since I was the leading shaman, I stepped forward to try and reason with the Lord, but to no avail, his allegiance was with the mad dragon Deathwing.” Emphasizing it so he would add tension to the story. Olisa now hold her blanket tightly up to her nose, listening carefully “-his battle garments were majestic, purple and bright copper, adorned with few sapphires, and an enormous one on his sword. And even though the winds alone were enough to push us away, persistent as ever, we battled on. When the time was dire he called upon his loyal lightning and air subjects to aid him, but their attacks didn’t even dent our composure. In the end he was so outraged that he smashed the platformand threw us in the air. With the help of tricks and spells of all sorts, arcane, elemental, mechanical, we were all afloat, bashing head to head with him. It was intense, this time around, in the area surrounding him, from the bottom and top formed lightning clouds. They proved to deadly for anyone as we saw one comrade fall, and worryingly enough, they moved slowly toward the middle where we were all stacked. Hearts started pumping hard and fast, loud battle-shouts were called and prayers of all sorts. The lightning was almost upon us, almost cracked us to our demise, sweat and tears were poured in the last effort to cast the last spells, the hit the last swing, the call the last incantations to vanquish him. And just as an ark was about to hit my hoof, they disappeared as fast they appeared, along with him. The Windlord was no more, ceased to be and it was a relief for everyone that day. His dispersed in thin air, only leaving an immense dark sapphire floating about, holding treasure never seen before as we found out later on. No more rampaging storms were going to cause harm to the good people of Azeroth, and thanking each and every champion that day, no matter their faction, race or beliefs, we were all proud of the collective effort it took to save our precious planet. The, end.” Although her tiny horns hadn’t started growing yet, he could see them poking under the bed cover. Steadily she uncovered herself with a face full of relief. “Next time child, be careful what you wish for.” Snorting with joy he tucked her once more “-now go to sleep.”
A draft of air slightly blew the bottom of the curtains, to which Honon’s ears flickered. It sounded like a great Dragonhawk landing nearby, and a brief moment later, a young Blood-elf approached. The saber with a quiet growl stood up, but Honon was there to sooth it with just few words. It collapsed on the ground and continued sleeping. “How may I be of your assistance, young master elf-” Honon asked, giving a slight bow as well. “Ar-are you ma-master Ho-” he stammered, out of exhaustion more so than inability to converse. “Calm yourself, take few deep breaths, breath through your nose-” he advised him. The Blood Elf followed suit, and straightened his back in a moment’s notice and continued. “Are you Honon, the Tranquil Master?” Nodding, he let him finish “-good. You have an urgent message from…your friends.” Puzzled, he raised a brow. The messenger handed him a small missive, wrapped in a red cotton and sealed so it would prove its authenticity. Breaking the seal, he opened and started reading through it, uttering some of the more shocking words aloud. When he finished, he wrapped it again and asked “-it was from…them? Personally?” Confirming it with an sympathetic look, the Elf added “-and you need to get ready as soon as possible.” A long sigh came, and it wasn’t from disdain, no, it was from weariness. From his age that slowly crept on him. He jerked his head a little when he noticed the two small fury hand clasping his.
“Papa, you promised you’d stay with me. Please don’t go-” all teared up. Now hugging his leg as tightly as she could. He was wondering how she overheard even the quietest of word that barely came out of his mouth. “Olisa, listen to me. Uncle Go’el needs me, and Chieftain Bain, and that weird looking friend of mine Vol’jin as well. They all need me. I promise, this is the very last time, and I vow to take you to the farm south farm when I’m done.” She let go and hastily ran to her bed. Apologizing to the Elf, he followed her inside where he found her crying into the pillow. Slowly he turned her and gave her a big bear hug.
“Papa, I don’t want to lose you. You’re my favorite person in the world and I can’t bear to lose you.” He wiped away few of her tears and looked her straight into her eyes “…never again will this happen my heart! I will be beside you until the end of days” his own eyes tearing up as well “and even more years after that. This is the very last time.” Now it was her turn to wipe his tears “-please, just be careful!” Another hug and kiss later, and he was outside. It was a cold night and a chilly wind blew, especially on the towering mesas that Thunder Bluff was build on.
“Please give me just few more moments to pay my respects to Earth Mother before we depart.”
There was an improvised shrine near his tent, where a small tree was growing surrounded by four little wooden sticks, all with different colors representing the elements of fire, water, earth and air. Taking a knee, putting his palm on the ground, he muttered few prayers, asking the Earth Mother to keep both him and his daughter safe, and everyone that he will accompany him that night. Touching every stick softly, asking every element to muster all the help they can land him in the troubled times ahead. It only took him a minute or two to finish his ritual, though it seemed like hours. His thoughts drifted every time he communicated with either the elements or the Earth Mother, and every time he enjoyed every second of it.
