I'm picturing a middle-aged Leeroy Jenkins, retired in a town somewhere, remembering the good old days. His hair has long since receded, the chicken and ale have taken their toll on his body, in the form of high blood pressure, diabetes, and harden arteries.

He sees a bunch of kids playing with black dragon kites. The memories flood back. He walks into his house and opens a chest. Inside is the armor and guide tabard he wore that day.

He decides to put it all on. It doesn't fit but he uses leather straps to keep it on his plump body. The guild logo is torn and faded. He looks in the mirror, he feels the rush of nostalgia flood his body and mind. He dares to walk out of the house.

Leeroy sees the kids still playing with the kites, he takes a deep breath, and from the center of his being he yells out his name and charges foward with a wooden sword.

Some of the kids hold still other join in on the play. One parent whispers to another as to why he did that. An old timer smiles and tells the parents that that man is the legendary Leeroy Jenkins.

They ask who that is, the person feels too damn old at that moment but tells them the tale of Leeroy Jenkins.