The Death of a Poet
Chiar daca este primul meu post de pe anul acesta, nu stiu cat de des voi mai scrie. Dupa lungi asteptari am reusit sa-mi rezolv anumite probleme technice ce tineau de calculator. Asta, desigur, pana apar altele…
Oricum, introducerea e de prisos, iar ca de obicei va voi lasa sa interpretati cum doriti versurile de mai jos.
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Virgin lands, untouched by blade
Have come before the cold embrace.
Cease now your poetic whining,
And pay your tribute to the God of War
In the Great Entwining.
Hush now! If your life is dear,
Do not whisper until I’m near;
Else you risk a gruesome death
In the jaws of true pain and suffering
You shall know the real him: Ark’Nareth – The Beast.
Fate had chosen, the Beast was marching,
Doom shall come and it will mark the crashing
Of the known citadels, corrupt and old
They will wither and die, as t’was foretold…
Emptiness will sweep the world,
Until there is nothing left, only the void…
Yet colour and life shall bloom anon,
Such was the way of the rising son.
Indeed, these things will come in time.
‘Til then, stay safe! You write and rhyme,
As you savor your final moment…
Ah! The colour, the life… and the death of a poet.
Master or servant? – A Knight’s Dilemma
Una dintre cele mai vechi relatii care au existat in aceasta lume a fost aceea de servitudine. Inca din vremuri antice, exista un Stapan si un servitor. Fie ca acel stapan era un patrician ori un senator roman, el reprezenta autoritatea, bogatia sau intelepciunea. Insa, de a lungul timpului, notiunea de servitor s-a denaturat, ajungandu-se la tratarea servitorilor ca pe niste bunuri. Mai popular spus, acestia erau sclavii.
Insa majoritatea preferau libertatea. Iar aceasta preferinta, neobisnuita la vremea aia, a generat nenumarate morti. Ideologia s-a pastrat. ‘Mai bine morti, dar liberi, decat vii dar captivi in propria noastra viata’.
Din aceste ganduri, a luat nastere noua mea poezie, care sper sa va trezeasca macar o intrebare, daca nu o dilema, in constiinta voastra…
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From dusk ‘till dawn, we will ride on,
Like the wind of change, we shall smite them in rage,
With our heart true, we choose death over you.
Thou shall not take our freedom,
Nor cloud our vision;
Even if it means a death in martyrdom…
‘Tis better to die free,
Than be a slave in one’s memory
Though chains and shackles tighten and grapple,
Our will shall never fade.
And many will remember the story
Of the wicked ones, who basked in glory.
Ones who did not take on, forced by tyrants,
The form of a slave.
For ‘tis better to remember thee,
Who did not bow to the enemy.
Pride and death, the final solace;
Slavery and life, the first of many torments
That already plague and wither,
Crushing the will, making the soul bitter.
The Master commands, the servant obeys
‘Tis the cycle of life, and so it stays.
“Only one question remains,
And I shall leave thou to your affairs:
Should you someday have power and gains,
Will you treat yourself and others
As the Master or the servant?
Think upon this, you should,
Dare I say, becoming one of them, you could…”
A Personal Crusade – Epilogue
The Battle of Light’s Hope Chapel was lost by the undead when the dreaded Ashbringer, Mograine’s sword, did not obey him.
Without the Ashbringer, the Highlord was nothing. He lost control of his creatures and eventually paladins overpowered him, capturing both him and his loyal servants.
While pleading for their lives, Arthas – The dreaded Lich King – appeared. He told the Death Knights that he had willingly sent them to their own demise on the holy ground surrounding the Chapel, with the intention of drawing out from hiding his nemesis, the former Knight of the Silver Hand, Tirion Fordring.
The two of them battled and it seemed as if the Paladin’s fate was sealed. Dark and twisted energies drained the Knight of his strength.
Noticing this, Darion Mograine threw the Ashbringer in Tirion’s direction. The Paladin caught it, and the blade was purified. With its holy strength, Fordring managed to inflict a serious wound on the Lich King who left, vowing to destroy all living beings.
