1430, The Applean Kingdom. Springtime.

"Sir Blackwood, your presence is requested by the King," says a small servant girl. Griffon Blackwood had been keeping watch outside of the palace, enjoying the spring sun and the smell of fresh flowers in the air.

"Of course," he says, offering a polite nod. He leaves his station and heads into the castle, his armour clinking with each step. He keeps a hand on the pommel of his sword at all times, just in case. Guards greet him outside of the King's office and open the large oak doors for him.

"Your Majesty, you requested my presence?" Griffon says, bowing respectfully to the King sitting in his throne.