Owen Blackwell

== Bio ==
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. 
== Relationships ==
Gwenhwyfar Pendragon- Friend and former student
Nisha Lata- true love
Maleficent- Her Dark Sword