Hubris of the highest order and destined never to be finished but, meh. You gotta start somewhere and the beginning is as good a place as any.
Con, if this ruins my life and marriage you owe me big time, sista.
Forth there strode our hero Piro, forth upon the road to E3
searching for the greatest games and greatest gamers known to man.
In the hallowed halls he found the first of clues, the shadow lightly
lay upon his heart that day.
Striding with him, bold companion, Largo of the Iron Wrist
Power was his to reach and conquer all who came before him, boldly,
and he fought the whole day long - he slaughtered all, the fierce, the skillful:
did not think the dead too many.
Celebrations for his vict'ry: many ales and brews he quaffed
until unmanned by unaccustomed drink and labour he became
divested of his senses and his clothes and hanging from a light
great shame upon them both he wrought.
Fled the pair from friendly shores and literally took to flight,
their longest journey yet. And so a comrade on the way they aided:
A warrior bold, a knight of L33t yet sorely wounded - in his heart,
Stricken nigh unto death was he!
Fearlessly they succour offered, in his outlandish tongue they spoke.
Medicines they found for all that ailed him and his friendship won then:
Sage in counsel, canny in the ways of battle a true friend he was.
Together came they in to land.
Faced the keeper of the borders, no permission had they with them!
Largo faced the mighty ninja - locked in Mortal Kombat were they.
Threw he down the fearsome warrior - such defeat as never seen there!
On they journeyed to the city.
In the bars, bazaars and brothels sought our heroes far and widely,
treasure of the rarest kind and wrested it from those unworthy.
Wisdom of the ages, scrolls and prophecies they found and one orb:
which silver hue its purpose hid.
Till at last their strength expended, all recourse to money ended,
on a park bench they depended, efforts made to be befriended,
by a lack of power suspended, failure then they comprehended,
as the shadowed night lay on them.
--- Journey the first ends.
(Note, as a rule it won't rhyme but the last stanza lent itself to the rhyme so aptly, words into my mind flowed, raptly I upon the page them gathered, ordered them and gently tethered to the plot that scarce existed, gazed upon my fingers blistered, cried "Enough of this damn rhyming!", found the clock was midnight chiming. Slowly I to bed then stumbled, as a poet hack now rumbled!)
Gah! Can't stop now. Help!!