He was the black sheep of his family. He has always been, and will continue to be one. He wasn't like any of them, and he didn't want to be similar to them in any way.
His family was well known, especially by those with dark secrets. It was composed of people who knew how to wield the blade with great precision, people who could kill another without looking at the blood-stained on their hands. They were mercenaries.
But he... was different.
He hated the blade. He thought that it was dishonorable to use anything else than your hands and fists whenever fighting someone. He would watch as people killed with their swords, making his heart ache.
This, however, had proven to be quite inconvenient. With just his fist and legs, it was hard to fight someone with something like a spear or bow, as he couldn't get close or deflect their attacks like he would have done with a sword.
