12 years back, when he was a general and following the Lord into battle he has once attended a tactical session. The session was arranged by Ihyr Garzela, a general in the eastern Khar regiment, a true veteran of thirty seven years, and one of the main things discussed was hunting a shaman.
The difference between a mage and a shaman was as minute as the difference between grass and weed. Apart from the medium of chanting spells there is not much difference to be found between the two. Moreover a shaman has higher physical standards compared to a mage whose sole reliance is on their spells.
Now, northerners are a practical bunch and so, if a session for strategy and theoretical discussion was arranged, then sure as hell was a practical one too. So, that day he laid in godforsaken mud and rain for half the night before he completed his mission of bringing back a shaman's head. He was not the only one, every soilder who attended the session, have to bring a head back. That day he had his brothers around him but now, he was alone and his speed has detoriated with age and injuries. But he remembered the mantra - Swift, Ambush and Action. He was not swift any longer, so surprise has to take place of swift.
If you are walking in capital and you ask a man are these things sufficient to make him stop and think if he can kill a mage or not. He will probably think you are nuts but if someone says yes, then he is a madmen and the whole of continent knows, no one is as mad as Drawzhi's regimental idiots.
He was a general and before that a soldier and above all he was eastern. So, what was the first thing he was going to do? First he was going to kill and then he will think. After all he was a brute, not a goddamn man of culture.
Three hours of wait in the midnight made him bone weary tired with his spine slinking and waist aching something fierce in the winter wind. His wait finally ended when a young woman wearing the cowl entered his gate with her typical Western arrogance.