The boy looked over the broken remains of their little rebellion. Broken bodies lined the wall, people wept for the dead in the blood-soaked streets. He was still clutching the blade he pried from the cold, dead hands of his former master.

It’s a nice blade. Neat design with the blue runes etched on the blade… It cost more than these people make in a year put together.

Irrit lay dead, impaled on a dozen or so spears and along with him any hope for victory. The Spire had won but the boy was not about to accept this. He was going to earn a name. He took determined but uncertain steps among the rubble towards the body of their deceased leader, letting out hopeful shouts and cheers to his dejected comrades along the way. It was for them as much as it was for himself. He stopped a few steps short of him, looking over the spears, inspecting them.

A dozen. Two would be enough to fell even the strongest of us. They used a dozen.

He picked the one with ornate carvings along the Spire-Steel grip and pulled it out, holding it high. There was no need for a heroic speech. The people knew. If they survived today, tomorrow would be worse than death for them. The few that could, rallied around him, each pulling a spear out of the instigator of the rebellion. They were hardly older than him, but they waited for him. To act, to say something, anything. He looked over them uncertainly, looking for the words they want to hear. A dozen men, broken, looked to a boy for leadership.

He pulled his shirt away, revealing the brand over his heart. An eight-spoked wheel. The Spire. With the spear pulled from Irrit, he dug into his flesh, crossing out the brand. His words are uncertain and meek, but as he carved and spoke, his rage (Will? Determination?) found him a new voice. A new strength.

“Tonight we sleep in the beds of our masters, in their stead, as free men. If we fail, we do not lay our heads to rest ever again for we have a duty! A duty to remember the dead, but fight for the living! Duty before death! Emblazon this on both spears and hearts brothers!”

The twelve men did not lay to rest that night but the boy earned a name. In doing so he laid the foundation for the free-folk of the Upper Spire we know today.


The uhhh.... Stuff Rilack Rilack