Just one chance. hopefully.

A little gambit.

That didn't really work.

2-7 off suits.

There are times in poker where you get a 2-7 off suit, yet you flop a pair of deuces and an ace on the table. Then you think, damn that's a great flop. And you think of doing all sorts of gambits and bets, and gambles to maximise your winnings.

But then you hold back those chips, you breathe in, and instead, you do the finger tap.

Check.

Action on you.

(And you hope no one is holding pocket aces)

I kinda fear you find this place,
I fear you perhaps won't hang out with me anymore.

I kinda want you to find this place,

So you know perhaps what i want to say.

Intoxication of a different sort.

Inspirational

Let me tell you something you already know.

The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows.

It's a very mean and nasty place and I don't care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it.

You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life.

But it ain't about how hard ya hit.

It's about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward.

How much you can take and keep moving forward.

That's how winning is done!

Now if you know what you're worth then go out and get what you're worth.

But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody!
Cowards do that and that ain't you!
You're better than that!

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And of course, the question now is,

Have i found another you.

Cowardice

And the last we heard of him, was yet again nothing.

Let us move back a little in time, for hindsight, is perfect, and perhaps stories should be. So back at where we last left our hero. Betrayed by his sword, and cut by his own blade, our hero was back to where he first began, without a sword and without a name of his own. Troubled by his past and pessimistic of the future, the hero travelled across the great ocean, 'to find his name again', as the local bard will say. Others yet will say, he is running from this land too familiar to him, too many bad memories some would say.

But to this new land he went, alone, and unarmed. But people here did not welcome him as the barbarian, he was the barbarian no more in his polished steel, his earthly wisdom, and his new-found charisma. The only person the barbarian did not find comfortable with is perhaps himself. Underneath the greetings and politeness he knows that the barbarian still hides somewhere, between the cracks on the floor, and above the ceiling boards.

Into recluse our hero went. He had a few friends, with whom he would gather sometimes to feast and to dine. He had a few needs, provided for by the new rich land beyond his requirements without end. He had even fewer wants, still wounded by his brush in the past. He was healing, some would argue he has healed, but we all know an injured arm will never be as good as the uninjured one.

But then one day, our hero decides to take a walk in the forest around his home to just have a look around. What harm would it cause you may ask. And truth be told, no harm came about. In fact, something a little wondrous happened.

There in the forest, in a little clearing, lies a sword emitting an eerie glow, not unlike his original sword. And though the sword did not call for him like it did last time, It was a really beautiful sword. And in the barbarian rose a little feeling. 'How nice it would be to hold a sword again', he asked himself in his head. He crept closer to the sword. It shone brighter to him. He knows that perhaps this is the sword for him.

So, we all know what happens after this.

But no. Instead of picking up the sword. The barbarian walks away, in cowardice.

He is still no knight after all.