LEADING A PEASANT REVOLT IN BATTLE BROTHERS PART I
The Darklands. A war-scarred waste where everything preys upon the people: orcs, goblins, bandits, corpse-eaters, barbarians, giants, great beasts from direwolf to lindwurm, hell, even the dead come back for us. But the worst monster? The predator that kills more of the peasants than any other? It’s a vast parasite, a swollen tick growing fatter off the backsweat of the common man: the nobility.
They raised us up for one of their wars, their endless wars, and they said it was to protect our town. Thirty of us volunteered, but they fed us into the maw of battle and only twelve came out alive. The worst part? There were just as many scared, unhappy peasants on the other side. The only people who wanted to be there killing each other were the nobles.
Fuck the nobles. Me and these 12 men aren’t living by their rules anymore. We’re bloody northerners, people of the town of Bokenberg. A speck on the rolling tundra. Our forefathers laboured in the salt pits before the nobles were here and we’ll be here long after the entire House of Rumholt is mouldering in their, admittedly expensive, tombs.
We’re a peasant