“I am ready whenever you are master Elf” he exclaimed before he came into view. Patting his saber goodbye, Honon asked him to guard over the tent while he was away. Despite the beast being asleep, it curled up a smile. “Good boy. Now let us-” he was interrupted, not with words, but by something that he least expected. Showing his hand, the elf handed him a necklace and a small parchment with something written on it. “The little girl gave me this-” he said, mounting his Dragonhawk. It was her necklace, a thick red woven line, ending with a thread around a green coin with a face of a tiger looking serene. It was from her…parents. He glanced at the note and it said ‘I love you papa.’ His hair raised, and a shiver went down his spine, and towards his hands and the rest of his body. He took few deep breaths to contain himself. Powerful emotions were flowing through him, that made him a bit light-headed. Putting on Olisas crown jewel, then stowing away the parchment in his bag, he was ready. He took out his Pandaren Kite and asked the elements of wind to guide his string and keep him aloft. He hoped on and started flying. The Drgonhawk rider was in total awe. He could never picture such a massive creature like a tauren standing on a kite without breaking it, let alone riding one. Never the less he shook his head and off they went.
Their route was clear, straight from Mulgore to the gate of Orgrrimar. Honon saw the Blood-Elf shaking so he asked the elements to warm his heart, his body, since he is doing a good deed to a friend of theirs. He on the other hand had no problem since both his fur and battle regalia kept him quite warm. Mother Moon was quite high in the sky at this time, which told him it was around midnight, as they passed the prominent Southfury River. He could see a faint light coming from the gates. It didn’t seem like the normal braziers that would light the entrance of the orc capital. When they neared, he beheld the grotesque sight of war. Bodies filled the streets, being both Horde and Alliance, and those of the ‘True Horde, the Orcish Horde’ – Garrosh’s army. He landed fast, not wanting to waste any more time than it is needed to, and was greeted by three solemn faces, mainly those of Lady Sylvanas, Region-Lord Lor’themar and the leader of the Sunreavers, Archmage Aethas. They greeted him accordingly, and likewise he did so too.
“We’ve brought the fight to Garrosh, Honon, they are before his chamber. Latest reports say that his Generals Nazgrim and Malkrok were defeated, and what’s left of ours and those of the Alliance forces are on his doorsteps. We needed every single Hero to come, and by the looks of it-” eyeing him from head to toe, “you’re the only one left. I’m going to accompany you to where they took down his pet General, there you’ll find everyone else.” She was always like that, brief and sharp, like a former Range-General should. They blitzed through the streets of the Valley of Strength, which was littered with corpses, took a right through the Drag, and entered the Cleft of Shadows. It began to smell of something foul and putrid, like the rotting of corpses, with blood spattered everywhere on the walls and ground. For a moment he felt mortified that he didn’t come sooner to prevent so many deaths, but alas, he took an oath to live out a peaceful life with his calf. Nonetheless, they continued down the Descent through the Kor’Kron Barracks and into the caves leading to the inner chamber.
“This is where we bid our farewells” announced Sylvanas. “Just head into the main tunnel and you’ll find the others-” saluting one another, they went their separate ways. It was getting damper as he went deeper, and the caves themselves where generating heat, especially from the raging battles. Transforming into a ghost-wolf he quickened his pace, and as soon as he made it through a huge metal door and made the first corner he found a someone. Someone he couldn’t believe was here, whether someone was playing him for a fool or not, he was delighted. A legendary orc by the name of Varok Saurfang, a general of the highest ranking a soldier could ever achieve. Before he could greet the Overlord, Varok spoke.
“Ah, one of Vol’jin’s revolutionaries.” A few mantid bodies around him lay dead and his was visibly injured, blood was gashing beneath his armor. “Have you seen Thrall? I am badly hurt and he insisted on going ahead alone.” Coughing made his pain worse and Honon shifted forms and ran towards him for help but he gestured him to stop. “Tell me, how goes the battle up above? What of Nazgrim? Speak to me!” Saurfang didn’t let him start since he already knew the answer. “Ah, Nazgrim. A great leader and a fine warrior. He valued his oath to the Warchief more than his life. I tried to tell him…to tell him that Hellscream betrayed us, cast aside a Warchief’s responsibility to his own people. But Nazgrim…too loyal…to proud.” Shaking his fist “-damn Hellscream, his ambition tore our Horde apart. Go on, find Thrall. Finish this once and for all, I’ll live.” He then proceeded to pull out his war-axe buried in one of the corpses, and walking out. Honon thought of him as overly-brave, though it came with respect since he was one of few living creatures on Azeroth that was involved in Three Wars and still lived, plus leading the Horde armies in both Ahn’Qiraj and Northrend.
He reverted back to wolf form so he could near the party, knowing Thrall was nearby. Before he entered he saw many dead and many dying and even more so fighting against the mantid. This puzzled him, why would the mantid fight alongside Garrosh when they have so many revered champions for all races? ‘The nine surviving Klaxxi’va Paragons were champions of the mantid, I fought alongside many of them against the madness of Empress Shek’zeer. Why are they-‘ Then it struck him. The heart of Y’Shaarj, the source of the new-found power that Garrosh possesses, or possessed Garrosh. It was to the Old God’s power the paragons, as do all mantid, held a far deeper loyalty. When Garrosh unearthed the heart, the paragons followed the whispers of their ancient master to the iron halls before his royal chamber. This was not good, nor advantageous and he could not stay his hand anymore, he rushed to help out finish them off. He saw a friendly face amidst all the calamity. A tauren warrior, Sco, an excellent fighter, with his friends Xabok, a lovely Blood-Elf Priestes and Noxe, a fierce orc rogue. They called themselves the Methodists, they carried out the job where rarely anyone could.
