![Sword in the Stone [For Honor] @omagosh](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/oiMmOFouXKM/maxresdefault.jpg)
Uploaded September 2022 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago
-- A FIRE WITHIN -- After years of searching for his Love, the Old Man felt like it was not a search but rather exile. He no longer felt that seething flame when his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his Claymore. The metal weighed more somehow. He looked up to the sky. He wanted to see the peace in her eyes again, as one evening the moon shone bright in the water of a deep well, and he thought he saw her looking up at him.
Somewhere, not that far off, sleek feathers of raven wings were bent and still in a tree. A chill went through the Old Man’s faded bones. A shot of lightning pierced the sardonic air.
Had the Banshee called upon one of his loved ones to carry them away, he wondered. If the night was telling him his wife was no more, he refused to give in.
In the cave he heard the drip drip of cold water sliding down the part of the cave that grows down into spikes. He could sense that the first snow of the season was upon him. He needed to warm himself. At first, he attempted to call upon the memories of his wife. It did not work. He could not see her face. But they had a bond that could not be broken, so he built a fire.
To build a fire is a ritual that we all must do at least once in our lives, he thought, but the Old Man had built many fires and none of them had warmed him the way the fire at home had, many many years ago. There are some feelings that a fire may only offer once in a lifetime. The idea is to try and carry the feeling from that fire onto your next fire.
Then the Old Man went out hunting, but he needed to feel the creature calling him. He licked the tip of his finger, raised it up to the wind, felt the wind’s compass on his fingertip, pointing due North. The Old Man heard the wind whisper her name, but it could have been the trees. It didn’t matter — he set out in that direction. When he stepped forward, the fire dissipated behind him, and even the smoky incense from the fire followed him at first, wrapping around his body like a ghost shield, and then letting go of him, like a traveler’s blessing.
If you feel True North on your fingers, you must follow it, he said to himself. That is the direction of the Goddess of the Hunt, and either you will find what you are looking for, or else it will find you.
***
The chapter from the Old Man's story is for those who missed it the first time around. If you're new here, this channel is largely inspired by the people who write in the comments. Check the end of the video for the writing prompt or do your own thing. Like other peoples writing and if you see someone new here, welcome them. Write something for the prompt and I may pin your poem or story for a time for everyone to see. Write only what you are comfortable with sharing, as at least a few thousand people will read what you write.
Sub sub bell bell, but moreover, be kind, here, in your gaming, and especially out there — in all our shared lives.
-- A FIRE WITHIN -- After years of searching for his Love, the Old Man felt like it was not a search but rather exile. He no longer felt that seething flame when his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his Claymore. The metal weighed more somehow. He looked up to the sky. He wanted to see the peace in her eyes again, as one evening the moon shone bright in the water of a deep well, and he thought he saw her looking up at him.
Somewhere, not that far off, sleek feathers of raven wings were bent and still in a tree. A chill went through the Old Man’s faded bones. A shot of lightning pierced the sardonic air.
Had the Banshee called upon one of his loved ones to carry them away, he wondered. If the night was telling him his wife was no more, he refused to give in.
In the cave he heard the drip drip of cold water sliding down the part of the cave that grows down into spikes. He could sense that the first snow of the season was upon him. He needed to warm himself. At first, he attempted to call upon the memories of his wife. It did not work. He could not see her face. But they had a bond that could not be broken, so he built a fire.
To build a fire is a ritual that we all must do at least once in our lives, he thought, but the Old Man had built many fires and none of them had warmed him the way the fire at home had, many many years ago. There are some feelings that a fire may only offer once in a lifetime. The idea is to try and carry the feeling from that fire onto your next fire.
Then the Old Man went out hunting, but he needed to feel the creature calling him. He licked the tip of his finger, raised it up to the wind, felt the wind’s compass on his fingertip, pointing due North. The Old Man heard the wind whisper her name, but it could have been the trees. It didn’t matter — he set out in that direction. When he stepped forward, the fire dissipated behind him, and even the smoky incense from the fire followed him at first, wrapping around his body like a ghost shield, and then letting go of him, like a traveler’s blessing.
