The Witness

Cartheron Sun Sep 27, 2009 11:01 pm

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

She watched the procession of Templars from the shadows of a rubbish strewn alley. Human waste and refuse had gathered in drifts along the alley, the detritus of the tens of thousands of lives that made up the population of Stormwind. Swathed in a ragged woolen cloak and basic leathers, both greasy with age, she watched the assembled Templars file past with a faint smile on her lips. It was an impressive sight, she had to admit. Rarely did one see such an assemblage of plate and steel on the streets of Stormwind. Rarer still these days were the colours of the Order worn in great numbers. From the depths of her hood, grey eyes glittered sharply. The crowds lining the streets were gawping at the sheer pageantry of it all, hypnotised by the glinting steel and outlandish weapons on display. Though they knew that this was a mark of respect, of mourning, their curiosity often got the better of them and mutters and whispers followed the Templars on their path.

Hers were the only eyes that actually looked, studying the faces of the Templars as they filed past as though searching for something. He had told her to be watchful, to observe. This was an important time, a moment which could change the Order for good or for ill. More than ever, they needed to be vigilant. As she watched, the ranks of Templars passed deeper into Stormwind. Following through the crowds, she saw them march in solemn order to the Cathedral with the old man on the cart at their head. As the last of the Neophytes passed through the great bronze doors, the crowds began to thin and break up, each amn and woman returning to their lives. Soon only she was left, safely shrouded in the lee of the Orphanage and gazing at the scenes of scripture engraved upon the Cathedral doors. Plainsong from inside the hallowed grounds plucked at the edges of her hearing as she marshalled her thoughts. The meditative techniques that he had taught her brought the faces of the Templars back to her in perfect detail. Castorr, the grizzled veteran, angry and disbelieving. Requizit, normally the flamboyant powdered fop, now sullen and downcast. Kaylaruana and Louise, twin pictures of misery. And Vaknor, the Elder. Outwardly so heartfelt in his sorrow, his ancient face a mask of grief. And yet, for one fleeting second, the mask had slipped and something else had taken its place. What it was, she could not yet tell, but it had almost seemed like satisfaction.

Movement in the square broker her reverie. Dusk was falling and the square was empty save for the two men making their way to the Cathedral. One was short, stocky and swathed in furs. He strode forward as if angered at the entire world and raw power rolled from him in waves, barely held in check. The other wore the plate of a Templar coupled with the colours of the Order, his dark skin like ebony against the polished steel of his battle-harness. Unlike the other Templars she had seen today, his armour was not blackened by mourning lacquers. The two men stopped before the Cathedral doors and exchanged words in low voices. The air between them was thick with tension and reeked with power. The shorter man shrugged, the gesture briefly exposing the auburn beard that covered his cheeks as his hood moved, then pushed the doors open and stepped into the nave of the Cathedral. Before following his companion in, the ebony skinned Templar looked back and cast a long gaze across the square. His eyes caught hers almost immediately, as though he could sense her presence. He nodded slightly, the movement so quick as to almost not happen at all, then he stepped into the light spilling from the open door of the Cathedral.

Alone amongst the ranks of the Order, she had known what was to occur this day. The Saracen had explained it to her before leaving and the coded message she had received nine days past had confirmed it.

'Onslaught wishes Mercy. Restored, the Fist uncovered. Reuniting of the family, trinity of trinity dawns next. Pattern hawk advised, the bearing of siblings.'

Watch them, he had told her. Watch your Brothers and Sisters. Look for the truth in their eyes. Not every foe we face comes from the Darkness without. She had been careful, she had been observant and she had watched those who would claim to be her family. Now that the Fist and the Saracen had returned, the real work could begin. Smiling to herself, Tattersail slipped away into the shadows.