Gamestar Forum

It's the chime of time,
It's no crime!
I'd pay a dime,
To see you rhyme!

Covered in slime?
No, I want it prime,
A dime from Jotunheim.

The food is grime,
So take a lime,
Give it to a mime,
And get a dime.

https://www.wattpad.com/

You will; it will exist elsewhere.

Bob

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune--I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.

You road I enter upon and look around! I believe you are not all that is here;
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Voices...Who's?

Poems by
Robert Frost
Walt Whitman

Peter, Years ago

Carthage, the only place where merchants as well as mercenaries and cutthroats didn't have to keep an eye on the people around them. It was a safe haven. It was the place to turn to if you had large amounts of gold and a problem that could be solved by violence. One could hire whole armies or fleets, once again, for the right price. Everything could be bought here as its inhabitants were mostly people with an unending desire for gold and the complete lack of morals.

The innkeeper's call had been promising enough for Ham and Pam to wait. A day passed and still these inhabitants of the upper room remained unseen. Food and drink was brought to them and paid for so handsomely, no one asked any questions.

The following day the storm was but a gathering of dark clouds disappearing towards the White Mountains. Their doors finally opened. Ham walked down the staircase to find a room full of eyes watching patiently.

“Old man!” A man in the back stood up, “We have waited. The storm is gone and you'd better make sure our time here wasn't wasted!”

“Middle aged man.” He answered calmly, “Get out of this inn or I will offer a temptingly large amount of coins to the one that dislodges your head the fastest.”

The man looked as several hands moved to their respective owner's weapons. Without a word he left, casting a last glance at the first man in almost twenty years to dare threaten him.

“Now, with that out of the way.” Still as calm Ham gestured for the remaining ones to form a line.

“These are the most respectable warriors and mages, the hireable ones that is, that you'll find.” The innkeeper Luther walked up next to him, “Not even I know which one to recommend, they are all worthy any amount of gold you choose to pay them.”

“How about the tall one?” Ham inquired.

“Ah! You have a good eye. He is a famed warrior from the far eastern highlands, the blood run strong in him for his father too was a great warrior. He even...”

“Peter?” Ham exclaimed, baffled.

“Tatsuhiro? My mentor?” Peter answered and went down on one knee.

Luther stood dumbfounded. “You...” He began, “You know him?”

“Yes, I became his guardian, sort of.” Ham explained, if Ham was even his name.

“I will go with you, asking nothing in return.” The offer came without Peter looking up, “I, Peter, will protect you with my life. I owe you at least that, my mentor.”

Peter, Years ago

The door opened, letting the storm spray the room with rain, leaves and anything else it could carry. The lightning cast a large shadow into the room and one not so large. Their owners, Ham and Pam, stepped into a well filled room.

“Close the door already!” An angry fat man shouted, “If you were the ones to clean it up every time someone opens the door you'd understand why!”

The two remained calm, took a step forward and closed the door.

“You must be the innkeeper.” Ham walked up to him and extended his hand to greet him.

“And you must be new here. But yes, I am indeed the innkeeper, Luther is the name. What do you want?” Ham's hand was not met. “Why would anyone in a storm like the present one enter an inn like this one?”

Smiling Ham looked up at Luther, for he was indeed the owner of the shorter shadow, “We simply want a room for the night.” He held up a well filled pouch and Luther's face lit up.

“Well you do know the way to my heart, and now that you mention it we do have available rooms for you and your...”

“Associate.”

“I am no one to ask questions, your business is yours alone.”

“We would also like to meet potential swordsmen to come with us westwards when this storm has passed.”

“I see. I will bring the best we can offer.”

Ham and Pam were led upstairs to a room fit for their gold, the room with the least amount of filth. Luther left, gold in hand, to send word to every swordsman. During the night and the following morning several answered this call, never before had this inn's atmosphere been as tense as then. Fourteen men and three women, a group surely capable of taking down armies if enough gold was on the line. Every single one ready to kill the person in front of them, if the right price was paid.

Minotaur Mines could only be redeemed at a Christmas. If you did you can go, if not you can't. Yet if you go to someone's location you can go.

Peter, Years ago

Some of the villagers took a step backwards, some unsheathed their swords and daggers. The old man whispered a word, Peter couldn't hear it but there was something sinister about it that sent chills down his spine. But as he said it a green flame rose in his hand. By now everyone took out any weapon they had on them, axes, clubs, pitchforks and bows. They also had now surrounded the group.

“Who are you?” One of the men shouted at him.

“Knowing my name will not make you live any longer if you stand in my way.” He answered calmly.

The villagers backed away a little.

“Peter, do these people mean anything to you?” The old man had turned to Peter again, still with the flame in his palm.

With the death of his mother the last bond with the village withered with her. Peter's mind was still blank. Seeing his mother die by his own hand made him unable to focus on the world around him.

Peter shook his head.

The old man turned his hand and the flame fell upon the ground. As soon as it touched the ground it grew to reach as high as a tree, and from it a circle of thin flame grew and expanded. The people of the village dashed away from the pursuing flames as it consumed the village, all but one circle where Peter and the hooded men stood.

None of them knew how much time passed when the old man vanquished the fire. Everything around them was destroyed.

“This is what we are.” The old man said to Peter. “We were born with magic. Now, will you let it ruin your life or will you take control over it?”

Peter stood silent for a while. “Because of magic, I have only seen death around me!”

“Hate and anger awakens the murder in you, this works the opposite way too. But you only assault the living in anger, you never embrace the dead in joy.”

Peter was about to answer but he stopped. He understood that the old man was correct in his statement. He had only killed out of anger. He knew there wasn't even once that he had been happy about it. When Albert was killed he felt joy inside, but not happiness, it was the sweet taste of revenge.

Now it all was silent again. The only villagers who were still to be seen around them lie lifeless on the ground, as if drowned in their own blood.

“Night will soon be here. Let us continue our journey before it gets dark.” The old man once again put his arm over Peter's shoulder and led him ever further away from the village.

“What is your name? Who is my mentor?” Peter asked after a short moment of walking.

The old man was a bit surprised by being called mentor this early on. “I am Tatsuhiro.” He answered with a smile, looking at his young disciple.

“Thank you, Tatsuhiro.” Peter said silently.

As they walked the sky faded to a blood red sunset which soon gave way to the dark veil of night. The setting sun was only seen as a thin red line by the horizon and Border disappeared in the darkness behind them. The living sounds of the day faded to be replaced with the whispers of the night, dominated by the rapids of Cold Creek. The moon rose as they walked over the plains. The same plains Peter had only seen from the hill by the village, the hill where he had committed his first murder. Albert's now cold corpse rested in the dry leaves, robbed of its life.