If you feel True North on your fingers, you must follow it, he said to himself. That is the direction of the Goddess of the Hunt, and either you will find what you are looking for, or else it will find you.
***
The chapter from the Old Man's story is for those who missed it the first time around. If you're new here, this channel is largely inspired by the people who write in the comments. Check the end of the video for the writing prompt or do your own thing. Like other peoples writing and if you see someone new here, welcome them. Write something for the prompt and I may pin your poem or story for a time for everyone to see. Write only what you are comfortable with sharing, as at least a few thousand people will read what you write.
Sub sub bell bell, but moreover, be kind, here, in your gaming, and especially out there — in all our shared lives.
![Sword in the Stone [For Honor]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/oiMmOFouXKM/mqdefault.jpg "Sword in the Stone [For Honor]
A FIRE WITHIN After years of searching for his Love, the Old Man felt like it was not a search but rather exile. He no longer felt that seething flame when his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his Claymore. The metal weighed more somehow. He looked up to the sky. He wanted to see the peace in her eyes again, as one evening the moon shone bright in the water of a deep well, and he thought he saw her looking up at him.
Somewhere, not that far off, sleek feathers of raven wings were bent and still in a tree. A chill went through the Old Man’s faded bones. A shot of lightning pierced the sardonic air.
Had the Banshee called upon one of his loved ones to carry them away, he wondered. If the night was telling him his wife was no more, he refused to give in.
In the cave he heard the drip drip of cold water sliding down the part of the cave that grows down into spikes. He could sense that the first snow of the season was upon him. He needed to warm himself. At first, he attempted to call upon the memories of his wife. It did not work. He could not see her face. But they had a bond that could not be broken, so he built a fire.
To build a fire is a ritual that we all must do at least once in our lives, he thought, but the Old Man had built many fires and none of them had warmed him the way the fire at home had, many many years ago. There are some feelings that a fire may only offer once in a lifetime. The idea is to try and carry the feeling from that fire onto your next fire.
Then the Old Man went out hunting, but he needed to feel the creature calling him. He licked the tip of his finger, raised it up to the wind, felt the wind’s compass on his fingertip, pointing due North. The Old Man heard the wind whisper her name, but it could have been the trees. It didn’t matter — he set out in that direction. When he stepped forward, the fire dissipated behind him, and even the smoky incense from the fire followed him at first, wrapping around his body like a ghost shield, and then letting go of him, like a traveler’s blessing.
If you feel True North on your fingers, you must follow it, he said to himself. That is the direction of the Goddess of the Hunt, and either you will find what you are looking for, or else it will find you.
***
The chapter from the Old Mans story is for those who missed it the first time around. If youre new here, this channel is largely inspired by the people who write in the comments. Check the end of the video for the writing prompt or do your own thing. Like other peoples writing and if you see someone new here, welcome them. Write something for the prompt and I may pin your poem or story for a time for everyone to see. Write only what you are comfortable with sharing, as at least a few thousand people will read what you write.
Sub sub bell bell, but moreover, be kind, here, in your gaming, and especially out there — in all our shared lives.")
![Highlanders 2 Stances Are 1 — Old Man Aengus [For Honor]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/q3qVCrUCUKE/mqdefault.jpg "Highlanders 2 Stances Are 1 — Old Man Aengus [For Honor]
Writing Prompt: Respawn
Hey everyone, I only recently had a chance to play a handful of hours with HL, but what fun it is, given his new dodge attack. You up-and-coming Highlanders and other content creators whom I support in other games, I just want to let you know: I may not always have time to leave comments or catch your live streams, but I make the rounds and leave likes for all of you. Thank you especially to those of you who actually mention this channel in your discords and streams and reddit etc.
The poem I feature at the end of this video is one of best yet from this community. I guarantee if you re-read the poem, its meanings continue growing. I believe great writing is meant to do this. It somehow keeps opening doors into different ways of seeing.
Please leave poems/stories/real-life adventures of your own as well. I also highly encourage you to comment on and thumbs up other peoples poems/stories/journaling.
