Phyllip- Saint of Eleytheria, Martyr of Agothos

A Historical and Cultural Record by Thymos Selona, 5A 337

It is often said, both here and abroad, “Agothonian selflessness is uncommon.” The double-meaning is obvious, but we Agothonians are very used to hearing it to mean “Agothonian selflessness is infrequent.” And this much is true- we are indeed not known for our self-sacrifice. A day in the halls of one of our mining companies and you will see enough greed and villainy to make even Perifania (The Most Wretched) blush with shame. It has even only been 45 years since we attacked and enslaved our own neighbor and ally, Filos. Ask any Senator, especially one from the Pathiti party, and they will tell you of atrocities innumerable committed in the name of “Agothonian interests.” We are decadent, weak-willed, voluptuous, hedonistic, violent, shallow, argumentative, disloyal, selfish, unchaste, compromising, and stupid. And on top of that, to be these things is not only legal, but protected! If the parish priest were, in a fit of frustration, to drag you out of the brothel so as to lecture you to stay faithful to your wife, it would be he who is locked in the stockade for “trampling your rights.” The Republic, with all its ideals of Liberty and Freedom, has used this freedom to become so quickly corrupted by our desires and temptations. This blight reaches to the furthest peaks and lowest crags of our society; from Consul to housewife, from priest to prostitute. And instead of using our Republic, with its democracy which we pride ourselves on, to make ourselves and our neighbors better, we militantly defend those who taint us the most. Their freedom to do wrong outweighs any benefit that might come from stopping it. A mining foreman sends thousands of men to their deaths everyday, but that is his “right,” and to say otherwise is taboo. For a Free Nation, we seem to have more in common with the Evil Ones (may they never draw near) than with our allies. We should consider ourselves lucky that they only call us selfish in their turn-of-phrase.

But there is another meaning to that saying, one that is hardly used due to the reasons I stated above. The idea that “Agothonian selfessness is extraordinary” seems very outlandish, indeed. How can anyone, mired in the sludge that is our culture, be said to be selfless!? When asked this, I do not answer with a sentence, but rather a story. While most of us Agothonians have become jaded to fairy tales, and know there is no “justice” in the real world, the story we often tell schoolchildren in history class shows us a very unique side of ourselves. I speak, of course, of the story of Saint Phyllip. And while patriotism may be dead for most of us, I retell the true accounts here, in hopes that it may yet inspire us. That it may instigate a resurgence of our true selves- not the feeble, loose-moraled mob we are shown to be, but the grand, noble, and brave Soldiers of Liberty. I have gone out of my way to make sure that the account that follows is as accurate as possible, that we not sugar-coat our past but stand in all its very real glory. Read now and learn well the story of Phyllip: Champion of Freedom, Guardian of the Weak, and Matyr of Agothos. It begins in the autumn of the year 5344 of the 4th Age; barely 3 months after the Free Alliance loses the battle at Seril.

Phyllip, Knight of Agothos and Soldier of the King’s Army, took his seat as the tavern owner brought him his meal. He sighed; normally a place like this would be bustling with colorful people from all over Polemos. With the evil hordes of the 39 Shards approaching ever closer on the capital, though, this quaint inn had been commandeered by the army for a mess hall. Being a Captain he could forgo the rabble of the enlisted for the relative tranquility of the dining room upstairs, but seeing the obvious stress on the overworked proprietor made the meal very unpleasant for him. Phyllip was what many people told him was a typical Agothonian. His curly brown hair contrasted his fair skin well, and his deep blue eyes beamed with warmth and openness. While he was of common birth, that didn’t mean much in Agothos. Sure there was a king but, especially in the army, it mattered more what you did than who your father was. He had joined the army as soon as he was old enough, first for the opportunities it provided him but soon he had come to cherish the idea that he defended his countrymen from the gangs of evil men and demons that continually threatened Agothos. And at 34 years old, he was the youngest man to become a Captain for as far as anyone could remember. He didn’t brag about this, though, as the circumstances in which he arose were most unfortunate.

