I am a tactician to die for.
Lyn and I hit it off immediately.
She chattered away in her cramped little hut, while I sat and contemplated just what I was going to do with my life.
I never reached an answer.
Bandits came. I told her to move, she moved. I told her to stab, she did that too. Every command, she followed.
Excellent, indeed.
This would work rather well, I agreed.
Excellent, indeed.
That's how they described me, at least, and who was I to disagree?
After all, I am a tactician to die for.
Months passed, I ended up in a humid, seaside country, embroiled once again in a quest for blood.
And who was I to disagree?
This proposition was, most certainly, excellent indeed.
After all, I'm the best there is, a tactician to die for.
War is my game and these children are pawns,
And my pawns they shall be.
All ready to die for their commander, their red-headed lord,
Whose life was controlled by me.
I am the tactician to die for, after all.
I am most excellent, indeed.
A breeding grounds for expendables, the pawns in my fabulous game.
The shockwaves of this conflict will engulf them all, you see.
I am the tactician to die for.
Excellent, indeed.
To control the outcome of everything from behind the scenes
To toy with dozens of lives and to destroy thousands more in years to come?
What an excellent proposition, yes,
Excellent, indeed.
I never reached an answer, but that's a lie, you see.
Because at that very moment, as Lyn chattered away in her cramped little hut, I decided.
The bandits came, she did as she was told without question,
And who else has that power
but god?
I am a tactician to die for,
and all of them did, for me.
This started as a parody of tactician fics. In prose. Then I wrote "excellent indeed" and the course of the whole thing changed. Oops.
This was done pretty quickly, and is decent when not examined closely.
Well, actually I don't know about the quality. I'm the writer. Everything I create is either going to look like total crap or totally amazing to me.
I guess this, on the sliding scale of crap to greatness, is leaning more closely to the 'crap' side, in my opinion.
Pretty soon, and this author's note is going to be longer than the poem itself.
