Rest your head child.
Let me tell a story of Caerleon. A capital meant to stand as the pinnacle for the other four and a child born for glory. In Solhara there existed many group of mercenaries there was however, only one that brought home a child, parents unknown perhaps slain due to the haggard looking clothing and blood on the older Mercenaries sleeve. His company only looked worse for were, they buried their loses beneath heavy drinking of ale. While the mighty leader of them all Blackwell had disappeared in his tent, Owen in his arms. Whatever spoils was left from the last mission were split, and all Blackwell kept was the babe, which he raised all on his own. Life was harsh for Owen, as he grew, it was obvious that he was not the son of Blackwell his features far too clean and sharp. The one trait he possesses however was his uncanny ability with the blade much like Blackwell’s. The aptitude was alarming, for a non Solharan, but for all his skill and all of his training he will never be accepted as one of them. Respect and understanding was the only thing that his mentor, his guardian, and his boss will ever give him. Never will he know of his past, of whom his mother and father was for the old man Blackwell remained tight-lipped at best, Owen believed it did not matter. For he thirsted for more, hungered for whatever he can get to train himself more the one thing he desired was to be the best out of them all. To carve the place in this world with the thing that he can trust his blade, and once he outgrew all of his instructors and even the old man. There was nothing left in Solhara for him; no one would dare to try his or her mettle, against Owen, outside of Blackwell’s company for there was no money in it, or profit. The one thing left to do was leave, only to be stopped before the rise of a new dawn, by the old withered hand of Blackwell. Owen had always been a child that looked as if he was never alive till there was a blade in his hands, as if the mental shock of his past had broken some part of his mind. Only to be saved by the very man that gave him purpose, focus, and a life. No matter how harsh it was, there was always that silent exchange of how grateful he was, the one way he shown it was his prowess in battle. His personality may have opened up, but it was still honorable(in his own way), unforgiving, honest, and just like Blackwell a man of his word. Which he kept by accepting not just the name Blackwell, but a mission before Owen was set-free to do what he wished.
Owen’s return to Caerleon was uneventful at best; he did not feel anything for the lands of his birth. This place was merely a stepping stone. This was here where he would be in the service of another old man; the name did not matter. Owen only remembered the granddaughter that was the fateful meeting, a turning point in his life. He held no real interest in her, thinking she was just another spoiled girl and those here humored the prospect to train her just for some extra coin. Owen on the other hand did not accept anything from her, he told her simply this, “Do you want to be strong. Come back here tomorrow. Be prepared for I will not hold back. I will treat you like a Solharan.”
Owen wanted to teach her a lesson, that this was no game. When a person took a hold of a sword, it meant accepting all the responsibilities of wielding one. No matter how strict and firm he was to the girl known as Gwen. She always had the look of joyful mirth, a happiness he could not place. It irritated him at first, but she seemed to share the same desire as he, all that he exchanged back was his name as well. This was as far as it was meant to go, all that was needed. He returned her passion and fire, by answering with his will through his blade. Being her youngest instructor , and her his first pupil a bond such as this would not fade, but it had to end. He hated to admit it, but this was one of the moments he did find joy, to know that people like her existed. He felt no pity for her fate, for the day she left; there was no tears or sorrowful goodbye.
What he did next was not follow her, for their paths were merely sharing the same destination. There was a new crown King, and it was there Owen believed he will find what he was searching for, more people of interest. If there was a tournament to be had at the castle which stood, firm, tall and impenetrable. He would conqueror it by his own mettle, not for fame or by fortune, but be one step closer to being a man without peer. To stand at the top was his final goal, and fate would have it that he would meet the girl Gwen again, not a pupil nor a girl, but the wife and husband of the King. It was not just his skill that proved his worth, but also the vouching words of Gwen to stand as one of the knights of the round. The most skilled, chivalrous, and loyal to the crown, he however was none of the sort. He did keep his word that he would serve to see through to the end of where this would lead.
The company of knights he found odd or frustrating to be around. The worst was Lancelot, he would never see eye to him just as much as he disliked the King known as Arthur, but not the man. The man he grew close with, just as well with his wife. As close as he can get with people he did not want to be friends with, friends never lasted forever, would be lost someday. No matter how much he tried to deny himself he grew to enjoy his place, and met many more people, and being as close as non-friends can be. Owen was almost content but, never forgotten his purpose. He just kept to his word no matter if Gwen had done what she did, or Arthur took to severe depression. He was not there till the decisive moment for a face so fair, and beautiful distracted him, a person that understood him under the guise of a different name. He was used and he knew it angered her by going back to the people he swore to his word.
He returned to the castle and found it being attacked by creatures he had never seen before, all of them were in his way. Obstacles meant to be taken down, and slain to which he did. A battle that never seemed to end for when he reached Gwen and the sword Excalibur in her hands would be the last memory he would have. For all intent and purposes, the one known as Owen Blackwell was no more. Long forgotten was he, from the memories of all that knew him. Never would be a burial, or shared words of mourning. He ceased to exist.
Till Once upon a nightmare.
He awoke, in a different land.
Alive, with blade in hand as dark as nightfall. The one thing he can trust was his blade, and this was a suitable partner.
Will he regain his memories or forever be lost in fragments sealed within the blade.
The story begins, anew.
The Tale of The Black Knight.
Gwenhwyfar Pendragon- Friend and former student
Nisha Lata- true love
Maleficent- Her Dark Sword