The Book of Weasel

We are the Weasels.

There are those that exist for the high pitched battle. We are not they. These are the targets of our world. These are OUR targets. They clamber and they jump. They dodge and they shoot. All the while illuminated. All the while without cover. All the while without protection.

The darkness protects us. The Weasel in all of us cherishes the dark and the protected crevices of the world. He who does not cherish the dark and does not cherish the protected crevices will be struck down.

We are the unseen. And he who does not see the unseen, will be struck down and his confusion and wonder will be left unaddressed. Only those that embrace the Weasel will revel in the unseen kill.

We do not live for the frag. We live for the fear we strike in other's hearts. The blissfully ignorant fall before us wondering "What?" and "How?" as we dissolve back into the darkness.

We care not for "score." If we can cause our opponents to cry out or cause them to curse the sky or cause their fingers to leave the keyboard in fright, then our private score is incremented. The targets do not know our scoring system for it is beyond their ken.

Open battle has its uses. Note well, for as a weasel rampages, the certainty of the target mind is eroded. He thinks of us as skulkers and yet we confront him in the open. This confuses him and fills his mind with doubt and forces his tactics to change. As he rages, we go back to the darkness and shoot him as he rages. Rage of the target means the death of the target.

Patience is the root from which we all grow. Yea, if you grow restless, you shall perish. We watch and we wait. If we do not take a shot, we will wait for the next one. Do not bring attention to yourself by taking a chancy shot unless you feel that Mistress Fortune is on your side. Yea, there will come a perfect shot and you will rejoice in the fear and loathing it brings unto you. Devour the fear and revel in the loathing!

Mistress Fortune is our patron. She is the protective mother of us all. Only those who are doomed denounce her inevitable hand in all things. As we embrace the factor of luck, Fortune will smile upon our devotion and grant us success upon success. Note well that she is a fickle Mistress. Yea, she may leave for a time and seemingly grant others what was once your favored status. But do not stray from devotion for if you are true to Fortune, her hand will soon rest on your shoulder and guide your shots once again.

Think high and think low. Your average opponent will not notice the weasel in the rafters nor the weasel in the water. That is their undoing. This is something to exploit. Their Fear is a feast and their Paranoia is a banquet. They must learn through the bitter experience of falling prey to your fire. Hallowed is the bell tower with the unobstructed view. Blessed is the railing to crouch behind and holy is the dark stairwell with but one approach.

Do not allow an opponent's taunts to affect you. They do not know us nor know of our ways. They do not understand. They will insult you and hurl epitaphs at you and try to goad you into showing yourself. You are above all of this. Respond to these tactics with your own insults but remain true to the Weasel. If you can make the opponent think you are affected by his taunting, then you have won. He is now basing his tactics and his thinking and his actions on a false premise. If you can lure your opponent into a fight that he thinks he has the upper hand in, then you have the advantage instead.

Choose your time and your place and your tactics. To play another's game is to submit to their will. To submit to their will is to abandon the Weasel and that is to surrender a piece of your soul.

And so it was written. . .