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En dag kom der en fremmed rejsende gennem landsbyen. Denne fremmede var ikke som de andre, han bar et blik fuld af nysgerrighed og mystik. Lu tog ham ind i sit hus for natten og delte sin aftenmads med ham - suppe lavet på hjemmedyrkede rødbeder og kartofler.
Denne fremmede havde mange historier at fortælle om verden udenfor landsbyen - om store byer, vidunderlige opfindelser og mærkelige væsner fra det ukendte landskab. Lu lyttede stille mens hans ansigt blev stadig mere alvorligt. Ved midnatstid bød han den unge mand godnat med ordene: "Lær nu vores veje".
med musen i hånd,
spiller et spil kaldet Counter-Strike,
det er hans yndlingsgrund.
I fjendernes hovedkvarter han går ind,
i mørket hans mus skimmer.
Rundt om hjørner og ned ad korridorer,
han søger sin fjende at finde.
Med præcis takt og strategisk plan,
han skyder dem ned én efter én.
Hans mod er ubøjeligt som stål i en storm,
hans vilje er stærk som bjergets horn.
Men han ved også det gamle ordsprog: "To kunne danse - fire kunne synge", så med holdet ved hans side - venner klar til at kæmpe ved deres side - de vinder sejren med stor glæde!
Through dust and blood, the terrorists will creep, While counter-terrorists their vigil keep. With rifles raised and grenades that burst with light, Each round unfolds in shadows of the night.
From Dust2's sands to Mirage's mystic hue, The maps bear witness to the clash anew. A tale of skill, of reflex and of wit, Where every shot and step defines their grit.
Yet in this game, beyond the gunfire's roar, A camaraderie unseen in days of yore. For in the heat of battle, bonds are forged, In Counter-Strike, where legends are engorged.
So let us raise our virtual guns with pride, In this arena where champions abide. For in this digital domain we find, A world where courage and valor align.
He walks alone, the quiet type,
In shadows deep, beyond the hype.
No need for crowds, nor for the throne,
A lone wolf, strong and on his own.
Eyes that see through every game,
Unfazed by fortune, love, or fame.
He drifts through life with guarded grace,
Content to hold his hidden place.
The world may press to join the fold,
To share their warmth, to share their gold,
But he resists with iron will—
A heart that’s steady, quiet, still.
Not alpha loud, nor beta’s friend,
He has no herd, no need to bend.
A mystery wrapped in subtle might,
At home in dark, at ease in light.
For strength, he knows, is not in show,
But in the paths that few will go.
He stands alone, his soul set free—
The world’s last wild, untamed esprit