//------------------------------//
// Prologue 
// Story: Rise of a Dragonslayer 
// by TheSoulBlades 
//------------------------------//

	“It fits pretty good, and just in time too.”

I had just finished putting on my costume for the con I was about to go to, it would be my first con experience, and I had wanted to go all out. My friend had helped me put it together; we had almost thought we wouldn’t finish it in time.

“I told you we’d finish it!” That was my friend, good guy, if a bit of a goof from time to time.

“Yeah, yeah, so, we got an hour yet, why don’t we leave early before we have to meet up with the others?”

“Sure, sounds great! I’ll drive; I don’t trust you behind the wheel in that thing.”

I nodded before taking off the helmet, grinning madly at the fact we’d actually finished the armor on time. Sadly, we couldn’t quite get the spear done. I was currently dressed out in Ornstein’s armor from the first Dark Souls game.

Honestly, I’d given up hope we’d finish before the con some time ago, we’d finished all but the helmet and weapon, and then out of the blue my friend got real excited for the idea, and helped me finish the helmet just in time for the con. Though some might question why a girl would dress as ole’ Ornstein. My response, since when did gender matter when you’re wearing a full suit of armor that hides your entire body, including face? We made it just as it was in the game, so the only way one would be able to tell was if I spoke anyways.

We hopped in my friend’s car and drove for the con, traffic was horrible, but we’d actually expected it to be worse, this was a gaming convention after all. Sure, it wasn’t one of the big ones like E3, but it was still going to attract a lot of people.

When we arrived, we decided to split up and look around ourselves until the others arrived. It was still early, though that didn’t mean a damn thing apparently, there was already a good number of people walking around, wasn’t crowded per se, but I had a feeling it would be very soon.

After some wandering, I found myself among some merchant booths when something caught my eye. There was someone here selling Dark Souls items, something that I had definitely not been expecting to see. As I had no pockets, I decided to add one extra item to the costume, my duffel bag. It was just so I could carry my wallet, and whatever I felt like buying.

As I approached the booth to look around, the merchant flashed a grin at me and said, “My, that is an impressive Dragonslayer Ornstein outfit.”

Once I’d arrived, I had put my helmet back on, so he couldn’t actually see my smile at the compliment, so I voiced my thoughts, “Thanks, though I did have a lot of help on it really.” That’s when I spotted a rather familiar looked spear. The one that belonged to Ornstein the Dragonslayer!

The merchant turned to look at what I had my eye on; having noticed my helmet was currently turned directly towards it. “I see you’ve noticed my Dragonslayer Spear. The only thing you lack in your look from what I can see.”

I gave an emphatic nod to him as I replied, “Yes, in fact I’d be willing to buy that off you, how much for it?”

The merchant seemed to consider before smiling again, “As I would hate for that look of yours to go unfinished, I’ll sell it to you for 25 dollars.”

I squinted at the ranseur, it was made of actual metal, but I could tell it was dull just by looking at it. It also looked to be of amazing quality, definitely worth the price, especially if it meant I could finish the outfit properly. “I’ll take it.” I fished out my wallet from the side pouch of the duffel, taking out both a 20 and a five, handing the bills over to the guy.

He took my cash, briefly checking that it was the right amount before nodding and taking down the spear from where it hung by two hooks. “A powerful spear for a powerful knight, no?”

Taking the ranseur in my hands I replied simply, “Of course. Anyways, thanks for the discount man.”

The final words I heard from anyone before I fell into what I could only describe as a tear in the very fabric of existence were, “There’s no need to thank me, something tells me you were meant to wield it.” Soon, I would become all too familiar with the bitter irony of that statement.