The Knights of the Silver Hand, the Argent Dawn and the Scarlet Crusade joined forces to become the Argent Crusade, an order led by Tirion Fordring himself. They would take the fight back to the Lich King. Arthas would soon be challenged on his own terms.
For Laethos though, this seemed of little consequence. He did not know what to do.
The Paladin prayed for two days continuously, asking the Light for guidance. When he returned to Stormwind, he was commissioned to the newly established post of the Argent Crusade in Valgarde, in the frozen wastes of Northrend.
Laethos had something to live, and die for now. Arthas would soon pay what he had done. The Paladin took this vow, and pledged his life to this purpose.
His Personal Crusade… had only just begun.
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Acesta este felul meu de a inchide acest capitol din viata Paladinului descris in cateva capitole, dar si felul meu de a imi lua ramas bun de la un joc, un univers, si o lume, care m-a inspirat, m-a invatat si m-a ajutat sa fac multe.
Pentru unii poate parea stupid, sa fac acest elogiu pentru un joc. Intr-adevar, acum este doar un joc. Ceva copilaros, schimbat in atat de multe feluri fata de ce a fost. Vorba aceea: Ce-am avut si ce-am pierdut…
Deci, aceasta va fi, probabil, ultima povestioara din acest univers. E timpul sa trec mai departe, sa descopar ceva nou… e timpul sa evoluez. Asa ca ramas bun Laethos… tu de abia ti-ai inceput Cruciada, pe cand eu am terminat-o de ceva vreme. Ma indrept spre ceva nou, inedit… undeva unde nu am idee ce ma asteapta.
Deci, ramas bun.
A Personal Crusade – Chapter IV
Flying as fast as the wind, the skeletal being obeyed the orders. It was charging back towards the landing platform of the dreaded Necropolis.
Deep in his thoughts, Laethos kept pondering what to do next. Or what to say to his newly discovered father. Suddenly, the young man heard a loud shriek. “Another creature of the Scourge” he thought.
Laethos did not have time to look for the source of the sound since he was now lying in the mud, down below the Archeus. Peering at the ‘former’ skeletal gryphon, he noticed a holy arrow, fired most likely from a Scarlet Ballista stationed near Light’s Hope Chapel.
Injured, with his arm broken, the young paladin kept thinking of what he had just read. Then it all went black, as he heard voices shouting in the distance, calling him.
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He could hear his Runeblade hungering… Peering at the small party of undead minions and Death Knights that was surrounding him, Laethor could only think what had become of the young man he freed. His son. The son he had taken for dead until a few moments ago. But it did not matter now….
He would fight and he would die. Such was the way of the warrior. Such was the way of his long forgotten Light.
Tightening his grip on the blade, the old Knight charged towards his enemies, shouting a Paladin’s battle cry.
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-This one is still alive. Get a field medic over here!
The booming voice was shouting orders around the encampment. Everyone seemed on the edge, preparing for the great battle that lay ahead. Sharpening their weapons and bandaging their wounded, the defenders of Light’s Hope Chapel seemed to move in a perfect symphony, where each man knew his job.
-Man those ballistae! Get these men some decent shields! And in the Light’s name, bring me my horse! We are about to get obliterated, and you lot still move as if this were your everyday morning.
The head of the encampment, The Duke, or so he was called due to his… eccentric and commanding nature, was staring at the horizon, scheming and pondering his next move.
Light help us make it ‘till the next dawn, he thought. With three hundred defenders, some of which were seasoned warriors, while others have barely seen twenty winters, the odds of surviving this are… well, slim. Three hundred against thousands. ‘t will be a glorious death… as long as they don’t succeed in getting it.
-Your horse, sir.-About time. Make sure you get that man on his feet. I want to know who he is and what he was doing on that skeletal gryphon. If he is one of them, execute him.
The captain saluted, and watched The Duke riding like the Wind Spirits themselves.
