Hashish Speaks

It never mattered whether the Old Man of the Mountains was sane or not. The Assassins would carry out his mandate ruthlessly, even if not quite as efficiently as the true professionals. And in the end, history decided that they were all a footnote, albeit a quirky and interesting one. The world is full of such stories, and some are actually part of history; some are actual parts of history, and some have parted with history.

I have always been intensely curious about the patterns that appear to repeat themselves. But like the curling surface films found on an ancient keris, that wavy-edged sword of this region, repetition is an illusion - only similarity and parallelism remain. And those themselves are often illusions of elision, illusions of allusion. Games, every one of them, with players long gone and some imaginary.

The knives are out again. May the right birds be plucked and skinned, may the right feathering be done. Patterns repeat.