It was three months before, at the Battle of Seril, that Phyllip had proven his worth. While Agothos and their allies, the “Free Alliance”, had been at odds with the 39 Shards for millennia, they had been at a continuous stalemate. Constant border skirmishes and small battles were common, and Phyllip had fought bravely in his share of them. Then there came a report of a huge army massing near the town of Seril, which was the river that bordered the Free Alliance’s lands. Believing it to be a massive invasion force, the Agothonian generals called for the entire alliance to join in the city’s defense. Armies came from all over, and soon what was called “The White Army” was ready for battle. They consisted mainly of men, though they hailed from almost every culture on Polemos. Across the river at Seril the 39 Shards finished their preparations, as well. They had with them not only men, but the mighty Dragoons, and the numerous demons and Syphkolk afforded them by their evil masters. Under the Banner of the Shattered Moon, they went to appease the Binding Stones. The White Army quickly moved to the only bridge that allowed entry into their territory. The large stone bridge was wide, but would still take the invasion force time to move across. The Free Alliance planned to let their enemy onto the bridge, then inflict as many losses as possible with archers on the shores.

As the hordes began their march down the bridge, Agothos’s finest mages were brought up to erect mind walls at the bridge’s exit, effectively trapping their enemy from leaving the hailstorm of arrows. This wall, however, would be the White Army’s doom. Having been promised unlimited wealth and power, a full 80% of the White Army had given in to the Binding Stones, and had secretly plotted the battle’s conclusion. The most notable of the traitors was General Octim, whose heavy cavalry was stationed as the rear guard. They pinned the remaining loyal forces between them and the magical wall that kept the enemy from getting in, but that also kept them from getting out. Facing total annihilation, many of the loyal units scattered and were slaughtered. Phyllip was in one of these still loyal groups. His captain, as their brothers set upon them, was overcome by panic and abandoned his men. Phyllip was able to rally those in his unit that did not flee immediately, and devised a plan. He and his men cut their way towards the rear through force of will. They took heavy casualties but pushed on at breakneck pace- Phyllip leading from the front. By sheer guts they fought their way into the heavy cavalry blocking their escape and managed to throw Octim from his horse. As Phyllip’s best friend laid the killing blow on the traitor-general, he was quickly cut down. The deed was done, however, and chaos spread through the defectors’ ranks. This allowed Phyllip along with thousands of others to escape. A full 10% of the original force was able to make a retreat. A full 10% more than would have made it out alive if Phyllip had not been there. For this he was knighted and given his commission of an entire company. Though he and his men fought bravely, the battle at Seril had done its damage; they fought a losing battle, always retreating. Now they sat in the Agothonian capital, Agalos, and waited as the government dissolved around them in despair. Every night they heard the artillery hit the walls, and every day they burned the dead. The king had been touring the units frequently, but had always denied his troops’ desperate pleas to evacuate himself. Though Phyllip knew the king did this to fill his troops with resolve, he also knew it was having the opposite effect on them. They were hopeless; they knew the king would die here, and the dream known as Agothos would die with him. The Free Alliance would crumble, and the 39 Shards would literally rule the whole of Polemos. Already desertion was common, and Phyllip knew the only reason his men had not was due to his reputation. Just as he finished the last of his pork, there was an earth-shattering crash outside. The entire building shook on its foundation, and Phyllip and the other officers braced themselves as dust fell from the ceiling. They all hesitated as the rumbling subsided, except Phyllip, who stood immediately and headed downstairs. He knew what had happened- the walls had been breached, and he knew what he must do. As he reached the bottom of the landing he bellowed out, “Eagle Company, gather yourselves out front. You have 20 seconds.”

His men in formation on the cobblestone street out front, he looked upwards to the sky. It was black and filthy with smoke and fire. The moon Kathreftis beamed blood red. One of his men sheepishly cried out, “We aren’t going to fight are we!? It’s hopeless!” “If no hope is given to us then we shall make our own, Vermal. This is our world, and we will make it as we please.” As Phyllip continued to stare in the sky, lightning streaked down, smashing the top of the palace over yonder. Little by little, rain began to fall on his face. As he looked back down at his men, a messenger approached. He yelled aloud as he panted, “General Rotia has fled, sir! He said you’re his successor and that you should lead the troops in his absence. What are you orders?”

