Shining Tears X Wind
Back when Soul Link came out, there must have been a lot of outraged fantasy anime fans. Why should they feel left out when sci-fi fans could parttake in a tale of total incomprehensibility, lovingly adorned with tepid, generic characters reciting lines that makes a grown man (or woman) cry? Why should they be alone in experiencing stale character art and cheap animation? Why, why, why?Well, do not despair, fantasy fans, because Shining Tears x Wind is here to answer your prayers.Those of you who are familiar with the PS2 games this show is based on will probably recognize the characters as being based on art by game CG artist Tony Taka. And while I do admit that the game artwork is pretty nice for the most part, it does not translate well to anime. But don't take my word for it; let's go meet the main character.Holy crap, it's Marilyn Manson!Ok, not really, but you're going to have to get used to this one, as it appears in every single opening animation, accompanied by a truly atrocious opening theme; a poppish soft-rock tune which represents what in my opinion is the worst thing Japan has ever unleashed upon the world as far as music goes. It's a soul-draining mockery beating out OP songs where people sing off-key and the music is generically dance-ish garbage.The show might not even feel all that bad the first five to ten minutes, but the setup is rather blatant. It starts out with the student council discussing the disappearance of fellow students at the same time as one of the members brings along a book which mentions vague facts about a parallell world of sorts.DURRH I WUNDER IF DIS WILL COM BACK TO HAUNT THEM LATUR IN TEH EPISOUDE?!Indeed, later on, the school is assaulted by a wolfman -- yes, a wolfman. Not to worry, though, because a girl in a leotard and a woolen cap she doesn't really need enters the scene to do battle with him. With the help of Souma and Kureha, the wolfman is defeated, but not without him conveniently uncovering the girl's head, unveiling a pair of cat ears, which somehow really makes Souma and Kureha do a double take. YOU FOUGHT A WOLFMAN JUST SECONDS AGO, YOU NIMRODS!Anyway, as I'm sure you've all guessed, the catgirl's relic for getting back to her world takes a hit, which eventually causes Souma and Kureha to be transported to this new world as well. There, they are attacked by some level 1 goblins and level 2 demons/gargoyles, and Souma nearly gets his ass handed to him. However, thanks to him accidentally figuring out that Kureha has a hidden sword in her chest, they make short work of the adversaries. And no, this is not a boob thing. The whole thing is accompanied by some semi-halfassed magical effects, and you'll later learn that just about all the girls (and some of the guys) have swords hidden in their chest. Which means what? That this world is inhabited by walking sword hilts, most of them with boobs?Enough digressions, I think. After the two defeat the monsters, they head off to search for a city or at least someone, to find out what's going on. They eventually end up in a rather large town, where they meet up with this fellow...If you immediately think "villain" when you see this guy, then congratulations; You have just passed the idiot test. Now, I know you shouldn't judge someone by the way they look and/or behave -- in fact, I love it when people are made to obviously be heroes or villains, then later shown to be the exact opposite -- but this is apparently a lesson the creators of Shining Tears x Wind haven't learned yet. At least not in a way that makes any sense.Either way, Souma and Kureha sees NO PROBLEMS WHATSOEVER in trusting the fellow, even if he's asking them to go kill off someone. (Souma, mind you, being the guy who would later say that "it's better to be an idiot." In all fairness, he said it was better to be naive than never trusting anyone, but even so...) So Souma and Kureha run off, and in a TOTAL SHOCK TWIST, they meet their friends there, who are fighting for the opposing team. Being emo teenagers, though, they of course have to duel with soul blades. Some more random crap happens, and the fox-dude is quickly revealed to be a villain, so I guess he's not one of the major ones. For the record, I'm not one of the people who demand originality in everything I watch. if it's well written enough, I can deal with random cliche's and the anime having that "old-school" feel. Many shows, however, have a nasty habit of thinking "originality = lots of random plot twists", and Shining Tears x Wind is certainly no exception. I can hardly accuse it for being slow paced or anything, but the completely random nature of the show itself is nothing but aggravating, especially in light of the story irregularities. Case in point; Souma test his "worthiness" of being a Soul Blader and for being worthy of Kureha's love (whom he has a crush on.) He quickly gives up and heads off into a wind-swept desert area, where he eventually collapses from dehydration and exhaustion. Then, he suddenly just arrives at the tower where Kiriya and his gang are doing a rescue mission. WHO SAVED HIM? HOW THE HELL DID HE GET THERE? Get used to asking questions from this show, that's all I have to say.Later plot twists seems to include a third classmate ending up among the dark elves, where he dons nazi regalia, renames himself "Trihart" and plans to rescue the world by basically beating them into submission and taking control. Souma, on the other hand, is chosen by a guy named Zero, who has one white and one black wing and has a dark past
Shining Tears X Wind
Behind it rose the great height of Ben Grief, with his gaunt face gashedhere by glowering groups of conifers, there by burns that ran down tothe River Nagar like tears down a wrinkled old face. Marcella had readin poetry books about burns that sang and laughing waters that clatteredto the sea for all the world like happy children running home fromschool. But the waters on Ben Grief neither laughed nor sang. Sometimesthey ran violently, as though Ben Grief were in a rage of passionateweeping; sometimes they went sullenly as though he sulked.