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The young paladin woke up two hours later, finding himself in an improvised nursery. Wounded warriors were moaning and twisting in pain on the neighboring beds, while Laethos began to feel as if the canvas of the tent was suffocating him.
Death, pain, suffering… such was the way of War.
And this war was as brutal as any other, with casualties on both sides. The only difference was that the undead kept replenishing their numbers while good men and women gave their lives on the battlefield.Hope was a commodity in this place where fear and insecurity ruled supreme. Like the people laying in bed, Laethos was hopeless. He would rather die now, than face his father in battle later.
He was a good man, the injured paladin thought. A good man who chose the wrong path… or rather, it was chosen for him.Mother, wherever you are, I ask for your guidance. Aid me, where the Light has failed. Help me, since I cannot help myself. What do I do?!
The question was still ringing in the young paladin’s head when a stout man entered the tent. He was a middle aged warrior who had seen enough battles in his life, or so his scars were telling. The man approached Laethos , and sat next to him with a grim look on his face.
-Who are you, youngling? *the man asked calmly*-A Crusader. Laethos… Fireheart I was called.
-What were you doing on a skeletal being, flying to that dreaded Necropolis?
-I needed to get some answers. That is when you, and your men shot me down. *Laethos glared at the questioning warrior*
-Indeed we have. For you might be a spy for the enemy. And we cannot allow such traitors to Stormwind and the Light to live.
What is the purpose of you being here?
-I was…searching for someone.
-And did you find him? *the man insisted*
-I have found only what I did not seek. More death, more questions and more pain.
-And still… how do we know that you aren’t working with the enemy?
-You may believe what you wish. I do not care any longer.
-The punishment for treason, is death. You are aware of that, are you not?
-I am.
-Then your fate shall be decided when you recover…
-I’ll be waiting.
The captain left the tent.
This one was truly hard to read. He seemed like a hopeless man who had lost everything. But at the same time, the youngling was defiant and ignorant. The guise of a spy, that may be.
As he continued walking to the Chapel, he pondered his course of action. Should he spare the youngling? He needed every man he could get for the battle ahead… But if he was really a spy, then he could potentially do more damage than the dead.
The warrior retreated to his quarters. He would think, and decide; he would be the judge or the executioner…
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The Duke arrived at a weird looking manor. The fabled Ravenholdt. It was hidden from sight and there weren’t many people who could distinguish the building from the overgrown moss in the surroundings.
Dismounting, the armored commander entered cautiously inside. He could see no man or beast. There was a still silence which reminded him of some childhood stories about haunted buildings.
He is here, I know it. *the Duke told himself* He likes playing games like these… Hmpf, I would gladly run him through my sword if he didn’t have vital information, and more…
Suddenly, a weird dwarfish laughter could be heard. The sound gave the Duke a strange chill in his spine.
Ah’ve never thought I’d see tha day when ye come here and ask me somethin’… Tha mighty Duke, of all people. Hehe, the destiny sure has its sense of humor! *a shadowy voice uttered*
I am not here for your amusement, criminal. You have something I need, and I can give you something you need. So decide now. Shall we play games or shall we talk business?! *the Duke asked source of the voice*
Business, o’ course. Now, come ‘ere an’ take a sip of ale. Then, I’ll tell ya what ye need ta know.
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For the first time in days, Laethos could smell the relatively fresh air of the outdoors. Nothing was truly fresh in healthy in the Plaguelands, and the young man had learned that on his own skin.
As he walked around, he noticed the paladins and warriors who were submitted to intensive sword fighting training and combat strategies. They were all preparing for the great battle ahead… A battle that Laethos wondered if he would be in.
-Captain, I was wondering why did you let me roam free in your camp? Aren’t you afraid any longer that I may a spy? *the young man asked, as soon as he saw the plate-dressed warrior*-Look around boy. The men are hopeless and there is no chance of victory. Why would the Lich King send and waste another spy, to reveal something that he already knew?!
-I understand. Then I want to participate in the battle ahead.
