Sons of Siculus Visage

He wept in his mother's arms. That was when she told him, told him that he didn't have to be ashamed of his family, his blood, his heritage. For his ancestor had been a great warlord. When his tears dried, he asked her for more. Demanded to know the man's name. But his mother bit her lip and said it was a secret. She wouldn't reveal it no matter how much he pestered her, ranting and pleading in turn. Though in the end she silenced him by promising to tell him when he was older.

Then she headed out of their little home, the hovel they possessed because of the mayor's scornful piety and haughty magnanimity, to worship at the pantherium. Minutes later she was dead -- smashed beneath the swerving wheels of a drunkard's cart.