It was upon Ben Grief that Marcella looked when she went to bed at nightand when she wakened in the morning in her little stark room at the backof the house. There was another window in the room from which she couldhave seen the sea, but Aunt Janet had had a great mahogany wardrobeplaced right across it, and only the sound of the sea, creepingsometimes, lashing most often, came to her as she lay in bed, remindingher that the sea was there all the time.
Overcome by the pathos of the little hopeful tree, Marcella carriedbaskets of soil from the farm and pots of water to lay them round aboutit. She planted stakes round it to keep off the force of the wind. Butthat year the flowering bore no fruit. And Wullie smiled at her attemptsto help the tree.
It was in this way that Marcella got her education. Most of the timeWullie talked above her head save when he told her of the habits ofanimals and plants, of the winds and the seasons. Her mother, before shewas too ill, had taught her to read and that was all. Even her mother,drawn in upon herself with pain, talked above her head most of the time,too. The girl turned herself loose in the big room at the farm wherebooks were stored and there she spent days on end when the weather wastoo wild to be braved. It was a queer collection of books. All Scott'snovels were there; she found in them an enchanted land. She lived them,she fed on them. She never read herself into the woman's part in them.Only Jeannie Deans really met her requirements as a "part" and she leftmuch to be desired in the way of romance and beauty. Most often she wasyoung Lochinvar or Rob Roy; sometimes Coeur de Lion led her onfull-blooded adventure. There were quaint old books of Norse and Kelticlegend, musty, leather-bound books with wood-cut illustrations and long"s's" in the printing. There was Fox's Book of Martyrs: there were manytales of the Covenanters, things hard, austere and chill.
One dreadful day they squealed all the time while Marcella's littleEnglish mother lay on her couch in the window that looked overLashnagar, and cried. She had lain on this couch for nearly two yearsnow, whiter and thinner every day. Marcella adored her and used to kissher white, transparent hands, and call her by the names of queens andgoddesses in the legends she had read, trying to stretch her own tenyears of experience to match her mother's thirty-five so that she couldbe her friend. And this day when Rose Lashcairn cried because the beastswere crying with hunger and there was no food for them, Marcella thoughtof Jeannie Deans and Coeur de Lion and Sir Galahad. Buckling on herarmour in the shape of an old coat made of the family plaid, and a Tamo' Shanter, she went out to do battle for the helpless creatures whowere hungry, and stop her mother's tears.
There were letters, smelling of the lavender and rue that lay amongthem. They were tied in little bundles with lavender ribbons. There werelittle thin books of poetry, a few pressed flowers, a few ribbons thathad decked Baby Marcella, a tiny shirt of hers, a little shoe, aConfirmation book. All these they threw into the fire, and read some bigcrackling papers with seals and stamps upon them. Then Marcella creptaway along the passages through which the wind whistled while the rats,hungry as everything else about Lashnagar, scuttled behind thewainscotings.
Things were going a little better at the farm because of RoseLashcairn's money: more cows came, and sacks of meal and cornreplenished the empty coffers in the granary. Marcella still dividedher time when she could between the book-room, Lashnagar and Wullie'ssmoking-hut; but every morning Andrew Lashcairn tore her out of bed atfive o'clock and went with her through snows and frosts, and, later,through the fresh spring mornings to teach her to swim in the wildbreakers of the North Sea. Many a girl would have died; Marcella provedherself more a child of the Lashcairns than of her little English motherby living and thriving on it. Her father sent her to work in the fieldswith the men, but forbade her to speak to any of the village women whoworked there, telling her to remember that her folks were kings whentheirs were slaves. One night, when the snow drifted in from Lashnagaron to her bed, she closed her window, and he, with a half return of theold fury, pushed it out, window-frame and all. Ever after that Marcellaslept in a cave of winds. It never occurred to her to rebel against herfather. She accepted the things done to her body with complete docility.Over the things that happened to her mind her father could have nocontrol. 041b061a72