-Hmm… we may use a strong arm. You said you were a Crusader, yes? Then I assume you do not need basic training, eh? *said the captain while grinning wickedly at Laethos*
After several hours of exhausting training, Laethos felt at peace. He would finally get the great battle he had hoped for, than die.
The only thing bothering him was his father’s fate. He might have been executed by now for letting a prisoner go.The following day, at the training session, Laethos was announced that he would be part of the Vanguard that would meet the Lich King’s Death Knights’ charge first hand, a few miles away from the Chapel.
The main objective of this battle was to hold Light’s Hope Chapel until the Duke returned with his surprise weapon – no doubt an army of Stormwind – to end the battle. It would a battle of life over undeath itself.
Good… *Laethos thought*… I will die soon enough, and I may take enough of those bastards with me to make them remember me.
Father, I hope to see you soon in the Blessed Halls of Light’s Grace… Mother, I hope you forgive me for my disdain. I did not know you, yet the memory of you gave me the answer I sought. And for that, I thank thee.
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Two weeks passed, and the Duke did not return yet. The noblemen were surely a tough bunch to deal with, but the commander should be able to handle it. Either way, I know his tactics well enough to prepare for the battle for myself! *the Captain thought*
Two people, the scouts he had sent earlier, were approaching with great haste.
-Sir, they are coming.-How many? *the Captain inquired*
-Thousands, sir… they have abominations, ghouls, riders, skeletal dragons. We are doomed…
-Very well. Get yourself clean and report to your post.
The men saluted and went towards the Barracks.
So,’twill be a fight to the death after all… As long as we succeed, the Light can take us all.
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Bring the betrayer forth! *Mograine ordered*
Two Death Knights were escorting Laethor to their master.
- You have dared breaking the Lich King’s command. For this, we shall take the very thing you forfeit your loyalty. You will watch your cherished son die, by your hands!
- Never, the old man shouted!
- Fool… I wasn’t asking you. *uttered the commander as he used a terrible mind control spell*
My son… I hope you are far away from here…
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Laethos had polished his sword and armor. He was as ready as he could ever be. Muttering a prayer to the Light, he mounted his warhorse and joined the man he would fight and die with.
As the charge began, Laethos could hear the inspiring battle shouts of those around him. Excitement took over him, as he killed his first rider. It was a bloody beheading, and it seemed that the rider was too ignorant of his poorly defensive stance.
The paladin rode toward a ghoul, when the fiendish being jumped on him, knocking him off his warhorse. Getting back up, Laethos took his weapon and charged. Impaling his foe, Laethos got into the thick of the battle. Blood was spilled everywhere, and the Battle of Light’s Hope easily turned into a slaughter, as there was casualties on all sides.
The young man saw that a friend was overpowered by a furious Death Knight, and he rushed to his aid when a distinctive sword almost beheaded him. It was a moment’s reflex of dodging the blow that saved him. Laethos peered around to see his foe, when his blood froze into his veins.
No…It can’t…It can’t be! Wh-why is he doing this?
The attacker was indeed Laethor, who could not resist the manipulative mind control used by Mograine.
Laethos continued parrying his father’s blows, without striking back. He couldn’t. It was his father he was fighting, not some mindless beast.
The battle raged on around them, and it seemed that the old Death Knight was relentless. It was as if the only thing he wanted in Azeroth was to see his newly-found son dead.
-Father, ‘tis I! Do you not recognize me!-I… am sorry.
Despite his apology, the Death Knight would not cease the endless assault. He kept attacking with more furious blows, against his own will.
When a misplaced slash came, Laethos saw his chance. He counter parried the blow and began his offensive. It was a dance of blades, as father and son fought one another in a battle that Fate itself had orchestrated. The old man defended himself well during the first three blows, but a feint Laethos had made put him in a vulnerable position.
The paladin, of course, noticed the opportunity and bashed his father with the full weight of his body. Laethor was now off balance, struggling to keep his defense viable. When the time came Laethos stroke his opponent with the pommel of his blade, disarmed him, then kicked him to the ground.
