The forces of darkness crashed upon the kingdom's boundaries as an island - each ebb lesser than each following malevolent flow. The once confident army of defenders had eroded away under the relentless waves. The beloved King and Queen had been assassinated. The princes, princesses, and the generals (in fact, all those in charge) had died one by one in battle after battle. Despair flew on black crow-wings.
A small band of troops remained outside the City walls. Their parents and grandparents were fighting and dying on the walls and at the gates. The older children were preparing to lead the young ones away in search of sanctuary. No living officer had been seen by the soldiers in days. Their bedrock Sergeant had just died in their midst from an infection from a poisoned barb. They knew what needed to be done: one last pushback to buy precious minutes. All but one, the doomed voted to elect the Wordless Warrior. He was the one they trusted most to face death with them in the final sortie. "I accept," he said.
"You can speak?" they asked in surprise. "We have not heard you speak throughout this entire war. We thought you had been silenced by injury or trauma!"
He looked into the lost eyes of each of his new charges. "When I was a Sword, I spoke with an edge. When I was a Spear, I spoke to the point. When I was a Shield, I spoke in concert with my mates. But now I am a Leader - I speak with my heart. Come. Follow me my friends."