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Godsoldier
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Name: Julian-Israel
Location: Montgomery County, Maryland, United States
Birthday: 7/13/1988
Gender: Male
Interests: God, Theology, The Bible, Worship, Family, Friends, School, Soccer is the greatest sport followed by all the others... Hockey, Basketball, Track, Swimming, Volleyball etc. Table Sports, Writing Stories, Writing Poetry, Drawing, Painting, Sculpting, Theater, Dancing, Singing, Piano, Guitar, Reading Literature, Movies, Video Games, My RPG, Listening to Music, Coin/Sticker Collecting, Insects, Culture, Travel, New Experiences, Food, People, Understanding People, The Millitary... and many other things.
Expertise: Most things that I put my mind to.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  dhecroy
ICQ:  250329510
Yahoo:  dhecroy
Member Since:
12/9/2004
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| Internet is expensive here so I´ll be fast. For the last few days I´ve been on a whirlwind tour of Andalucia in Spain. I have performed in some of the most beautiful and awe inspiring venues in the world and seen places so full of history and so gorgeous that it´s unbearable. I have eaten and drunk some of the the most delicious cuisine in my life. We´ve been through London, Malaga, Granada, Cordoba, Carmona and now we´re in Seville. We still have yet to hit the beaches at Faro and the glories of Lisbon before returning. I´m so stoked to be here. I have made some amazing friends and had some incredible experiences. I miss you all back at home immensely though! I can´t wait to come back and tell you my stories and show you my pictures. I´ll make a more detailed blog later too. Anyways... Much Love from Espania!!
J.I. | | |
| Oddest thing ever... Last night I dreamed I came into possession of a deathnote... After some consideration I wrote the name Osama bin Laden into it's pages... Not wanting him to pass from a seemingly innocuous and natural cause such a heart attack, and rob my fellow Americans of the satisfaction of justice I had to come up with some way for him to go where an American soldier received the credit. However I couldn't decide if he was to be caught in an ambush or if his driver would get diverted and ran him into a surprise checkpoint, or something else... I cant remember what I decided on writing because the dream changed and I soon awoke...
Today my roommate told me of this news story: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/world/2011/05/01/2011-05-01_osama_bin_laden_dead_us_has_body_nearly_10_years_after_911_terrorist_attacks.html
I'm kinda creeped out.
But in any case... Here's a glass raised to justice served, after 10 long years of hunting and waiting. Three cheers to the our noble men in arms who finally brought our enemy to his well deserved fate. A toast to the memories of the thousands of American men, women and children whose brutal murders have finally been avenged.
Requescat in pace inimicus meum. | | |
| Today, the one day of the year where we come together to simply celebrate the pure joy and beauty of our relationships and the precious gift of love. True, our culture has tried to wrest it from us, just as it has every other major holiday by setting up expectations and commercializing it... today though, let us take it back, let us remember why we celebrate a day for love in the first place. It's not about the gifts, the chocolate, the dates, dinners, balloons, jewels or roses. It is about that one wonderful person who has made your life special, turned you inside out and upside down and changed your world forever. It is about them and nothing else. So cherish the time you have with your special person today. Put all else aside and tell them with your words, touches and deeds once again how much you love them. To all, a Happy Valentines day! and to my dearest darling Amy, I love you, I love you and a million times more I love you.
~*~*~
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
1 Corinthians 13:1-7
~*~*~
~J.I. | | |
| And they shall be the guardians and keepers
And they will take upon themselves the Mantle of Idas
And the wisdom of the ancient fathers will be reborn
And the encircled one will look to the heavens and say "descend upon me!"
And the stars will do his bidding
A wilderness of color surrounded the length of cold steel in a cascade of reds and rags. It slithered sinuously, rhythmically through a forest of white cages, bony saplings and hair colored grasses. This rhythm was not broken even as it broke the rhythm of every heart that it bit. Again and again it struck, fast and sharp like a whip, but precise as a K’hom Lem eye surgeon. This blade had tasted many hearts today. And with each heart that it sunk its fangs into, the faster and sharper it moved, till its movement was but a blur on the edge of vision, present, but gone the moment it is noticed. This was K’ashta, the art of the snake, and like a snake, every strike that touched flesh was as poisonous. The long tapered rapier that characterized the art was tuned to the energy of the body and a precise strike at any of the critical nerve points could instantly stop a human heart. A strike anywhere else could disrupt an entire person’s system and render them paralyzed, catatonic or screaming in an excruciating seizure. The most skilled K’ashtars could choose which effect or effects to leave you with.
The most skilled K’ashtar of all was pacing in the center of the Grand Atrium as it burned around him. Three hundred of Ryad’s elite guard were standing, kneeling, sprawling and bowing around him in every manner of excruciating position. All were frozen in place in perfect formation like a grotesque mockery of a tableau from the Ophar Theater. Were it not for the flickering light from the flames and the lone figure pacing in the center, it would have seemed like they all had been frozen in time, stuck the midst of the most intricate and climactic dance number that had ever graced the stage.
All of them were dead.