-Father, I beg of you. Return with me. You can be freed, I know that.-I do not… argh… have a choice, son. My fate is sealed, my crusade is lost. But you…*grunts*… you, my boy, have destiny waiting for you. Finish the deed, and move on. Greater threats have risen.
-But…my Crusade was about finding the truth… about finding you. Redemption can be bestowed upon anyone, father…anyone!
-*smiles* Heh. If only it were so easy.
Without warning, the Death Knight jumped at Laethos, disarmed him with a swift melee strike, and slammed him to the ground. There, he continued to choke the boy…
-End… it, the father begged.
Fighting for his breath, the young paladin thought he had seen something. A strange white dove was flying above them, circling the gruesome battlefield.
He had a destiny. And he would fulfill it, or die trying.
With renewed strength, Laethos kicked his father, freeing himself in the process. Then he pulled his sword from the ground and drove it trough the chest of his father.
Blood burst from the old man’s chest, as he dropped to the ground.
Laethos knelt alongside him, trying to preserve what little life his father had within him.
-Light… bless you, son. *grunts* I…-Stay with me, father! I will cure you. I know I can. Do not succumb to Death. Not this time!
-My… fate *grunts* is sealed, son. I… am proud of you.
The old man uttered these words and then kept staring at the sky. His eyes were motionless, and his body soaked in blood. He had died like a paladin, Laethos thought.
For the young man, the battle did not matter anymore. Who would lose and who would win wasn’t important for him anymore.
This was the end of his Crusade. Laethos had lost the only thing he truly cared about in his life. The only thing that gave his life, until now, a purpose. The Crusader… had lost ‘A Personal Crusade’.
There must be some kind of way out of here…
…said the joker to the thief. / There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.
Cam asta ar fi inceputul de la o melodie care ma obsedeaza si fascineaza de ceva vreme. A reinceput toamna, cu rutinele ei scolare. Problema este faptul ca nici nu am inceput bine, si deja ma simt prins… in rutina. There’s nothing new. Acelasi liceu, aceiasi oameni (+ altii care au intrat anu’ asta intr-a 9a, oameni cu care nu prea am de a face), aceleasi profesoare. Nimic care sa ma intereseze.
Iar faptul acesta ma face sa ma simt mai mult sau mai putin ca un robot. Tot ce imi trece prin cap este: “Cum as putea sa scap de rutina, cand lumea intreaga e prinsa in ea?”. Oamenii se trezesc, se duc la locul de munca, fac aceeasi munca (cu mici diferente) zilnic, ajung acasa, se recreeaza, se culca, incep de la capat a doua zi. Iar in weekenduri fac chestii diferite ca sa compenseze pentru lipsa de actiune din timpul saptamanii. Singura mea curiozitate ar fi: “Cum scap din cercul asta vicios?”
Nimeni nu-mi raspunde… nici constientul, nici inconstientul, nici persoanele pe care le intreb.
Unii oameni au hobby-uri, acele activitati favorite care iti ocupa din timpul liber, si care iti distrag mintea de la lucrurile stresante. Problema mea apare atunci cand stau sa ma gandesc “Oare care e hobby-ul meu? Ce ar trebui sa fac?”. Singurul raspuns care imi vine in cap este acela ca nu ma cunosc destul de bine pe mine insumi. Atunci ma intreb, oare cine sunt?
Se spune ca suntem suma experientelor noastre. Ceea ce facem, simtitim, gandim, este ceea ce ne defineste pe noi ca persoana. Suntem programati si reprogamati in functie de experientele pe care le avem. Copilarii traumatizante, interactiuni sociale nereusite? Din asta iese o persoana introvertita care nu are incredere in oameni. Opusul, copilarii fericite, prieteni multi s.a.m.d? Asta duce la multi prieteni superficiali si la nevoia de a sta mereu cu cineva. La fel se intampla pentru fiecare dintre combinatiile posibile…
Altii ar spune ca suntem ceea ce sufletul nostru ne spune sa fim. Totul porneste din interior, iar este datoria noastra sa ne imbunatatim, si sa incercam sa facem lumea un loc mai bun in timpul acesta. Singura problema cu aceasta teorie ar fi aceea a interpretarii. A interpretarii dorintelor, nevoilor, impulsurilor de moment, reactilor…etc. Eu fac ceea ce consider ca este bine, altul poate considera actiunile mele ca fiind gresite.
