On a day, in a land where magic and mythical beasts reigned supreme, rain drops fell to the ground from skies of gray. Thunder boomed as if the commanding voice of a god, while lightning crackled across the gray, dull sky. It was on such a day, an adventurer, named Nestlee Westland, a pioneer-classed sailor with the Darkened-Seas Guild and a young prince, named Ryowolf Cithitsar, only heir to the throne of the Cithitsar Imperial Kingdom, wandered into a village on the outskirt of the Eckhart, a village that had been all but forgotten by the margrave who governed it. It was there, under those bleak, rainy skies that the Pioneer & the Prince came face-to-face... with a blackbird. No, not the little bird that hides within the depths of the many bushes that dotted Ryowolf's castle... but a man. The term, "blackbird", was the name given to those of darker skin complexion... those of them who'd been enslaved...
As Prince Ryowolf and his envoy entered the Eckhart, the citizens lined the streets. "Such a dreary day..." Ryowolf paused mid-sentence as he saw the faces of the citizens of Eckhart. Their faces were forlorn, and had all but forgetten what hope and joy had meant. Their eyes were darkened, one could call them soulless even. However, while the Prince was lost in thought, his horse reared up, clearly spooked by something. Ryowolf maintained his grap of the reins, and managed to calm down the horse. Once it was calm... the young prince locked eyes with a man... for this was how the Prince and Pioneer encountered a "Blackbird" of an abysmal, dejected land. A farmer, not by choice; by conqueror's demand.
Royal knights and the ill-tempered bishop of the Holy Church went to strike him, but the Blackbird showed no fear. From within the lock of his gaze to the tattered lines of scars on his arms, he remained unphased as he outstretched his arms to shield a young child, who'd fallen into the muddy road, directly into the envoy's path. All of this man's bodily actions screamed to the magnanimity within him.
"Sheath thy blades!" These words escaped Ryowolf's lips as that of an animal, freed from the jaws of an iron trap. Looking at him, those pupils of tenacity, anguish, and passion shone brighter than the copious amount of hoarded jewels and riches within my father's kingdom. "What's thy name, boy?" Ryowolf called out to him from upon his horse's mount. Of the many words spoken by common men, none could stand as an equal rival when pitted against the sardonic might of the words spoken by him. A hidden blade, formed by chords of flesh and sharp enough to cut down a god's confidence, was engraved within my mind as he answered my question. "The master calls me "boy"... just as you do now. While I am forced to serve him, I am certain, you and he aren't of the same cut of cloth. Therefore, questions of my name are irrelevant, depthless, and superficial for a prince of status and bloodline to care to ask."
"Mockery from a common man, a blackbird nonetheless, is punishable by death." The ill-tempered bishop claimed. Although, it helped him none as this man wasn't merely going to have his soul stilled. The severity within his voice was one of true commanding power as he spoke. "Of the lot of royal knights and a singular bishop standing before me, I see no divine authority within thy actions, hear no omnibenevolence within the legions of false platitudes that spout from thy lips. Therefore, I fear not you, nor the wrath of thy gods, as they have forsaken you or you so foolishly abandon them." The Blackbird's eyes formed a glare the petrified even the bravest of the Royal Knights, fearing if they moved, they'd be struck dead on the spot...