It was a dire fight, most of them heavily injured, lying on the sides of the great hall, and only Skeer the Bloodseeker and Rik’kal the Dissector were alive. They put up a good fight, though it wasn’t enough, the Methodists overwhelmed them after a long and tiresome fight, with the help of Thrall.
“Thrall?” he murmured as he saw his friend charge straight ahead. “Wait for us!” Honon yelled, beckoning Sco’s group to follow. They ran as fast as they could , though some of them with healing powers stayed behind to help the injured. Shortly after they arrived on a balcony.  The saw Thrall confronting Garrosh, who was seating in his throne. It was a massive room with gates on both sides between his high seat, and mechanical parts clicking along the side walls. The edges of the floor were pits with raging fire only covered by thick metal grids, making sure everyone they watched their step. They came just in time to see the violent clash.
“It is not to late Garrosh. Lay down the mantle of Warchief. We can end this here, with no more bloodshed.” Suggested Go’el, unflustered and calm, though that option was far less rigorous then everyone wanted and far too little for what the current Warchief deserved.
“Ha! Do you remember nothing of honor? Of glory on the battlefield? You, who would parley with the humans, who allowed warlocks to practice their dark magics right under our feet. You are weak!” Stepping up, and swelling his chest with pride he continued “-we are the Orcish Horde, the True Horde. We die, bloody and thrashing on the field of battle, like true orc should! You are an orc  no longer, and speak for none but yourself. You betrayed your people to forge your fragile alliances, and I will take great pleasure in tearing them apart.”
Shifting slightly, Thrall understood the situation perfectly. “Then you have forced my hand. I will correct the mistake I made long ago. Spirits of the wind, the water and earth, hear my call! Come to my aid!” Cackling menacingly, Garrosh thought he lured him into a trap by detaining him in the grip of a shadowy prison.
“Fool! My Dark Shaman have twisted and tortured the elements for miles around. They cannot hear you now. Once again you prove too weak and powerless to do anything.” He was wrong. A Thunderstorm emitted from Thralls body, dispersing the shackles around his body. Now, with a determined look he replied.
“Never powerless Garrosh! Never alone!” Walking down the steps, wielding Xal’atoh, a distorted version of Gorehowl, engulfed with terrible powers of Y’Shaarj, he pointed it towards his enemy, and growled.
“So…you want to face off against a real Orc Warchief? So be it.”
‘No…’ thought Honon and started running down the stairs towards the arena, followed by every other champion that were with him. The loud noises from weapons parrying sounded louder than all of the rattling of armor and weapon and the numerous stomps combined. When they came they saw Thrall on the ground, he hurried to him and tried to pick him up while everyone else was preparing for the upcoming battle. “Thrall-” he uttered.
“Go…do it! For her!” He helped him to the balcony where it was safe. On the way down he opened up his bag and took a handful of elixirs and potions, handing different colored ones to as much heroes as he could. Once he was done, Sco nodded to everyone and charged in. Unsheathing his hammers, he strode with fierce might, one glowing with lightning, the other will molten fury.
“I, Garrosh, son of Grom, will show you what it mean to be Hellscream-” yelled he, as he took blow after blow, deflecting arrows and spells, swinging his axe wildly. “Anger, hatred, fear, they are weapons of war. The tools of a Warchief!” They pressed the assault harder and harder. At one point, a pair of engineers appeared on the sides, one of the more experienced hunters shot just one arrow, a well aimed one, that stuck directly into the orc’s neck. He fell down into the pits and burned to crisps. In a moment’s notice a Kor’kron Iron Star rolled across the room to the opposite wall, catching a human mage who did not move in time. It collided with wall and exploded heating up the room significantly. Kor’kron Warbringer’s also joined the fight, many of whom fell even before they reached the heroes, either frozen by hunter or mage traps or gnawed on by some of the pet beasts. “Yes…yes I can see now…I can see the future of this world ruled by the Horde… my Horde!” he prided himself. “Your ‘Horde’ is no more tyrant, you will die today!” Shouted back a Dwarf paladin, in the recognizable Judgment armor. No one even noticed the heart dangling on the chains high up in the room, not before its beats could be heard clearly. It pumped so hard, dark tendrils spread fast and pulled everyone in the room in, including Garrosh. Everyone found themselves in a familiar place. A colorful place with green, gold and red walls, doors and roofs. It could only be the Temple of the Jade Serpent, the August Celestials, Yu’lon. They fell to the ground and quickly started running towards the main hall, where the Warchief was harvesting the power from the Y’shaarj. They took down the spawned Sha manifestation as fast as possible all while running to the temple balcony, the Heart of Jade. “The old One calls to you…heroes!