For a K’ashtar the battle was not the art, nor was the killing blow. For a K’ashtar killing is too easy. The death blow, the “Asht” was a science. There is no artistry in a single brush stroke. No, the art was in how their victims bodies fell. The most skilled K’ashtar of all was known for his art.
He was a musician. It was said that during the Kririn insurrection, that the Council of Seven, the ill fated rebel leaders, were found paralyzed, standing in formation as their lungs spasmed in a continuous seizure, causing them to scream an unearthly diminished seventh chord till the last of their life trickled out of them.
He was a painter. It was said that the second war of succession ended when the crown prince’s rival was found, portrait painted upon the door of his own bedchamber with his blood, bile, brain and fecal matter as the medium. The actual body was found an hour later playing the wind chimes as it hung in the royal garden.
Today, as he completed his latest work in the Grand Atrium, the most skilled K’ashtar of all was a sculptor.
But today the most skilled K’ashtar of all had not found what he was looking for. With an annoyed grimace he turned with a flourish and strode out of the chamber just as the latticed ceiling began to crumble behind him.
~*~*~
The last Do'lon had fallen.
Kiaru ran. There was no way now to save the stronghold. Hairline fractures spread rapidly across the ceiling and walls of the outer courting hall as the old runic enchantments began to come apart under repeated shock. He was soon covered in a coating of fine dust. He ran until his legs protested under the strain and then he ran faster. He had fought for hours non-stop only to watch helplessly as each of his bond brothers fell one by one in the inferno of their enemy's onslaught. After a few minutes Kiaru looked back and was pleased that he had lost his pursuers. Now if he could keep it that way.
He was the last Wielder. He was sure of it. He would not let the Mantle fall.
He had to make it to the sanctuary. The children would be waiting. It was his duty now. They were the hope of the future.
Hurtling over a pile of fallen ceiling rubble, he entered a side passage that would lead him around the main fighting. He needed to move as quickly as possible. His reservoir was low and he couldn't afford a protracted battle. He had barely gone a fourth into the dimly lit passageway when a sudden chill shot through his spine and only his reflexes saved his head. Ducking and rolling to the side he turned to face his opponent... and groaned. The unnaturally slim figure wrapped in dark bandages before him seemed to shimmer in and out of focus, sticking uncannily to the myriad of shadows lining the hallway .
It has been said that the Shnari were no longer truly human. According to legend their soul is sacrificed to daemons of shadow who then inhabit their bodies and lend to them their powers. Assassins of monstrous reputation, they apparently, feel no other pain but that of the ones they kill, which to them translates as the greatest of physical pleasure.
The Shnari assassin smiled a flat expressionless grin. Suddenly, his body seemed to bend the space between the two of them, elongating and shrinking simultaneously as the shadows bunched up around him. Kiaru leaped back desperately and managed to bring forth his blade in time to parry the tremendous blow aimed at his heart.
He found himself flying backwards, his arm numbed from the shock. His training had only barely prepared him for this. Taking the spider stance, he turned again to meet his opponent's onslaught. This time he was better prepared.The assassin, though, was fast. His strikes landed with incredible speed and power from multiple directions. Kiaru's blade became an ensnaring web, meeting and parrying the attacks perfectly while probing for an opening. This form was designed to use an opponent's force against them, yielding softly and then trapping. His technique was a perfect match for the Shnari. Unmitigated power was met by legendary skill. Kiaru was a Wielder. He would stand strong. he would not fall. The legacy of Ryad would survive. The hallway filled with the sounds of clashing and warping steel and the pace of their attacks and counterattacks blurred the air, sending resonating shocks into the walls. The Shnari was a dirty fighter, but Kiaru’s training had prepared him for his tricks.
They continued unabating, their perilous balance maintained. This fight was taking far too long. Despite Kiaru's skill, he was tired, and his opponent was fresh. Kiaru could tell that his movements were slowing. Finally, the Shnari broke through and it was only by Kiaru’s twisting desperately that the blade did not strike fatally. As the Shnari weapon bit into his leg Kiaru's scream of agony was echoed in harmony by a guttural moan of pleasure. Kiaru glanced up in sick horror as an expression of rabid sexual ecstasy lit up his opponent’s face.
Kiaru knew his life was at stake... but he couldn't die here! He mustn't! He still had his duty. He had to survive at all costs.
He had to risk it. But, he had only enough power left for one draw. Using his light would draw attention... and he wouldn't be able to draw again for a while... but he needed to live. He had to get to the children!
Kiaru took a deep breath and pulled from his reservoir.
~*~*~
A massive blast shook the Ryad Palace complex. Tremors expanded outwards, rippling through the walls. An observer watching the battle from the outside would have seen a flash of light escaping through one of the lower windows, followed by an entire section of the wall collapsing.
From the door of the Grand Atrium, the most skilled K’ashtar of all halted, as if listening to the very stones of the structure around him. Turning his head in the direction of the tremors he smiled and began walking again, unhurriedly, but with a little more energy in his step.
The most skilled K'ashtar of all had one more work of art to create this day.