Phyllip looked up for a long moment again, then turned to him, “Tell the entire defense force to meet me in Liberty Square. We make our stand at the stairway to the palace.” The messenger gave a hasty salute then ran back down the street towards the walls. Phyllip turned back to his men, “Everyone, I want you to spread out and find every able person to help defend the king. I tell you the odds may be against us, but the dream Eleytheria has bestowed upon us was not an easy one to begin with. Do not make the sacrifices of the past be in vain; they must be made once more. When there are no more souls willing to defend Freedom, that is when our hope dies. But as long as there are those willing to protect instead of throw away, say ‘Yes’ instead of ‘No’, willing to stand and offer everything they have on the Alter of Freedom then we will never be defeated! Though our bodies may be broken and fall away, the heavens will resound and echo our desires! The tapestry will unravel; the river will change its flow; and even the gods themselves will stand in awe of our resolve. Today we are victorious, and the only ones who can stop us are ourselves. So let us go now, let us go and find those that will choose victory instead of defeat. Let us gather them together, and show those that will deny us our Liberty what a powerful thing that is! For the King, for Agothos, for Eleytheria, and for Freedom!”

With this, his men silently shuffled off. Phyllip turned and started walking towards the center of town; towards Liberty Square. When he arrived it was deserted. Alone, he walked up the stairs of the silent palace, where the king awaited his fate. Halfway up the grand marble stairway was a platform, where the Alter of Freedom stood. It was here that national ceremonies praising Eleytheria for her gift of free will were performed. Phyllip sat a few stairs below it, and waited. Surely there will be others, he thought, I just gave the best speech of my life to my men, surely they will follow me.

A woman’s voice came from behind him, “You know you have no chance. Your men have deserted you.” Phyllip stood and spun around to see a beautiful woman in a white silk dress sitting on the alter. Fair skinned, her brown hair in a ponytail, she gazed down on him with warm green eyes. She smirked curtly as she hopped down off the stone slab.

“Begone evil temptress! I have faith in my men.”

“Evil? What’s that…?” the woman cooed as she started to descend the stairs, widely swinging her hips as she neared him. “But either way what I have said is the truth, is it not? You must understand that by staying here you will lose your own life, yet save no ones. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then…even in that knowledge you choose to stay?”

Phyllip stood silent, eventually turning away from the palace to view the plaza. His eyes narrowed as he saw at the edge of the square reams of soldiers in black armor, waving crimson banners as they rushed forward. “Yes,” he said.

The woman wrapped her slender arms around him from behind, caressing his chin, “There is yet time. I can save you- no- you can save yourself. Just say the word, and I will take you to any place you want. I can even take you to my paradise. You will be safe there forever. No pain…no worries-“

“-There is no place I would rather be than right here, right now,” Phyllip declared forcefully.

“Why?” She pressed herself near him as he drew his sword, the multitude of demons now nearing the base of the steps. “Why?” She repeated coyly.

“Because this is how I choose my world to be. This is how I want things to end.”

The woman finished her embrace, backing up the stairs, “End? No, it is not your end. Until tomorrow, then…”

Phyllip glanced over his shoulder, seeing no one. He turned back towards the waves of horrifying monsters scrambling up towards him. He took a long, deep breath, then let out a loud cry as he rushed down to meet them- sword held high.

That day the capital fell. The palace was destroyed; the king, his wife, his young daughters, the ministers and the rest of the government, butchered. There was no one to defend them, save one. The Kingdom of Agothos died that day; the Free Alliance fell apart without its leadership. Yet when the masses of evil men and demons came out of the palace that day to gloat and collect their spoils, they were stunned. Kathreftis, the moon that mirrored the state of the world, beamed a radiant pure blue, joyously mocking them. It is said that one of the Binding Stones cracked that day, ever so slightly, but enough to have the generals that assaulted the capital executed for the “failed invasion.” The Dragoons that were there returned to their homeland, awestruck by the display of courage. While they could not leave the 39 Shards, they would never be seen in their ranks in that number ever again. Phyllip’s body was never recovered, but his sword now sits embedded in the Alter of Freedom, which was rebuilt at the founding of the Republic. It stands there even today, reminding us that Freedom will never die so long as there are people willing to lay down their life for it. May Eleytheria and Saint Phyllip forever be blessed.