“Strike fast and strike true champions, do not let up!” It wasn’t a shout and it was very deafening, louder than the battle itself ‘-It’s Go’el…he is with us’ he tought. Shorty after his channeling was interrupted, the champions were back in Orgrimmar. “The heart will be your end. See the visions of fear, despair and doubt as I have.” Not long after, the heart sucked them in once more, this time being the open Terrace of Endless Spring. The realm of sheer bliss and serenity, an important sanctuary of Pandaria, blooming in peace for many years, now transcended into a prison enveloped in horrible force that were the Titans Heart. Same as last time, Garrosh tried to harness the power, and the heroes were trying to stop him. A group stayed behind to deal with the Sha and the rest just sprinted through. This time around though, when he finished his channel screamed on top of his lungs, a bellowing growl that pierced everyone’s ears “-the true horde will come to pass, I have seen it…it has shown me. I have seen mountains of skulls and rivers of blood, and I…WILL…HAVE…MY…WORLD!” In the blink of an eye they were back again under Orgrimmar, and Garrosh looked more monstrous than ever before. The evil energies, the Heart, completely overcame him. Bigger, stronger, illuminated with the purple raw power of the Titans, evil eyes everywhere on his body, tendrils whirling around.
Though the new power gave him unimaginable power, his body couldn’t sustain it all at once. The end was so close, closer than it had ever been, he could sense it. His movement was getting sloppy, Xal’atoh started missing its target. And the steady riot that was building up erupted, and rarely did Honon feel this way, he was so lost in the battle-lust, he blinked blood out of his eyes, his voice was hoarse from all the screaming. Now was the time to call the aid of every last element, even the spirits of his ancestors, to came to fight beside him. A glistening joy overcame him that a spectral echo of pure harmony resonated throughout the room. Ascending into pure Elemental form, he floated slightly above the ground, his body was transcended and his weapons were pure storm. And when his strikes landed, sparks flew everywhere. Even two ghost wolves appeared beside him, leaped just on the Warchiefs back and started biting and clawing. It was almost done, everyone pressed on until it was finally done. Garrosh took a knee, than out of exhaustion fell down, his axe flying next to him. The pure energy was no gone, his body was inhumanly shrunk down to the original size and all the vile power escaped back into the heart. The image was getting blurry and dark, his hands and feet were getting lighter – Honon blacked out.
Seeing only Thralls face over his when he finally regained consciousness “-it is over my friend, you have my thanks, and those of all the free people in Azeroth!” Cheering and victorious screaming was the one of many things that he could hear in that very moment. Standing up and trying to balance himself, Honon embraced Go’el. “This is the last time I make you do this, I owe that much to you-“
“-you owe it to her.” He reminded him. A couple of Trolls and a Blood Elf helped him get up. The dizziness was still present, but at least he could keep his balance. Both of the shamans were very proud of everyone that was in that room. For a moment Honon started chanting and dancing with everyone else, but Go’el took few steps and his shadow overcast his fallen nemesis.
“You disappoint me Garrosh-” taking Doomhammer above his head, readying it for one final blow. “You are not worthy of your father’s legacy.” And he went for the strike, just to be blocked by a sword. And not any sword, but Shalamayne, Wrynn’s sword. “His punishment it not for you alone to decide!” exclamied the scar-faced King of Stormwind. Meeting eye to eye, Thrall barked back. “I’m not letting you take him!”
“We have all suffered from his atrocities-” came a soothing voice. A pandaren voice. Taran Zhu’s voice. He was the master of the elite order of the Shado-pan, protectors of Pandaria. Even though he was wounded not so long ago, he came to imprison his people’s second Tyrant. “My people, more than any other. Let him stand trial in Pandaria. There, we will meet out justice for all.” Both Varian and Go’el nodding and backing away. Garrosh was shackled rather fast, and he taken out of everyone’s sight. Thrall retreated to the Horde leaders, all of whom managed to come quickly after the battle was done. The leader of the trolls, Vol’jin, suggested, in typical troll accent “-the Horde needs its true Warchief, now more than ever.”
“Yes-” turning to face them all now, but sticking his gaze on shadow hunter. “But it was you who kept the Horde together during this madness. It was you who protected our honor. From this day forward, Vol’jin – if you lead-” kneeling with respect “-I follow.”
He searched for words to say but he couldn’t. “I-I…am not worthy.” Following Go’el, every leader saluted him, even Sylvanas. And Gallywix, who took down his top hat. Seeing them all Vol’jin confidently replied “-but I will give my all!”
With his fist on his chest, he saluted them all. “For the Horde.”
“Ugh…look at them. Already they plot against us-” said Jaina, the mage from Theramore. Both Homon and Thrall heard that. He wanted to step forward and confront her, but Go’el took him by his arm, dismissing his notion without even sparing him a look.
“Seize this moment, Varian. Dismantle…the Horde.”
“Guardsmen!” Ordered the King, sounding every Alliance member to assume battle stance, then strode purposefully towards the Horde members.
“Father – what are you doing?” Asked the young prince Anduin, and Varion shot him back “-what a king must do!”
“I will speak to your Warchief” demaded Goldrinn’s champion. Tension was rising and all Horde member dispersed, revealing just Thrall standing next to Vol’jin. “I speak for the Horde!” Not knowing whether this was a trick or not he eyed them both for a moment “-very well.” The Horde has committed heinous crimes, Vol’jin-” then struck his sword before his feet and walked forward, a small distance before the new Warchief. As he came close, Vol’jin straightened up revealing his true height. “But some among you fought against Garrosh’s tyranny. For that, I am willing to end this bloodshed. But know this…” turning back to his sword and walking away “…if your Horde fails to uphold honor, as Garrosh did-” picking up Shalamayne and rolling only his head back “-we…will end you!” After ordering everyone that was Alliance to follow him, there was a collective sigh of relief that there wasn’t going to be any more fighting.
