Arkanthiel is just some guy who likes to play games, write, and refer to himself in the third-person pov. He think's that doing so makes him appear more intelligent and is not at all pretentious in any way whatsoever.
I had a decent mic for a night. I tried to play around with it. Here’s what I got.
Nope. Not even a good mic can save you if you can’t sing lel. But hey, why not infect everyone else with second hand embarrassment from listening to me sing for a few minutes. So here ya go in all it’s horrible glory!
I WAS WRITING A WELL THOUGHT OUT BLOG ENTRY ABOUT THE FACT THAT UNLIKE NORMAL PEOPLE WHO USE DRIVE TO FUEL THEIR AMBITIONS AND ACCOMPLISH STUFF, I DON'T.
I USE FURY. A COLLECTION OF FRUSTRATIONS, ANGER AND GENERAL RAGE TO ACCOMPLISH GREAT THINGS IN MY LIFE. IT SOUNDS STUPID BUT ITS SOMETHING THAT'S ALREADY TOO INTERTWINED IN MY BODY TO CHANGE AT THIS POINT.
BUT THERE WAS A SPLIT SECOND BLACKOUT THAT FORCED MY PC TO CRASH AND I CAN'T RECOVER THE TWO THOUSAND WORD ENTRY SO IM JUST GOING TO DO IT AS SHORT AS POSSIBLE.
THIS IS FURY. IT IS THE NECTAR IN WHICH I FEED ON. I ALREADY MENTIONED HOW I GOT IT, READ UP ^
MOST PEOPLE THINK IM ALOOF AND JUST TELL PEOPLE TO KEEP CALM AND CHILL OUT TO RELAX. BUT WHAT THEY DON'T KNOW IS THAT I KEEP ALL THAT STUPID SHIT THAT IS FRUSTRATING AND ANNOYING AND GENERALLY FUCKING RETARDED AND USE IT TO FUEL MY RAGE. I THEN USE THAT RAGE. BUT INSTEAD OF PUNCHING PEOPLE OR KILLING THEM OR HURTING THEM I USE IT TO DO CREATIVE STUFF WHICH IS ALSO PRODUCTIVE.
Yes I use anger to become productive. It sounds stupid yeah? Deal with it.
BUT FOR SOME REASON I LOST THAT DRIVE LATELY AND WAS JUST CATHARTIC. IT WAS FUCKING RETARDEDLY FRUSTRATING HOW JUST NOT CARING ABOUT ANYTHING I WAS. WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN GREAT FUEL FOR MY RAGE IF I WAS ABLE TO USE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.
IT WAS BECAUSE OF SOME STUPID SHIT WITH SOMEONE.
BUT SOMETHING HAPPENED AND SOMEONE THANKFULLY SPARKED THE RAGE BACK INSIDE ME AND NOW I AM ANGRY AS FUCK.
I FELT SO COLD THEN. BUT NOW THAT IT'S BACK, IT FEELS PLEASANTLY WARM HAVING THIS RAGING TORRENT INSIDE ME, SEETHING AND BEGGING TO BE UTILIZED.
I'M HOPING THAT THIS ANGER KEEPS ON RAGING INSIDE ME AS IT DID ALL THOSE YEARS AGO AND NEVER STOPS. I WANT TO USE IT TO ACCOMPLISH THINGS.
SO THANK YOU TO YOU WHO SOMEHOW MANAGED TO SPARK THIS ANGER BACK IN ME. YOU PROBABLY DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DID AND I DONT KNOW HOW, (actually I probably do know but dont want to talk about it) BUT EITHER WAY THANK YOU.
ALSO YOU ARE A CUNT, JUST SAYING.
Goddamn that entry was really long, sure but It was well thought out and I was pouring out my feelings. I guess it was boring anyway. So here's something shorter.
Thanks for reading.
So basically the internet is fucked today, due to the storms and all. I can't play my online games. Decided to remake my resume, but I couldn't remember the details. Went to my email and searched RESUME and this thing popped up.
It was one of the things I wrote back in... 2009, when I still actually actively wrote stuff.I haven't read it yet because I'm going to post it for everyone to see before I get some sense inside me. It'll be fun to see how fucked up I was before!
I think it's an introductory piece or something idk. Here, I took a screenshot of the title of the email.
ENJOY
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"Far away from home
In a land we do not know
We ride in wings of hope
To take back the Eagle Throne"
Slow and deliberate were the strumming of the harp cords. There was a distinct sound in it, almost like an autograph of sorts. "Down through the hollows" sounded almost different, barely recognizable compared to its original, except for the lyrics. The Boar's Roar was an oddly-named tavern, famed for its Pig Pie, which had been both named by the remarkably uncreative owner. Regardless, people muffled through in droves just to have a taste, although that was hardly the only reason they do, now.