De aceea consider ca este necesar sa inveti sa privesti un lucru sau o situatie din cat mai multe unghiuri posibile. Problema apare atunci cand suntem prea detasati, atat de detasati incat nu mai stim cine suntem…
Deci care ar fi abordarea corecta? Increderea in instincte, sau detasarea emotionala? Cum am putea scapa de rutina? Si mai ales… cine suntem noi, cu adevarat?
Battlestar Galactica bloopers
O mica compilatie de bloopers din primul sezon…
“The Cylons were created by man… they rebelled… they evolved. There are many copies, and, unlike me, they have a plan, thank you.”
Iar pentru cei care nu au ras destul, va sugerez sa verificati site-ul asta!
Fiinta primordiala – Origini
Mitul androginului. Un mit interesant, cu un sambure de adevar, care ne face curiosi chiar si astazi. Cine suntem noi, de fapt? De unde am venit? Ce ne lipseste? De ce exista Dragostea dintre Barbat si Femeie in primul rand?
Originile fiintei primordiale ne ocolesc si astazi. Inca nu stim adevarul despre creatia noastra, despre scopul nostru. Iar, daca a fost vreodata o fiinta primordiala, se va reuni? Daca da, cand?
Pentru cei care sunt intr-o ceata din cauza introducerii sumare, sa va povestesc despre Mitul Androginului. Nu mai tin minte exact autorul, ci doar ca l-am studiat la liceu. Povestea afirma urmatoarele: Existenta unei fiinte primordiale, o fiinta asexuata, care domina planeta. Imaginati-va o femeie si un barbat, uniti. Aceste fiinte puteau face aproape orice lucru la care s-ar fi putut gandi, puterea lor fiind asemanatoare zeilor. Acesti zei, insa, s-au temut ca puterea androginilor era prea mare. Drept urmare, i-au despartit, in doua fiinte. Doua sexe. Se spune ca aceasta ar fi originea dragostei. De aceea cautam o fiinta care sa ne fie aproape. De aceea cautam sa ne unim cu ea, in speranta de a reface acea fiinta ideala.
Interpretarea mea ar fi urmatoarea: Daca scopul nostru esential ar fi acela de a ne reuni cu jumatatea pierduta, atunci de ce exista certurile, divorturile, si alte scandaluri de genul acesta? Fiind realist, nu cred ca este cuplu in lumea aceasta care nu a trecut prin cel putin o cearta / discutie. Ca o opinie personala, o fiinta in care mana stanga s-ar certa cu mana dreapta nu ar functiona corect. Nu ar mai functiona, defapt.
M-am hotarat, deci, sa-mi caut raspunsurile in alta parte. Poate cerurile imi pot raspunde.
Sa ne gandim putin la ingeri. Fiinte asexuate, parte corp uman (cel putin asa au fost reprezentati de oameni), parte aripi. Oare acesti ingeri, daca ar exista, sunt fiintele primordiale din care ne tragem cu totii? Daca de acolo am venit… unde ne indreptam?
Imaginati-va o imbratisare tandra dintre doi indragostiti. Trupul puternic al barbatului, lipit de trupul delicat al femeii. Impreuna formeaza un balans, un echilibru natural… Acum, imaginati-va ca forta si incapatanarea barbatului sunt defapt aripile ingerului. Aripi, care ar face orice pentru a proteja dar si pentru a ajuta ingerul. Femeia este reprezentarea trupului, cea care alcatuieste si da frumusetea si lumina caracteristica ingerilor. Impreuna, sunt o fiinta cu adevarat miraculoasa. O fiinta care traieste in armonie. O fiinta care si-a gasit pacea spirituala. Separati, nu ar fi nimic.
Separati, noi nu suntem nimic…