After all the pleasantries, Honon went outside, even though he was offered, on many occasions, a portal to any city. He strolled down to the Valley of Wisdom, where his people were settled in the Orc’s capital. The rose-pink light of dawn started to shine and created some spectacular colors on the nearby waterfall. He stood just before the bridge, where the life in the little pond was waking up, all while sinking in all the beauty of the culture, the mesmerizing tapestry and taurenesk totems scattered around.
“You know,” someone double-tapped his shoulder. “I remember the day the Cataclysm struck this city. We were standing outside my Fortress when the rifts opened, and the elementals started burning the city. You rushed to save as many trapped civilians, and I to help calm the fires. At the end, when we met to report the casualties, I saw you tearing up, speechless as you cradled the young calf. You blamed yourself for not saving her parents, saying you couldn’t hold their house from colapsing, so you took her under your wing.” Forcing the Tauren to turn and meet his eyes, Go’el continued “-and come to think of it, she was your savior, more so that you are hers. You found purpose in your life, a friend of times, someone who will help you created new adventures. You have earned a well deserved rest. Go now, you shall be hearing from me and Aggra soon.” Embracing one another, and enjoying the moment as much as possible, knowing both of them had to go separate ways.
“Send my warmest regards to your family friend Thrall, and spirits be with you.” He took out his heartstone, depicted as very rare objects by many people. Nevertheless he owned one and it was attuned to the village of Bloodhoof. He tapped it once and it started to hum and glow brightly azure, before he was teleported Honon curled up a smile, then close his eyes.
Innkeeper Kauth, a well dressed tauren, was sweeping the floor on the top level, when he heard the incantation finish. “Is it you Honon?” He asked, knowing he was if not the only one who made attunement to his inn. “May the eternal sun shine upon thee.” Acknowledging him with a simple smile, Honon continued outside, morning was in its wake and people were on their feet. Tak, the Wind Rider Master was tending to his mounts, Hulfnar and Thontek were teaching the novice warriors and Harn was casting his fishing pole in the nearby lake. It was not a mistake that he made this village the destination of his heartstone, it was to save time on lazy days. The baker, Jhawna Oatwind, in the village had both good grains, oats and flour and trade secret recipes. He visited her on the first day of every other week to get new ingredients as well as to exchange opinions on dishes and cooking herbs.
He then took the path to Thunder bluff, cross the stunning valley filled with all manner of wildlife, from cougars to wolfs, plainstrides to hawks. Thought the woods were scarce, it was a view to behold in any season of the year. The route took him no longer than ten minutes on a mount, though he preferred the longer walk when the weather was clear. Reaching the lifts he climbed them on, then waited to be transported up, directly in the traders circle, where most of the crafting and trade good vendors were. Few of the guards hailed him, congratulating him on the achievement the previous night ‘I suppose news does travel fast’ he thought. Taking a left, nearing the bridge to the Spirits Rise, he took the wooden bridge slowly. He never liked the bridge, too unsteady for his taste. Leisurely step-by-step, he took his time. Two figures were expecting him, Pawe Mistrunner who took care of Olisa while he was away, and Xanis Flameweaver, an apprentice shaman who was always sleeping before the shamans’ training tent.
“Greetings Honon, you look exhausted. Baine sent Xanis and myself to aid you in any-” he rudely interrupted the her “-apologizes for interjection sweet Pawe, your aid is not need. Just tell me that Oliasa is safe and sound – that will suffice.”
“Of course, she is still resting. You go on right ahead, I shall fetch anything you need-” and he did so. Walking straight to his tent, he noticed not only the morning dew on the petals of the flowers, but also the soil beneath it, which was now watered. It granted him a smile – he wouldn’t be the only one happy about it. His saber started stretching, revealing its fangs and claws, then prancing around restlessly before the porch. Resting his gear near the entrance, he tiptoed to his bedroll, which was next to Olisas. Taking out the necklace, he laid it next to her, so when she woke up, it would be the first thing she saw. He stroke her furry cheeks  gently, then laid down on his back.
Battling all night took the power over any soldier, let alone a mature tauren like himself. It took him no longer to fall asleep, than to be woken up again by her. “Papa! Papa!” She yelled in excitement. “You’re back! I prayed to Mother Moon, and-and to Father Sun and-and-” putting a finger on her lip, hushing her instantly “-my heart, it may be morning for you, but it might as well be night for me. Let me rest, then we can finally start our life’s adventure-” giving him a kiss “-alright, papa.” Covering him with her blanket, she walked outside, and Honon only heard a loud awe before he fell asleep.
It was sunset when woke up, and to none other than the smell of a brewing honeymint tea. Straightening up, still sitting in his bed, Olisa noticed him getting up. She rushed to pour a cup. The kettle had some weight to it, so she spilled a bit on her hand while carrying it over, but she didn’t pay it any mind. “Here papa, I picked the mint with Pawe after you snoozed out,” handing him the streaming hot mug. He blew a bit so he wouldn’t burn himself, and grinningly asked “-are you ready my heart? Are you ready to go?” Her pupils dilated and she lost her breath. They were ready to start a new chapter of their lives.