The recent blizzard that passed may have been light for its namesake, but it was cold enough to convince the whole town to stop working and wait it out unless they liked unnecessary risks. By the time it finally left, the sun was way past its peak and is almost gone, too late to resume work, but too early to sleep. So the obvious decision was to stay home and rest, except for those who had coin, they proceeded to the Tavern nearest to them hoping to lose their hunger, or earn some coin.
Several Lamps gave generous illumination to the place-as well as warmth. The people sat contented, spread around the common room in groups as many as half a dozen each, all minding their own business. Most were enjoying the soft cushions and were talking and eating amongst themselves, or ordering food from the serving girls. Well, except for one.
Bain grimaced at his mug of honeyed mead, it had gone cold surprisingly fast, but maybe that was because of the weather. He swirled it around as if by reflex, but knew that it will do nothing for the cold. If only it ended there, he would have been fine with it, really. But the Lamb stew that was given to him had an all too-tough meat that probably was horse meat rather than lamb. The greens looked like they should have been fed to the animals, instead of being added to the stew. He sighed. This was not worth half of what he paid for. Far from it.
"Down through the hollows
Risking life and limb
Down through the hollows
On to cleanse his sin"
Bain lifted his eyes from the cup focused on the man at the center of the room. The man singing had short, unkempt black hair, seemingly undisturbed by the constant motion he was doing. His eyes were clear blue, almost a reflection of the sky, if it wasn't covered by thick clouds at the moment. His clean face was a bit disturbing, it was as if hair refused to grow there, even after puberty. He was a wiry individual, looking around his late twenties, wearing a weird ensemble of a brown shirt, and green breeches. None of it was embroidered, nor gilded. He wouldn't be here if he could, at least he wouldn't be performing. A coat looking as if it had been made with a thousand patches of different colors rather than one cloth lay on a corner, beside the man's harp case. The man Bain was ordered to kill. Why kill him, he thought. He's just a bard. But then pushed down the bubbling links. Success in his field rely half on skill and half on not asking questions.
Ilim the bard wiped the sweat from his forehead using his left sleeve. Wool was hardly the best material for this particular season, but it was cheap. Sighing, he swung his harp around to his back. He should take a break from all this performing, else his voice will start to strain, and that's never good, specially since its what gives him work. He started walking away from where he performed, it wasn't exactly a stage, more like a small clearing. The Boar's Roar wasn't exactly a queen's palace, or even a large tavern, but it had patrons. And a kind innkeeper who's fond of him. At least he wasn't begging somewhere. He shrugged. This one guy alone at one of the corner tables had been staring at him since his last song. He suspected that the man might be [i]admiring[/i] him. It wouldn't be the first, but he never could get used to it. He liked girls, cute girls. Ilim fought down a shiver, he had been surveying the common room while he was performing, trying to spot for a place to eat once he's done. There was none save with the... guy. If he wanted to eat now, he would have to do it with him. Suddenly the prospect of having to wait appeared a bit more welcoming. Just a bit.
"Excuse me." said Ilim
"Yes?" replied the man "You want something?"
"Uh, yeah," Ilim's Harp case shifted with his weight. "Mind if I sit here to eat? There's no other place."
The man nodded.
Ilim sat down at the edge of the table, opposite the man. Spotting one of the serving girls, Mara, he waved at her and rubbed his belly. The girl in turn smiled at him, nodded and went inside the kitchen. Ilim licked his lips and turned to the person. Then he remembered what he just did and wished he didn't. The man was still staring at him! He brushed it away with a shrug. Well, at least he wasn't being familiar. He chuckled. Might as well get to know him.
"So." Ilim began.
"So." mimicked the man.
"What's your name?"
The man's face contorted for a fraction of a second. It was so fast you would have thought it was your imagination. "My name?" he smiled, a wry, mirthless smile. Then it disappeared. "What's it to you?"
"Well, seeing as you have been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes like I was some kind of oddity, I thought I at least, deserve that much. Right?" Ilim tried to smile, hoped his smiled didn't appear to be some kind of weird come-on for the man. "Right?"
"Mel" replied the man after a while, "My name is Mel."
"Mel, huh?" Right. Ilim sighed inside his head. Mel doesn't seem like a... what was the word? queer? Yeah. Mel doesn't seem like a queer name. At least, that's what he thinks.
"Here's your food." It was Mara. She had brought his usual orders of beef mutton with a side of peas. She smiled at him. "Your usual, Ilim. We-I had it prepared earlier so you wouldn't have to wait too long."
He smiled back at her. "You're a liar, Mara," then pinched her left buttock. "Everyone here knows what kind of food I want." By everyone he meant the other serving girls. And then he winked. That should show Mel that he was only interested in the female anatomy. Mara giggled. She always does that when he pinches her, which admittedly, is a bit too often. But who would not take the opportunity to pinch a girl's buttocks when she herself liked it?
