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What Price Control? (on)


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#1 Arcalian

Posted 23 September 2006 - 02:45 AM

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
--OZYMANDIAS of EGYPT by Percy Bysshe Shelley


How had it ever come to this?

Balthazaar wondered this as he stood with his elite monks, faithful to the end, unquestioning even now.

Mellisan had escaped. He beleived that what he had done had stopped her plans, but that did not prevent her from starting anew. In his own way, he had played his part willingly enough. The others of the Five had not died by his hand only because Dane and his band had been more ready and eager to do the task. Certainly enough of the soldiers of Sendai had fallen because of him. And how many of his own bretheren had he sent to die in the pits of Abazigal? Too many. Far too many.

He closed his eyes, and in the eye of his memory--perfectly correct and faithful due to his training--he saw Mellisan sneer as his guards closed in, and with a twitch of her hand, shapeshift and grow into a terrifying priestess of power. She cut them down easily, told him that Dane would finish him so she need not be bothered, and vanished in a flash of blood red light.

But it was the fate of Amkethran that bothered him most. Would the town even survive what he had done to it? He had sought to protect it's citizens, but the mercenaries he had brought, now useless parasites upon it's dwindling resources. Truly he regretted his wasted efforts at the expense of the city's citizens, who now justly hated him. When he fell lower than even the smuggling scum, then his own plight was dire indeed.

I have failed my sensei, he thought tiredly. Too late he understood. He told me discipline was for the self, not the world. But I did not listen. I sought to control the city, the others of the Five, and my own fate. I have control, but what has it wrought? The death my father wanted. Curse him. I sought order, and what did it bring, tyrrany and pain, not the well managed peace I sought. Bhaal must be laughing at me. Certainly Mellisan is.

He heard the footseps of Dane and his party on the stairs, echoing through the polished amber halls of his sanctuary. He took a deep breath.

"You can depart if you wish, and tend to the needs of the citizenry," he told his inner circle. "This battle is my responsibility."

Two of them stared at him disbeleiving.

One simply shook his head.

The eldest dared to speak. "Do not test our loyalty now, Master. We will stay with you."

"Even if I am wrong?"

"Compared to these animals?" the monk snorted. "You are justice incarnate compared, master. Always you have walked in the light. We will stand with you, and destroy the enemy."

Balthazaar heard the arrogance and fanaticism of his own teachings in the monk's voice, and sighed. It was too late to try to spare them this horror. "Very well. After the battle, tend to Amkethran's citizens. The merecenaries will no longer be needed, and must be disperesed. Restore the supply lines, so the smugglers are not the people's only resource."

"You will tend it yourself, Master," another monk said.

"Perhaps," Balthazaar said, and spoke to them no more.

Dane's party arrived in the main audience chamber. Balthazaar took in the sorcerer in his dark blue robes, flanked by his jester half-sister on the one side, and his ressurected mad warrior half-brother on the other.
The Bhaalspawn War goes on, indeed. Forgive me sensei, I have failed you.

"Ah, Dane. Your presence here shows me how foolish I have been...."

For somehow this is tyranny's disease, to trust no friends.
Death is better, a milder fate than tyranny.
Two separate quotes from Aeschylus (525 BC - 456 BC)

The road to the abyss may be paved with good intentions, but it is those with bad intentions that race down that road as fast as they can.

#2 Guest_Dadri_*

Posted 23 September 2006 - 06:03 AM

I read it, and liked it. I like the tone. It's always harsh to suddenly realize that you've made a great mistake (not just a normal, run of the mill mistake), and that is where we meet Balthazaar.

I like the speech between him and his monks, as it shows the difference between what he has been and what he is now. It also shows where his heart really is. ;)

#3 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 24 September 2006 - 05:29 PM

Nice work.

This is exactly the kind of thing that actually maked me like Balthazar. A lot of people write him off as a fanatic who was just plain crazy and therefore of no worth whatsoever, but I disagree.

Certainly, the guy's methods are awful. But it's one of those instances where his intentions are... in a way, good. He just has the absolute wrong idea on how to bring about his goals.

And in this case, his methods backfire, and the whole thing goes to hell... and yet, I can still kinda sympathize with him.

Another good addition.




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