Acknowledgements: I want give credit to the owner of the picture, a Chinese artist from blog.sina.com.cn (that’s what it says). Also, credit to wowhead.com, wowwiki.com and wowpedia.com for some of the details on weaponry/scenery/history etc. and to the few good man on reddit (user/ManLikeChar, user/SirSpawnAlot and user/Malorak) and a friend of mine who is a lore enthusiast as well, for support of making this story. And finally, to the brilliant people at Blizzard Entertainment for making the world of Azeroth as awesome as it is. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. ’till next time.

P.S. I have played wow since vanilla, with few breaks now and then. Currently I’m on the European servers, Cordoso – Draenor is the inspiration to the story. Ironically, he is a goblin due to the racial passive, but when I made this shaman, he was the strong tauren from this very story. My battle tag is matthewtroy#2419 if anyone wants to add me. 🙂

40 Freaking Creepy Ass Two Sentence Stories

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Hesus Cristopher these are so good.

Thought Catalog

I’m really scared to go to bed tonight. Found on r/AskReddit.

1. justAnotherMuffledVo

I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, “Daddy check for monsters under my bed.” I look underneath for his amusement and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering, “Daddy there’s somebody on my bed.”

2. Gagege

The doctors told the amputee he might experience a phantom limb from time to time. Nobody prepared him for the moments though, when he felt cold fingers brush across his phantom hand.

3. Graboid27

I can’t move, breathe, speak or hear and it’s so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead.

4. AnarchistWaffles

Don’t be scared of the monsters, just look for them. Look to your left, to your right, under your bed, behind your dresser, in your closet…

View original post 999 more words

The Duel

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The Duel

 This story series, contrary to the last one, will be fictional one

 

