Once upon a time, there was a land. In the land, people lived miserable lives, repressed by a tyrant and his legions. Meetings of more than three people were considered illegal, to discourage them from rising up. Militia groups were outlawed, for the same reason - and while the land did not suffer hunger or poverty, the tyrant's soldiers couldn't be everywhere and banditry spread across the land. People were irritated, but what could they do, when the man that lords over them - rules with an iron fist?
For long years, naught has changed, until a hero crossed the land. He saw the people suffer and couldn't just stand by and watch it unfold. Over weeks, he aided the smallfolk, helped their woes and gained their trust, sowing the seeds of hope in the bleak, dark minds of the people. And a ray of hope was enough to cause them to rise up - first, gathering up, arming and training, then - standing against the tyrant and his legions. The legions, however, were people - and people are not blind nor deaf to pain and reason. Some, those that were doubtful about their master's methods, turned their backs on the man and eventually, stalled the still loyal warriors long enough for the hero to break into the throne room, where a man sat on the throne. He wore an armour, once gilded, now matted and in disrepair. The man looked tired, hair greasy and long, stubble covering his jaw.
"You shall pay for all you did, villain!" - the hero bellowed, drawing his blade and walking at the foe. "Surrender and I shall spare your life."
The tyrant stood up, leaning on his throne. "I am not the villain here. They are. These people scheme against me, every day, every night. I but sought to prevent it - and now you are here. You are the proof - and you shall be an example for them!"
The two crossed blades, having been evenly matched - in strength and endurance both, they were equals. But the tyrant, kept up by paranoia, had been tired and thus, had lost their fight. Before long, the tyrant lay dying, laughing bitterly, and the hero triumphed over his fallen adversary.
The people cheered and partied over the next week, rejoicing so much that neighbouring realms joined them in the celebrations, so widespread they were. When the time came to choose who should lead the people from that day on, who was better a pick than the saviour of the realm?
And so he had ruled. For years, the people were rejoicing as the land prospered. This pleased the hero turned lord, as he walked across the gilded halls of his palace, observing how his people rejoiced, loved and lived to their fullest. "This is a good life", he said, and walked among the people to rejoice and love with them. He had found a wife and that wife gave him a son. The land prospered, but due to the celebrations, many resources were used and there was a shortage of almost everything. To combat this, the new lord called to arms, reforming the armies and calling people to join the militia, cracking down upon brigands and claiming their resources for the realm. The hero made lord spent plenty of time with his wife and son, loving them beyond words.
But the land did not prosper. The people weren't working as hard as they were before, and so, the lord had to increase taxes just to keep the realm safe and fed. This displeased people, who began complaining publicly. At first, he endured, but eventually the voices of dissent were so loud that he's had to send his soldiers in order to chase away the people protesting under his castle, deaf to his reason about the kingdom needing funds to prosper. This saddened the lord, as his people were unhappy, but he understood that the source of their discontent was from them alone - for they haven't worked well enough to prosper, merely to stagnate.
"What should I do? They do not listen to me" the man lamented to his wife. Stroking his cheek, the woman spoke softly. "They hear your words, but do not listen to them, for they are deaf with anger" she said, holding her husband's hand gently. "But you speak to the angry crowds, not your people. Walk among them, ask them directly what they feel. Like a man to a man. They will hear then."
And so, one day, he went to walk among the people with his wife. He spoke to them, learning of their concerns and suggesting how to fix them. The people spoke, slightly frightened by the presence of their lord, but seeing as he wasn't angry at them, the concerns came out, the advice listened to. But then, a loud scream of pain and fear was heard - a scream that gripped the lord's heart with an icy chill. For who it was but his wife's voice?
Running to her aid, with the soldiers doing their best to keep up, he saw several men with blades in their hands, trying to drag his wife away, the woman kicking, screaming and bleeding. Fury overwhelmed him and before he realised what he had done, the assaulters were dead or injured, and his blade - bloodied. He looked down in horror, then looked around - for the people saw everything. Whispers and murmurs rose across the crowds, the looks in their eyes not friendly. Terrified for his beloved wife's safety, he ordered his soldiers to close ranks - and rushed to his castle, where he locked himself and her.
Feeling the safety of his family compromsied, the man sent spies to listen to the crowds, hear their moods. The spy learned that there were dissidents, people trying to rally the villagers against him. Immedaitely, he decreed that listening to these people be illegal, and any people trying to raise arms against him or goad others to do so, publicly or in secret, would be punished by whip and cell. And yet, more came, more people murmured and soon, the militia he made turned against his army, trying to assail their lord as he walked in his gardens one day. Militia was outlanwed and the soldiers - instructed to walk among the cities, keep an eye out for uprisings and enforce proper work - as the coffers still were empty, and there was no choice but to make people work for the realm to prosper.
Eventually, the man secretly sent his wife and son away, to a neighbouring realm as refugees, as after the attempt in his garden, he became paranoid and feared for their lives. His armour, earlier polished and mantained by serfs, was now matted and dull, for he didn't trust any servant anymore. His hair long and greasy, as he feared to undo the armour to wash himself, the chin often hosting stubble and unkempt beards, since he feared to turn his back to the door to shave, and he definitely didn't trust any barbers to do so for him.
And then, news reached his ears. News of a foreign adventurer, coming to his kingdom, hearing his people's woes and raising arms against their lord. A tyrant, they called him, who almost lost his wife to angered mob and who strived so hard to make their lands prosper.
"I am not the villain here. They are. These people scheme against me, every day, every night. I but sought to prevent it - and now he is here. He is the proof - and he shall be an example for them" - the lord spoke to himself, as the door to his throne room opened, revealing a man in colourful attire and an armour on his chest.
"You shall pay for all you did, villain!" - the intruder shouted. He continued on, something about surrender, but the lord didn't hear it. He rose from the throne, gripping his blade. He was tired, for the paranoia didn't let him sleep, but he had to fight. He had to make things right once more.
And as he laid there, bleeding from his wounds, everything came back to him - and the lord turned tyrant couldn't help but bitterly laugh, while the darkness consumed his vision.
