Listen to me, all of you!
Tiefling, goblin, human runaway, doesn’t matter, look around! This town’s bones are broken, aye, but bones heal if you bind them together. Right now we’re scraps, fighting over dust, stabbing each other just to see another sunrise. But what if we stopped? What if we turned our knives outward instead of inward?
We are the ones they cast out, the ones too loud, too strange, too dangerous for their shining cities. They left us here to rot.
But I say Bleakshire is ours now, ours to shape, ours to raise up from the dirt. No kings, no priests, no masters! Just us, together, making a place where no one gets thrown away again. I don’t promise riches. I don’t promise glory. I promise only this: if we stand together, we’ll be more than scavengers.
We’ll be neighbors. We’ll be a people. And maybe, just maybe, the name Bleakshire will make outsiders tremble, not from pity, but from respect.
— Jeremy was then stabbed 7 times