Freya sighed, sitting in silence with nothing but old bones keeping her company. Not only was her master long since dead any intruders had been long since killed and thrown out. It was a painfully boring existence and she grew weaker with every passing year. She could barely wake up and was on the verge of slumber. Meaning she could no longer be picky on who she chose as a master. Soon fate would decide for her as she was locked in that old tomb and few dared enter a crypt. Her dark blue eyes scanned the darkness, no one seemed to be attempting to enter this day and she could rest with some ease. Her sword lay across her lap as she shut her eyes to rest and conserve what energy she had. She had no idea of the world outside the tomb, what changes had occurred and what new devices had sprung forth. She also had no idea that the curse that had been placed on her long ago would send out weak pulses, attempting to attract a master for the knight. It was meant to be punishment, not an eternal sleep. Weakly, the pulses grew more frequent over the years, however only those who were in tune with the magic of the world would actually sense such weak pulses. Over the years it started to grow stronger and, given enough time, even mighty warriors would be able to sense it.