And in case you missed this writing of mine the first time around, here is a chapter I wrote some time ago :
One and the Same – The old man remembered back when he was a very young lad, hunting with his father one day. His father was the best fighter in all the village and had slain more Romans and rival Celts than any other man.“Father, asked the boy, if I plant an Oak, will I become strong? And if I treat my horses well, will I be swift? These were sayings around their town, and the boy was merely repeating what he’d heard.
His father stopped them from walking just as the mouth of the river could be seen through the trees. The boy heard the sound of the water going over the pebbles in the bend. His father looked up at the sun through some leaves and wiped sweat from his forehead. He tugged at the thick white braid in his beard. “Those are very good things to do,” he said, “but they will not make you strong and swift on their own. They are one in the same: strength and swiftness.”
The boy was holding a small rock he’d picked up because he liked the feel of it in his hand. When he heard what his father said he squatted down and started to make a circle in the dirt with the rock.
“If you can catch an animal with your bare hands, and build a fire anywhere, if you can remember the stories told to you, and then recite them to others, that’s a start,” said his father.
“How will that help me learn to fight?”
His father ignored his question and said, “The more you understand yourself, the better you understand the world. You should listen more than you speak.”
And to this the young boy said nothing.
“Then, if you truly know yourself, you will never rely on worldly things, and you’ll be able to fight blindfolded.”
Had the boy not followed his father’s advice, he never would have met his wife, who was from a town on the other side of that same river. When he met her, some years later, she was the most striking woman he’d ever seen, and also, being the daughter of a great known hero, he enjoyed listening to her talk about a great manner of things. Therefore he picked one violet and one white flower, and gave them to her one day.
And therefore she twisted their stems together and did, indeed, wear them in her hair.
If youre new here, this channel is largely inspired by the people who write in the comments. Theres a writing prompt at the end of some videos. If YOU write something for the prompt I may pin your poem or story for a time, or put it in a video for everyone to see. You can write from the prompt but you can also just ignore the damn prompt and write from the heart, from the place where you are at in this moment. Write only what you are comfortable sharing, as (at least) a few thousand people could read it.
As always, be kind, not only here and in your gaming, but especially out there, in all our shared lives.")
![How to Warlord Pt 5 [For Honor]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/rEXwDNT_WgQ/mqdefault.jpg "How to Warlord Pt 5 [For Honor]
Warlords heavy after full-block doesnt work consistently. But I cant stop playing Warlord. Full-block can be used in a rhythmic, stop-and-go style for baiting and counter-attacks. His hard feint into headbutt is underused. Most of all, he has great crushing counters and can trade with the best of them. Looking forward to his buff thats coming soon. Support the community, including competitive players and others who are helping the devs further balance the game.
Writing Prompt:
What does your life look like 5 years from now?
song: https://youtu.be/SFxxL0B5Xao
If youre new here, this channel is largely inspired by the people who write in the comments. There are original stories and poems found in videos and descriptions on this channel - but you will also find talented, aspiring (and inspiring) writers in the comments sections here. Sometimes these will be featured in future videos as well.
Write something for the prompt and I may pin your poem or story for a time for everyone to see. Write only what you are comfortable with sharing, as at least a few thousand people may read your work. Hit the notification bell if you’d like to know when the next one arrives. As always, be kind, not only here and in your gaming, but especially out there, in all our shared lives.")
![Old Man Considers Real vs Imagined Fights [For Honor]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/sUpyTmUNz_E/mqdefault.jpg "Old Man Considers Real vs Imagined Fights [For Honor]
If youre new to the channel, welcome! There are original stories and poems found in videos and descriptions on this channel - but you will also find talented, aspiring (and inspiring) writers in the comments sections here.
Write something for the prompt and I may pin your poem or story for a time for everyone to see.
By all means share this channel with people who may not play video-games, but just enjoy writing or history. Hit the notification bell if you’d like to know when the next one arrives. As always, be kind, not only here and in your gaming, but especially out there, in all our shared lives.")
![Hitokiri No, Warlord Yes [For Honor]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/suvOvoldvHA/mqdefault.jpg "Hitokiri No, Warlord Yes [For Honor]
The warlord clip is not by accident - I wanted that bop!
If youre new here, this channel is largely inspired by the people who write in the comments.