                The rhythmic thumping from the crowd above the locker room was unsettling and it just kept building up the pressure within, as he dried his face and neck with the sweat soaked towel on his shoulder. Loud cheers, boos and awes could be heard as the other match was on. It was a quite small room, the one he was in, showers in one corner, toilets in the other, and lockers along the opposite wall. And to top it all off, it was as dirty as that one gas station on your local country road. Being late February, a broken window and the lack of heating were throwing every contestant off their game, especially him, since he was in the finals.
                People came and people went as well, some boxers some not, but all with a grin on their faces, looking at him directly. Sitting on a low bench in front of his locker, he punched his shadow with closed eyes, trying to mimic a combo he had in though up. ‘Left, left, right, bob right, double right jab, upperc- “Hey man, great fight, good luck up against O’Neil…” abruptly interrupted Vinny,who he just beat, “you’re gona need it!” Even though he knocked him out in the second round, gave him a black eye, broke his nose and quite possibly a rib, he helped Vinny Delamonica up, carried him to his corner and mustered an apology, even though no one does that. Just nodding with a thankful smile he responded after which he dropped his head right into his palms. Being humble was one of his traits both in and out of the ring, and everyone hated him a little less for that.
                “What did I get myself into? After a year of punching a twenty year old bag, with a bickering twat of a coach saying I do everything wrong, in the harshest part of the city, I somehow managed to get into the final of the most rigged boxing tournament in the state, and might as well in the country. What’s worse, I don’t know if winning or losing this thing is going to make the slightest difference in the end.” Not caring if anyone listened or not, he continued mumbling, trying to think of all the possible outcomes. All of a sudden he stood up, and started to pace back and forward, obviously all the stress taking its toll, exhaling deep and hard. “You can do this-“he re-encouraged himself again and again, splashing water on his face every now and then. The last time he did so, he took a long look in the mirror, seeing all of his imperfections, all the scars, the cuts on his lip, the bruises on his cheek, the swollen eye and his pale face, and messy wet hair dangling everywhere.
                “Alright kiddo, you got five more minutes, get ready-“said one of the crew members from the ‘arena’. He straightened his back, took one final breath and got a hold of his “necklace.” It was actually a tattoo that resembled a thick woven line, ending with a thread around a coin with a face of a tiger looking serene. Even though he owned a real one, just like it, he…lost it; more like someone took it but never the less it was a phantom memory that stained the back of his mind.
                He already had his wrist wraps on, now he just needed to put on the gloves and cape. Opening the door quite roughly, paying more attention to his phone in his fat hand, Josh the coach told him in a rather dismissive tone “boy, I do hope you know what you’re doing, because you were not supposed to win that game. I only ask you-“ slipping a loud humph “-advise you not to repeat it again. Now let me help you with those gloves.” Putting his phone in his coat, Josh de Gea, took the gloves and helped him put them on. He was half Spanish, half British fellow living in the US of A, now, and everyone thought what a coincidence that was. Moreover he was just a tiny bit overweight, but as agile and nimble as a lot of people don’t give him credit for. Know kneeling down and putting a glove slowly, he sighed and continued. “Listen, I know you and I haven’t seen eye to eye ever since you got here, but let me tell you, you’re one of the finest boxers I’ve ever had the pleasure of coaching in the that rat whole of mine called gym. And trust me when I say this, don’t try and win this, the both of us will get in a heck of a lot of trouble. And I can see it your eyes that you have that burning desire to win but-“he didn’t seem to stop out of lack of words, he just shifted slightly while picking up the other glove, but also throwing a smug  –“on second thought, you’re a big lad, you know what to do.” Now all done, Josh stood up and strode to the door where he beckoned someone and started yelling ‘he is ready mate’. Hurrying up, the coach picked up the cape from his locker, helped him put it on. Patting his back twice, he gave him one final advise before they exited that locker room “-keep a cool head kiddo!”
                This was the moment, the final moment before he stepped outside, the point of no return. Taking a quick glance up, seemingly through the wall, he managed a small smile then a slight nod. With each step he took through that door, his heart started pounding ever so quicker and harder. “Aaaaand in the left corner we have Rowan Latta-” pronouncing the vowels extra long as any other announcer would. A wave of boos came, angry shouts, curses and few questions along the lines of ‘who is this guy’ or ‘what kind of name is that?’ Even though Ro, that’s what few of his friends call him, tried to pretend he didn’t hear anything, it was hard not to dwell on such provoking comments.
                He went into his quiet zone, isolating everything around him, every single person from the crowd trying to nudge him, every bucket of popcorn that was thrown. The only thing that he heard or felt was each and every racing heart beat, his bellowing breaths and the chills of every little drop of sweat slowly trickling down his body. Ro was searching for an excuses for all the emotions that were flowing through him, though as soon he stepped on the stairs they were all washed away by that evoking feeling that came with the rush of adrenalin. Josh sprung the elastic rim and helped him in. Hopping his way left and right to the east corner, he found a three legged chair and quickly took his seat. As soon as he sat down someone from the back swiftly pulled out his cape an threw him a towel. What seemed 2-3 minutes for him, it was actually only few brief moments in reality. A head popped near his, and a familiar voice followed “-now, I know what you’re thinking right-” and the announcers thundering voice cut him off, but it was much, much louder this time around. “Hailing from Lincoln, Nebraska, the hundred an eighty pound beast, the unbeatable, the unchallenged, Jonas ‘the Barbarian’ O’Niel!” And the five hundred crowd erupted! Wild cheers, whistles claps, everyone was on their feet. There was an ecstatic feeling rampaging in the air and admirably deafening sounds from the crowd. The whole ring was vibrating as Jonas pranced toward ring, returning all the smiles and the waves as he went by. He entered and dropped his kingly cape right off the bat. And not wanting to wait any longer, he immediately walked to the center and tauntingly waved him. It didn’t take both the reff and Ro to march there as well, even though they did so in quite a lazy fashion and met dead eyed on him when they arrived.
                “Alright boys, you know the rules! I want to see a clean fight.” Before he split them up, they bumped their gloves in what seemed quite more friendly way than Ro expected, than taking their opposite corners. Before he knew it, the bell rang quite loud and the duel was under way.

P.S. More than half of the story was written during my bus ride home on a phone, so if this post feels a bit sluggish compared to the previous ones, I do apologize. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

I fail at describing myself

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Since there is an “about me” that I failed to fill properly, here’s me trying it for the second time in a post

 

