The Dragon Knight Full Weapon And Armour Set

A LETTER FROM AN OLD FRIEND

My old friend,

It seems even the Island could not keep you.

For a long time I believed you dead. Perhaps it was easier that way. Avalon has a habit of swallowing people whole, and those of us left behind eventually learn not to wait for ghosts.

Then the stories began to reach me.

At first they were little more than rumours. A survivor where there should have been none. A traveller walking roads sensible men had abandoned. Then came tales of deeds too particular to dismiss, and of someone carrying burdens that should have broken them long ago.

I knew it was you.

There is something I have kept for many years. Something far older than either of us.

The armour belonged to a warrior from the old days. Almost nothing remains of the man himself. His true name was lost somewhere between war and legend.

The fragments that survived remember him only as the Dragon Knight.

Some spoke of the armour.

Others remembered the great iron blade he carried.

And in the oldest stories there was another — a sword wreathed in fire when the need was greatest.

How much of that is history and how much was born around frightened campfires, I could never tell you.

But the armour remains.

So do the blades.

For generations they have been guarded as relics while the world beyond their resting place grew darker.

I have lived long enough to understand the foolishness of that.

The dead have no need of armour.

And relics were never meant to gather dust while the living suffered.

So they are yours.

There is only the matter of getting them to you.

I do not have much power left in me now. Age has taken more than I care to admit, and the old arts no longer answer as willingly as they once did.

To send relics such as these across Avalon will require almost everything that remains.

Do not grieve for that.

I have lived long enough.

And this...

This is an act worthy of a true ending.

By the time these words reach you, they should already be there.

Do not waste what remains of my strength wondering what it cost.

Wear the armour.

Choose the blade that answers you.

And if they make even a small part of the road ahead less cruel, then they will have served a greater purpose than gathering dust beside the dead.

Whatever Avalon has made of us, know this much:

I have not forgotten you.

And I was glad, at the end, to learn that you were still walking.