Ironsides Family/Armstrong/Sage of Krimml

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Armstrong and the Sage of Krimml

This is another tale told of the young life of Armstrong Ironsides, on his path to becoming the Hero of the Democracy.

The stage was set for the beginning of the Civil War. The tyrant Gregor had taken our natural lands and defiled them with his perverse idea of democracy and the mad Duke Alexi was about to cause unprecedented suffering and confusion on the proud and just realm of Fontan.

Our hero Armstrong Ironsides was in Krimml at the time, refitting his outfit, the Roughnecks, after another short bout with monsters. Little did he know what was about to transpire, nor the wisdom he was to gain.

It was the eleventh hour for the disturbed Duke of Krimml, who had lost his ground in the realm after a series of offences and a growing feud with the Chancellor. The growing insanity in his mind drove him to prepare his duchy to join Perdan and then be reborn as a new realm, mocking the glory of its original. The Duke prepared documents and began to send out orders that held a specific condition: they could only be opened at midnight.

While this fall from grace was brewing, Armstrong innocently spent the day in Krimml enjoying its lovely stone architecture, and making merriment in the local tavern with his unit. He was a young knight then, not yet landed with an estate to call his own, and his combat experience was very limited. But he had his heart set on growing as a warrior and fighting the enemies of the north, the Old Rancaguans and the elves of Sirion.

By nightfall, the unit left Myrium’s Tavern happy and full of liquid, the good kind. Armstrong was pleased with himself for being able to attract so many lovely women. One in particular sought him further, and I am sure he could speak more about that. The unit then found a place to rest for the night and off to the sack they fell, tired and full of the drink.

Armstrong awoke to loud snoring, and felt the urge to relieve himself. He left the croft and walked down the cobblestone street. While he was doing his business, he began to hear loud shouting and heavy footsteps of many soldiers marching about. He looked about trying to figure out what was going on. The Krimml Incident had just been initiated.

Duke Alexi’s men had arrested all the local magistrates and any noble of Krimml who could be a threat. In one foul swoop he disrupted the power of Fontan. The scar he left on the realm would be a bitter and ugly one.

As the commotion ensued, Armstrong followed a group of soldiers on the march, thinking the city was being invaded and that they might need his skills. Not that he had any skills at the time; his youth and inexperience would have probably put him into trouble more than of any use to the militia of Krimml.

He witnessed one of the unjust arrests made against a peaceful bureaucrat, who was surprised by the unexpected seizure of his person. Armstrong turned immediately and dodged the sight of the corrupt militia, fearing he would be next. The best option he had was to return to his unit and prepare them for a battle that would require long explanations.

Armstrong ran through the streets trying to find the garden his men passed out in. As he ran, the city erupted into a battleground. Chaos destroyed the peace of the great capital city. Accidentally, or intentionally, a siege engine parked outside the walls of the city was fired. The large debris flew right into the street where Armstrong was and put a hole in the ground. Armstrong was a foot and a half away from being crushed to death, but the crater made its point and caused the knight to collapse into the hole.

The crater was fairly big and uncomfortable. More townspeople jumped in thinking they could hide from the terrible slaughter. Armstrong climbed out of the wrecked street and ran into a closed shop. He was frantic, bruised and tired. Still a bit drunk and unsure of where he was in the city he thought it would do him good to get to the roof of this shop and get a better view of the calamity.

While on his way up the flights of stairs he opened one door that led into a well furnished and full study. His curiosity quickly commanded him and he entered the room unannounced. With a hard rap, Armstrong hit the floor from a blow to the head.

Coming to, he saw an old man wielding a thick heavy spear. The kind one would use to take down elephants.

Old Man: “Are you alive?”

Armstrong: “I hope so. What was that for?”

Old Man: “Haha, I thought you were coming to take me away! I am an important man you know.”

Armstrong: “Are you now? That is some spear you wield old man. Are you sure you can carry it?”

Old Man: “What would you know? Your youth proves you to be a fool!”

Armstrong sat up and noticed from the moonlight that the old man was much older than he first thought.

Armstrong: “What is happening to the city? Are the elves invading?”

Old Man: “Worse.… The worst kind of enemy has struck us with his claws, and bit us with his fangs.”

Armstrong: “The Rancaguans? I thought they were fighting with straw? How could they pull off such a heist?”

Old Man: “No, the enemy within.”

Armstrong: “What horror do you speak?”

Old Man: “The greatest enemy of democracy is the tyranny of ambition and greed.”

Armstrong: “What is tyranny old man?”

Old Man: “Tyranny, when a man acts for his own behalf, and uses his powers to benefit himself. Tyranny turns good intentions into tragedies. Tyranny is the disease of democracy.”

Armstrong: “Tyranny did this?”

Old Man: “Yes. This is merely the visible symptoms. Tyranny is far worse than blood and battle. It keeps good knights below, and corrupt ones high.

Armstrong: “Old man, tell me the cure. How does one rid the land of tyranny?”

Old Man: “You are young. You have yet to learn the subtle diplomacy of politics. You have yet to experience the rise and fall of great leaders, and great realms. By this, you are untainted, uncorrupted and unaffiliated. Lucky you!”

Armstrong: “And?”

Old Man: “And so young knight, eager to succeed, eager to accomplish. I will give you the secret wisdom of the Democratic Sages. Kept for many generations in the minds of those who truly seek to live democratically. You will be the only one who knows how to maintain her, and guard her. Protect her from the vultures, warn her when she nears fault, clean her when she is muddied and befriend her when she is lonely.”

Armstrong: “Secret wisdom? Honey.”

Old Man: “The answer is devotion.”

Armstrong: “In what way?”

Old Man: “First you must love democracy with all of your heart, mind and soul. Then you will be devoted to democracy. Devoted as a friend to a friend, with respect, equality and dignity. Devoted as a parent to a child, with patience, dedication and rearing. More than all, you must be devoted as a lover to a lover, with honesty, joy and unconditionally.”

Armstrong: “Such truth, such wisdom. Who are you old man?”

Old Man: “Hahaha! You ask a question that has no answer! I have many names, many faces. I am you, I am the foul soul that rips the nation in half. I am the selfish heart who takes what is not his and casts it to the lions. I am the child who knows not what it is to lie. I am the hardened warrior, bloodstained hands of many fallen foe. I am the clever diplomat, the prudent banker, the impartial judge. I am the shadows, the light and the murky. I am whoever I choose to say I am, but most importantly, most significantly, most consequentially, I am a democrat.”

Armstrong: “A democrat?”

Old Man: “That is one who is devoted to Democracy.”

Armstrong and the old man then drifted off to sleep from exhaustion. When Armstrong awoke, he was alone in the study. He glanced over the many books of rich tales of adventure, ancient and modern wisdom, and all the knowledge and interest a book shelf should contain. Armstrong was certainly impressed with the old man, and wanted to find out where he was.

The old man was not found after an hour and a half of searching, so Armstrong made his way through the torn streets back to his unit. 15 of his men died in the night fighting, and fourteen were wounded. This was the first battle the Roughnecks had against a human foe. Their first real combat experience and it was against their own.

They escaped the city with shame and sorrow.