~*~*~
A fire burned in Lorn's shoulder as he pulled himself on to the jagged rock ledge above him. Clinging to the black stone, he rolled onto his back heaving. Suspended four hundred yards from a very unpleasant death, he waited until the harsh winds clawing at the face of Mount Ryad subsided to a low howl before glancing over the edge to look, disbelieving, at the sight below him.
Specks of ash and soot floated into his face as he watched the impossible take place in front of him. The ancient city - no the indestructable city - the seat of all learning, all power, and the legacy of all his ancestors had somehow fallen. Es Eoh'den, his home, was burning.
Forcing himself to watch for a short while longer, Lorn finally tore his gaze away. Realizing the danger he was in, he steeled himself and turned back to the sheer cliff face. He had to keep going. He had to find his way up. There had got to be a way...
Lorn finally found another handhold and began pressing upwards once more.
~*~*~
After intermittently climbing and struggling for three hours up the unforgiving cliffs he finally discovered a long mountain goat trail that, while not easy, was at least safer than scrambling blindly up unknown rock faces. Lorn spent that night in a small cave previously inhabited by some sort of dangerous mountain predator. Luckily this den had been long abandoned by the time he stumbled upon it half dead in exhaustion.
When he awoke it was still dark. Lorn pulled his aching body out of the cave. He was not used to hiking but he figured that dark was the best time to avoid notice, and he had to continue. The wind picked up again, pushing him into the stone wall and filling the air with the smell of burning wood and specks of ash. Looking back once again at the burning city behind him, it was so easy to imagine that the streams of smoke rising up into the air were simply just the daily output of chimneys, hearths and stoves as people went about their everyday activities, not the ruined, burning wrecks of houses, shops and livelihoods.
Shaking his head in resignation, Lorn gritted his teeth and moved forward, but not before a single tear escaped, streaking down his sootstained face. Wiping it away furiously, he cursed under his breath.
"Bloody wind and ashes."
Just then, a brilliant flash of light lanced out from the spot that Lorn had been staring at. Sitting down hard Lorn gulped as a sickening mixture of fear and forlorn hope raced through him. There's still one left. There's still hope! Maybe he'll live. Maybe he'll...
Lorn slapped himself to rid himself of his foolish thoughts. He should not entertain false hope. There was no way that even one Wielder would be able to survive with the whole city overrun. He had to focus on his objective.
"Should the day come that the city be overcome, make your way immediately to the well of fathers. You will receive guidance there."
Lorn remembered his father's words spoken so long ago it seemed beneath the latticed ceiling of the Grand Atrium. Those were better times.
Lorn's father was a wise and sanguine man, a true scholar and a Do'lon of considerable power. As King of Ryad though, Lorn had sometimes thought his father had been too philosophical and too far removed from the world of everyday affairs. A fault perhaps, but there was no denying his fierce love for his people. Even to the end when he fell, pierced through the heart by a Shnari blade, he was in the middle of it all laying down his life.
Lorn could only hope to one day be as great a man as he, no less a king. But now he wasn't even sure if he'd even have a kingdom to return to, much less rule. For now he'd just have to settle with being a man...
Pulling the cloak of his disguise closer, the Prince of Ryad climbed higher into the cold of the mountains. He'd be back. This battle may be lost but the war was not over. Not a chance.
Thanks to Zach Yost for help with edits | | |
| While I haven't updated this blog since the beginning of last semester I don't think that I'll try try and summarize everything that has developed since then. Suffice it to say that last semester ended up being a rather difficult one academically and yet a very interesting one in a lot of other respects. Socially I have expanded to get to know more of the greek life people and people on Amy's floor, Physically I obtained my yellow belt (7th gup, which is the higher of the two ranks I could obtain), I took Amy clubbing for the first time on her birthday, musically, we had a wonderful performance program in chamber singers at the end of the semester, video games wise I've become obsessed with Dragon age and Assasins creed.
This semester I'm taking a lighter load academically: American Political Thought, History of the Modern Conservative Movement, and Chinese Politics. I'm also still taking Chamber singers and Shotokan Karate. Recently I've taken up Kyokushin Karate as well which is an extremely intense, full contact sparring emphasized art. Preparations for a Spain Portugal tour with Chamber Singers are well under way. I'm preparing to graduate this summer and my parents are planning a big celebratory vacation to the Philippines sometime in August.
The poem below is one I wrote at the end of last semester and describes a mental struggle that I see all to often in myself and in many around me and was a particular challenge to me through the second half of last semester.
A State of Mind
An apathy, a strong desire
To lack desire at all
Like insects drawn towards a flame
Entranced they flit and fall
Complacent, tranquilized by warmth
Distracted by the light
They drift into deceptive doom
By pleasure's venom bite
It sucks the rivers dry of blood
It dreams a moonlit day
A mal intent of no intent
It takes all cares away
A way it seems to just forget
A strong sedative pill
But cares have not forgotten them
In secret hunt them still
In ennui they call their name
But back to bliss they turn
In feigned forgetfulness they hide
And slowly dying burn
Pace Amici
~J.I.
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