The man had busied himself with a pipe while he was talking to Mara. Smoke now wafted near and around him. Ilim gave him a hard look. "Could you do that after I finish eating?" Mel just ignored him. Grumbling to himself, Ilim decided to eat. At least he had a table tonight.
Mel inhaled deeply, his Rosewood tabac was particualrly sweet tonight. Well, it always was before he killed a man. To him, anyway. He noticed that the crowds were thinning, it only meant that the bard's life is coming to an end. He gave the man a sidelong look. Let him have his last meal, he thought. He almost forgot to keep the laughter in his mind.
The meal finished. Ilim sighed contented as he buried himself on the seat, or tried to. Trying to bury yourself on the wood was a bad idea. He didn't care, he had just had his meal, one that he worked for--deserved even, and he was going to enjoy it. He noticed that the people were slowly disappearing. Maybe it was late. Maybe he won't have to perform a second set. He hoped.
"Hey, Bard"
Ilim turned and found Mel, smiling at him. Well, it was more of a smirk, like he's up no good. There was a small voice of panic that tried to scream inside his head. He muted it. It was not a good idea to panic when there's nothing to panic about. "Yes?" he replied, somehow managing to be casual.
Mel looked as if intoxicated. There must have been something in his pipe or tabac that wasn't normally in there. The man looked... high was the word that came to mind. "Weren't you the one who insulted the Lady Amille?"
The words barely left Mel's mouth when the table suddenly toppled over him, Ilim spat a muffled curse and tired to dodge by rolling to the right, only it wasn't fast enough. Pinned under a square table, he looked around. The serving girls were all watching from a distance, afraid to interfere, but concerned over the bard. He smiled at that, maybe someone would even have enough sense to call some of the authorities. He turned to face his attacker.
"Hey." Mel smiled. He was holding a fork. A fork! He had a foot on the edge of table, of course, so he wouldn't get away. "I'm sorry, guy. But this is just business." Slowly he drew himself up, Ilim hadn't noticed that the man was a lot larger that he expected. Wait. he thought. Maybe he could use it against him. Drawing all his strength, Ilim pushed.
It worked. Before Mel could react, he already had the table on top of him. Shaking his head, Ilim quickly looked around and grabbed his harp case. Would Lady Amille really have sent this guy against him? Looking back at his attacker, he found that the man was gone. Okay, maybe there is something to panic about. He spun around and started to run, no, not towards the girls. Away, towards the door.
Pain filled his left leg and found a fork sticking out of it. The man was crazy! Cursing under his breath he grabbed a nearby chair. Where was the innkeeper? Or anyone else for that matter?
"Why don't you sing a song, Bard?" Mel sneered. "Sing a song about Love. And Death." He lunged at Ilim once more, still unstable apparently, this time with knives in both hands. Ilim raised the chair in front of him and braced. He almost laughed. The man literally hit the chair full on, and in that much force, it should have hurt a lot. Thankfully, none of the two knives hit him. He made his move.
Ilim swung the chair so that it disarmed the knife from each of Mel's hands, and grabbed them. It was fairly easy, since the man was still subdued by his own foolishness. Ilim frowned at the daggers. Daggers? They were more like kitchen knives. Mel lay sprawled on the floor laughing, muttering something about money and debt. Ilim shook his head, and an idea formed in his head.
"Hey, killer." Mel turned his head to him. "I have a proposition for you."
"Really, now?" Mel tried to stand, but only managed to sit up. Maybe he wasn't really an assassin, just a hired thug, Ilim thought. He almost smiled, it will work. It will. With that, Ilim reached out to the man with his right hand and said.
"Come with me instead of trying to kill me." The killer's jaw dropped. "Don't worry, I'll pay you. The standard rate, if you wish." Mel gaped at him. "You would trust me even after what I did--try to do?"
"No." Ilim shook his head, trying not to smile. "But then again, I can see you need money. Money is always needed, and I have some. Better to be poor than to be dead." he hurried on, the night was dragging and fatigue was slowly creeping up to him. "Of course, It's not with me. If you kill me now, not only won't you get my money, but you'll be hunted as well. That I can promise you."
Mel grabbed his hand and stood up. "But what about the Lady Amille?"
"Lady Amille." Ilim laughed. "If you're the best she can come up with, then I'm not really worried. She haven't even paid you the half usually given before the task, right?"
Mel looked at his eyes. Slowly he nodded. "Alright. If you'll have me. But you better pay me."
They shook hands. Then they both laughed.
*edit*
Wow holy shit i wrote a lot back then.
theartofmadeline
areudirty
gamechangershow
romaincrisis