                Now that we got that out of the way, let us continue. I am born in the year 1992, 3rd of December, green eyes (and I do hate it when people say I have blue eyes, no idea why though), curly hair, skinny as hell, even though I eat like velociraptor locked in a basement for a week, and tall as…well just tall, I’m not that tall so I can make a joke about it.
                I wanted to write about some of characteristics that defined me, but that went nowhere since I stared at this blasted blinking line in vain for a while. So I asked my two best friends to help me out, kudos to them, and I will quote them as best as I can, adding few comments as well. “Shy but loveable once you get to know him” which can’t be more true. I have hard time having a conversation with new people, and that it almost always because I either I am too scared to engage a conversation alone with a complete stranger or have no idea what to say once I do. Plus the occasional stammer doesn’t help either (I was gona add looks as well to the sentence, but I’d be like I’m seeking for attention, which I totally am since I have low viewer ship of the blog. Just messing around, but on a more serious note, I know I am your Tom Hiddleston, far from it, but I do understand when I get turned down every now and then). The other one says “quick learner, hardworking, loyal” as good, which I agree with all, without any witty comment this time, and the bad ones “closed at times, and you don’t think stuff through”. The first one is debatable (I mean it’s completely true but I don’t want to agree with it) and the second one, my oh my is it true. Sometimes I just rush head-first to stuff it’s unbelievable, though in my defense I’d like to add that I will try and improve where I can. There are maybe more characteristics that both my friends and I are missing but I will leave it to you, my readers, to find out when we do meet each other.
                Furthermore, as far as my hobbies go I love playing games passionately. I’ve owned only one console, which was Sony PS 1, and a PC. I have a divers gaming taste when it comes to picking what do play. I’ve been playing WoW for plenty of years, been spending more and more time on idea games, also I like the new MOBAs that are coming out/came out, investigation games, RPG’s, racing, fighting, sports games, and to be frank (which I’m not, I’m Matt), I can’t remember a game that I disliked so much that I can name it. Of course though, there have been games that I enjoyed less or didn’t play to the very end, but those are few. And not only do I enjoy electronic games, but also I’m a huge fan of board games as well. I became a Dungeon Master as of late in D&D, I love all of the classics, and also there is something special about backgammon when you’re booze binging with your friends.
                Anyway, moving on, recently I found out how cool comic books were. Since I live in a (putting it as gentle as I can) quite horrid country, there weren’t, aren’t any English comics that come on weekly basis. And even though there are quite a few comics made here(on the Balkan peninsula), I prefer reading what I know, and what I know is crazy swashbuckling adventures with vampires, lasers, blood, sweat and tears in the form of Marvel and DC. I had the pleasure of acquiring few when I was in the UK and the USA respectively, and aside from few graphic novels (which I like, but not as much as those thin mother-lovers), that’s pretty much it of what I have.
                Also, starting from the era of the “Lord of the Rings” movie trilogy and “Harry Potter” series I was hooked to fiction/fantasy stuff. I own plenty of books and book series, but my most memorable, and one which I’m most proud of, is the Warcraft/WoW one. I have all the books save for one, which I can’t find anywhere (duuh). Also I’d like to give a shout-out to my parents for buying me a ‘Kindle.’ I was able to get a lot, and I do mean a lot, of ebooks lately, I can hardly keep up with everything I download. I do have one remark though, I read quite infrequently. Sometimes I blitz through a 400 page book in few days, and sometimes I drag a book for weeks on end.
                And from the ‘art department’ I tried everything without much success, and it goes like this. I started playing the bass guitar first, kept going for a year or so, playing in the school band only, not improving much. Then I moved on to writing, which at the time I thought I did well, but when I saw it a week or two ago, I was mortified how someone would even want to publish that stuff in a magazine. Don’t get me wrong, the articles I wrote were good, but I was (am) completely dyslectic, I had bad phrasing, even worse punctuation. I was for a while pretty pissed at our professor who was in charge, because he/she (I can’t remember who I should be blaming) completely neglected his editorial part of the job, and that’s why I always got average grades in mother language. I never stopped writing though, I just wrote less and less, up until (you guessed it), the start of this blog.
 And last, but by no means least, drawing. I always sketched stuff in notebooks and so, and I always have a clear picture in my head of what to draw, it’s just the execution I’m lacking. I have tried both on paper and on a tablet, but from now on I’m going to keep all the bad stuff so myself. I also want to mention music, that can’t count that as a hobby since if you’re not listening to music, I can’t consider you human. You must be a robot without the proper chip’s and wires to acquire that frequency. While we’re on the subject of music, I enjoy ska and reggae music the most, but also like stuff like Daft Punk, Artic Monkeys (*putting on my hipster glasses* the first two albums only, since I haven’t heard rest), and stuff like that. I was also into rap and hip-hop back in the days; the only music I listened to was the music my brother listened to.
                Currently, I’m in college for journalism, though I hardly see myself as a news anchor or something along those lines, but more as having a radio-show, talk-show or just a plain journalist, but in a radio station, because for me at least, is by far the best form of media.
                And to end this cluster of thoughts, here is the rapid-fire part where I show you simple comparisons that might help you define me, and without further ado:
-pirates>ninjas
-tea>coffee
-motorbike>car
-controller>mouse+keyboard
-fantasy>sci-fi
-dog>cat
-winter>summer
-salty meal>sweat
-basketball>football (soccer)
-healer>DPS>tank
-comedy>horror
-good cop>bad coop
-bread>gun (wat?)
-bulldozer>birds (what are you doing?)
-pubs>trains (stahp)
Maybe I went a little bit too far, since that was all my imagination could muster. Well, I think from all the ranting you get a general idea of who I am. If you want to ask me anything, please do so in the comment section, and I’d be glad to answer anything. I want to thank you for reading this, as well as everything else on this blog, and stay tuned since I have a something for you peoples on Sunday.
Jelly over peanutbutter,

Matt