There are original stories and poems found in videos and descriptions on this channel - but you will also find talented, aspiring (and inspiring) writers in the comments sections here.
Write something for the prompt and I may pin your poem or story for a time for everyone to see. Write only what you are comfortable with sharing, as at least a few thousand people may read your work!
Hit the notification bell if you’d like to know when the next one arrives. As always, be kind, not only here and in your gaming, but especially out there, in all our shared lives.")
![once blinded by blood (feat. Hound of Tara) [For Honor]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/tpLvkuZzTYo/mqdefault.jpg "once blinded by blood (feat. Hound of Tara) [For Honor]
MESSENGER BECOMES MESSAGE – By the time she reached the Old Man his mind had long been in a frenzy, his flesh hung on his skeleton as though he hadn’t eaten in days, and his eyes were serpent tongues. Despite being battered by age he was strong as oak and stuck in a sick trance for battle. The hooded messenger had no choice but to defend herself. She never committed her dagger to critical points in the Old Mans body, and the fight left them both unconscious.
She woke first and having been trained in medicine by her father she went to the Old Man, knelt down and felt his pulse. He breathed heavily. But his breath was slow and ragged. She took out a pouch and opened an elixir – a secret family recipe handed down to her by her father. She opened his lips and poured the elixir down his throat to stimulate blood flow and oxygen. He slept for a while.
When he woke up his vision was blurry but he saw a fire had been made and he smelled food cooking. There was a near-full bladder of clean water beside him. The small woman wearing the hood, whom he’d fought moments before, sat by the fire, slowly turning a skinned rabbit in the flames using a branch.
The Old Man’s first instinct was to grab his sword but he was overcome by a strange sense of calm. He saw she had left his Claymore right by his side. He saw she was unarmed. The hooded woman exuded peace.
She got up and walked to him and handed over the rabbit. The Old Man took it and ate. She then spoke to him in broken Scots-Gaelic. “First,” she said, “you listen. Yours is not my native language. Please listen to my words. Eat more. Drink water. Rest. I am not your enemy. I cleaned blood from your eyes. Soon, the water will turn to ice, and the cold will set in. I must be on my way. You will never see me again. If you ever see someone who looks like me, you will know they are not me. I traveled a long way to bring you a message from a woman – a wise elder – who was captured heading north on a road 200 miles east of this mountain range. I saw her over a year ago. I have been searching for you for a long time.” And with that she unrolled the parchment and handed it to the Old Man.
There he saw the language of his people, written in a familiar hand. When he looked up to question the hooded woman further there was no moon. Smoke blew around him. Owls in the nearby trees were quiet. And the dried blood did not sting his eyes at all as he sat in silence reading the words his wife had written to him.
I know the showdown with the old man is not the best PK footage ever (its was my second day of using her - hence she still had the mask at that time). Even though I didnt know PKs moveset, or max-punishes at the time I still think the fight was good for the story and I hope you feel the same way.
Also, go leave a message on Hound of Taras channel and sub if you havent already: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCdKIsRQspULuWQpIKYmN9Rg
Hit the notification bell if you’d like to know when the next one arrives. As always, be kind, not only here and in your gaming, but especially out there, in all our shared lives.")
![Old Man Swears Off Salt, Cites Blood Pressure (Read Description) [For Honor]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/vF_fZXggKj0/mqdefault.jpg "Old Man Swears Off Salt, Cites Blood Pressure (Read Description) [For Honor]
WHAT I UNDERSTAND...My heart is a breathing stone. If carved by an artist, its once-statue eyes actually open. My heart can be lifted or thrown. My heart can build walls. These walls can be torn down. Also, when great pressure is applied – hold it together, damnit – my heart becomes clear, gem-like – then I would offer it to anyone, anyone in need.
By all means feel free to share the descriptions with people who may not play For Honor (or video-games). I do appreciate the likes and subs, and also comments regarding the descriptions as well. Also, hit the notification bell if youd like to see whats next.
As always: No being mean towards anyone in these videos or in the comments on this channel. Keep it clean, and be kind, not only here and in your gaming, but especially out there, in all our shared lives.
Songs: Tom Waits, Black Rider; Devo, Whip It; As One, In the Arms of You")
