The Revolution

I can lead you to glory, the hero cried forth.

The townsfolk were a ragtag crew, and they had been oppressed so long that they’d forgotten what freedom tasted like. The hero’s words seemed like madness, few of them had ever even held a sword, and the Overmaster’s armies were powerful, his eye all seeing.

But the hero’s message of hope inspired them, it called out to something in their hearts that they’d long forgotten even existed, but that they now new they desperately needed.

His noble words gnawed at them, and as they pondered his offer to lead them in rebellion against the Overmaster they knew they could not live in subjugation one moment longer. So, one by one, they stood, and cheered, and cried to the heavens for the freedom they had so long been denied. They were not soldiers, but to free themselves they became an army that day.

In his castle on a hill the Overmaster, safe in his seat of power, laughed as he observed this. The Hero, his pawn, had done his job admirably. The townsfolk would rise up against him, and his armies would put them down with all the brutality they could muster. His armies, after all, were well trained and well armed, and the townsfolk hadn’t even rudimentary weapons. By weeks end blood would run through the streets of the town.

The Overmaster smiled to himself.

You have to crush a rebellion now and again.

Otherwise your subjects would forget to fear you.