The omnipresent sun basked the great nation of Kaldaross in a blinding light. Eagles soared majestically through the clouds and revelled in the fresh, energised air. As the city bustled below, the Ebongraspian Embassy was shrouded in a self-induced darkness, permanently in the shadow of clouds drenched with the souls of the innocent. It was a building many dared not set foot near, and for good reason. Ebongraspian ambassador Dractlek was an imposing, dominant man who not many dared displease. He towered over all in the noble city around, and with him the aura of dread within the embassy.
Kaldarossian officials would only enter the building under great duress, and leave with relief so great the perilous journey had almost been worth it. Yet on this fateful day, Dractlek approached his son, the epitome of all things not Ebongraspian. Spierobe, the product of Dractlek and his faithful yet abused Kaldarossian wife, was a masterpiece in all aspects human. Standing almost as tall as his father, his tremendous mane of golden hair bridged the distance his legs and torso could not. Muscular and intelligent, he was promising to look a good Kaldarossian citizen, yet that was a dream Dractlek was intent on quenching. He saw the good in the boy, and was ashamed of it. Those in the embassy laughed at him for his weakness and his pathetic offspring.
Even the Kaldarossian envoys were feeling more and more comfortable when Spierobe observed the negotiations.
Dractlek summoned the boy to his chambers, not yet 20 years old, but with the aura of a figure of authority.
“Your days here are numbered Spierobe. This wretched city is a miserable influence on your development as a good Ebongraspian. It is for this reason that I have elected to dispatch you on the next vessel back home. Pray our glorious capital may restore all that is Ebongraspian in you. Should you elect to disregard these notions, consider yourself a dying limb on the branch of our prestigious family. Our gatherings will be barred to you, visits to your mother will no longer be tolerated, and you shall be robbed of all influence and importance you hold in this here city you hold so dear. Heed my call, or be vanquished.”
Crushed, Spierobe departed for the docks with not much more than his generous library of Kaldarossian Literature. He looked back only once before setting foot on the vessel.