In ages past, long afore now, lived a boy and his family in a small village. The village was at the outskirts of the kingdom, and so went unnoticed by the tyrant king. However, this did not last forever, and the tyrant destroyed the village, because the baron had upset the king. Everyone from the village was killed, except for the children, who were forced to watch, then sent to work in the neighboring lord’s fields.
Of course, the children that could remember grew up harboring deep resentment for the king. The boy became a young man, and moved to the capitol. He quickly made friends amongst the other young men, who had heard whisperings of events such as these throughout the kingdom. They began to dissent, and spread doubt among the peasants and lowly clerks.
The people were tired. Tired of being beaten down and used by the king so he could live in luxury while they starved.
Slowly but surely, a plan began to form. They would wait for the winter festival, when all the guards would be preoccupied with good food and drink, to stage a revolt. The boy was the leader of one such group.
The day of the festival came, and  the people were ready. Barricades rose throughout the city, and the revolt began. The king amassed the guard, rousing them from their revelry.
When night fell, the guard launched an attack on the barricades. Many of the barricades did not have weapons, and swiftly surrendered under the hail of arrows. But one barricade held firm, headed by the boy, whose anger at the king drove him to fight with makeshift spears and simple clubs against skilled warriors. The fight was over as briefly as it had started. The guard retreated, to lick their wounds and sharpen their swords.
Days past. It seemed as if the guard was just going to starve them out, when the barricade was rushed. This time the guard had not heavy and unwieldy battlefield weapons, but light armour, crossbows, and knives. The barricade was overwhelmed, but they continued to fight. Revolutionary after revolutionary fell, until only the boy remained. He backed into a corner, holding a knife. The guard, too, began to fall as he cut them down as they funneled into his corner. A wild bloodlust filled his mind, clouding all other thoughts. He fought for what seemed like hours. As his movements slowed, an arrow pierced his knee, pinning him to the wall. A dozen more arrows flew into him, but still he fought on, madly swinging his knife at all who neared him. Slowly, the swings stopped, and the ragged breathing of the boy ceased. A dead young man lay in an alley piled with bodies. His wrath and resentment of the king consumed him, leading the boy and his comrades to death.