Eren sat in the back office a little after two in the morning with the three cheap spears laid out on the desk and turned one of them over in his hands.
They were ugly things. Crude iron, bad welds, the kind of weapon somebody stamps out a thousand of when they don't care whether any single one lasts the week. He'd run into the kobolds carrying them the last time he went over to gather, three of them near the dead village, red-eyed and moving too much in-sync to be anything but driven. He'd snapped the shafts and hauled the heads home wrapped in a dead kobold's cloak because something about them itched at him and he wanted a closer look in the light.
He'd found the reason near the base of each head. A small stamp pressed into the metal, the same mark on all three.
One forge somewhere, stamping these out by the crate..
