Reflections on the Dįvonësë War: The Dįvįnë Will Bear Witness to Fate

Chapter 2 - The Old Man

42nd Day of Ope in the Third Month of Snow's Fall
4372 A.G.G. (261 Years Ago)

The Municipality of Bastion, The Deep Cities
The Continent of Hesijua

----------

Samahdemn

I stopped short of the under-garden lake's shore to observe a man who stood facing away from me, at the water's edge. He seemed transfixed on something in front of him. Something in his hands. This was a man who had been not only my brother within the order for the past twelve years of my life, but my mentor. On some levels, even once a friend.

His dark skin had the texture of rough leather and his short cropped hair wasnearly white washed with age. A master craft. Light interconnected plate mail with weighty chainmail made of isilivere under it; hidden mostly underneath hefty ceremonial-looking garbs and thick leathers and cloths of the finest cuts. Complete with a bulky surcoat of such a length that it nearly touched the toes.

However, due to his higher status within the Order, his garb was far more ostentatious in the embroidery of its cloth and there were tribal designs embossed all over the exposed armour pieces. And whereas he was spotless and clean, I was dirty, beaten, and covered with sweat and blood. Underneath my armour's sporadic battle-damage I was sore and bruised. My white cloth robes were slashed and covered in burns and pieces of other people's bloody flesh. The chainmail that lay beneath exposed where it was not designed to be.

Happily for me though, my black and silver meditation beads which were ever wrapped around my sword arm remained undamaged and magickly unspoiled...

In the thigh holster to the old man's left was his standard issue large caliber pistol; one identical to mine. Low across the small of his back, he wore his glaive folded within its rig. Its umbilical already inserted in his sword arm ports.

He seemed unaware of my presence at first. But that would've been a foolish thing to believe. He was a Knight of the Drågon. He was always well aware of his surroundings. This was a man who had nearly seventy five years' experience in The Way of Vision as a spymaster. Not to mention his time as a follower of The Way of the Sword. He was very aware of me. As was evident by the fact that he was in full battle dress.

He was supposed to be in the middle of his evening constitutional. I remember thinking to myself. Not standing here in full armour waiting for me. And where's his guard? There must be more than what I just ran through if he's here like this.

Apparently I'd failed to understand that regardless of what I thought of myself or my abilities, or how well I'd done up to this point, none of it meant anything when it came to assaulting a Knight of the Drågon. And even though I knew this man, it now begged the question "How well do you ever know anyone?" After all I'd discovered, what else had he kept from me? What had he not taught me that he still knew? Could I adequately predict his movements in a fight?

Too much experience. Too many factors. A frontal assault had seemed the best course of action at the time. Just rush in, in an attempt to catch him off guard, hoping for the best.

But this didn't feel right. And I should've realized it before then.

Even with my ability to slide through the majority of security checkpoints with my Order credentials, doing what I could preemptively to sabotage anything that could document my movements days prior and buying off the occasional guard here and there, there still wasn't nearly enough resistance to my upheaval. No sign of the spire's internal security forces moving about the halls. No reinforcements called by those I'd been forced to cleave my way through. No alarms. Nothing. Just a few dozen guards and 3 other Knights. I knew that there couldn't have been many of my peers partaking in this betrayal of our oaths. But there should have been more than this. There had to be. It shouldn't have been this easy to assault someone of such a grand status. It was utterly quiet.