Young gun… (WoD)

"You ask about my conscience and I offer you my soul
You ask if I’ll grow to be a wise man when I ask if I’ll grow old…"

The rumors abounded.

Some said the boy was the son of a politician, who’d survived the end thanks to the skill and wit of his bodyguards. Some claimed he was an orphan, brought to the bunker by chance. There were those that swore he was Miss Katherine’s illegitimate son, and that she’d bought him from his adoptive parents for a small fortune just before the bombs fell.

They said he’d killed men, stolen children, hunted down criminals. He was older than he looked. He was younger than he looked. He was sharp-witted, a natural leader, he was arrogant, an aristocrat. He was a thief and a murderer. He was both a bully and a saint.

The girl who followed close beside him was said to be a witch, a familiar, a demon, and an angel. She was a spirit guide, his protector, she was a spy for the enemy. She was his lover, his sister, she owed him a blood debt, he owed her his life.

The rumors flew wildly, and with each utterance the legend grew until words overflowed the reality of his being and he became something larger than life. Something to draw the imagination. Men rallied to him. Men followed him, out of fear, or respect, or both. They died for him, bled for him, and with each battle their respect grew, as the boy brought them victory and pride.

Pride in their young Albrecht, their cunning King of raiders and thieves.

"Lord, I never drew first but I drew first blood, I’m no one’s son. Call me young gun…."

– Bon Jovi, "Blaze of Glory"