RMH
@theartofmadeline
will byers stan first human second
shark vs the universe
No title available
No title available
Not today Justin
tannertan36
No title available
JBB: An Artblog!
Discoholic 🪩
ojovivo
almost home
hello vonnie
PR's Tumblrdome
⁂
dirt enthusiast
noise dept.
Game of Thrones Daily
#extradirty
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
@torbeen
Break The Chains - Torben Hackney
“The leaders come and go, but the people remain. Only the people are immortal.”
Torben Hackney - An Original Character in the Warcraft Universe - Semi-Selective, Private, OC and Canon Character Friendly. About LFC Sheet Rules
random character development q’s!
1. How wealthy is your muse? 2. Does your muse enjoy housework? 3. How quickly does your muse fall in love? 4. What sound soothes your muse the most? 5. How many blankets does your muse sleep with? 6. Would your muse survive without modern technology? 7. If your muse could open any kind of store, what would it be? 8. What is your muse’s dream job? Do they think it’s attainable? 9. If your muse could make a new law, what would it be and why? 10. If your muse could have any animal as a pet, what would it be? 11. What is one (1) skill your muse has been wanting to learn, but hasn’t, yet? 12. if your muse could be any mythological creature, what would they be and why? 13. If your muse could eat only one (1) kind of food for the rest of their life, what would it be? 14. If given the chance, would your muse rather explore outer space or the bottom of the ocean? 15. What is your muse’s primary love language? ( words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, or physical touch )
“Five aces!” Torben announced as proud as a farmer presenting their prize winning pig at a harvest festival who simply *knew* they would bring home the blue ribbon. The cards were slapped down upon the rickety table amidst the dank elegance of what was the Underbelly of Dalaran’s finest, and be sheer coincidence only…tavern? Inn? Watering hole? Even by the loosest standards of what passed as any of the former this establishment failed to reach the bar of any of them, no matter how low such a bar had been brought.
Did it matter that there were only four aces total in a deck of cards? Of course not. Did it matter that the back of this mysterious fifth ace failed to match the color of *every* other card in play? Sheer happenstance, of course. Such things happened all the time, surely. If any fuss was to be made Torben would make the most likely of excuses for such a thing. The drawing of an ace from his sleeve as the nova of magic transported Dalaran…somewhere or other. Khaz Some’whereo’such. Never. It must’ve been some residual instability in the nexi of arcane energies causing fluctuations in space and time itself. Thus, leading to Torben possessing five aces.
No protest could be made from the trio of dumbfounded faces that surrounded Torben at the table, no steel could be drawn in protest over any such allegations of cheating as they so often were down here. Not when the very base of the city shook with such force that pebbles and loosened sand from the bedrock above vibrated, coming down upon the pile of coins, Torben’s soon to be winnings, in a cascade that left the gold suffering the indignity of being coated in debris.
What in the wide, wonderful world of Azeroth could have been the source of such a disturbance? What perfect timing it was that the barkeep at the counter uttered such a keen inquiry. “What are those Mages up to now…” The barkeep questioned, setting down the mug he was polishing, as all barkeeps did when they made such questions.
“NERBIANS!” Came a shout from further within the network of sewer pipes that made up the Underbelly, followed by the sounds of struggle. Gunshots, the clash of steel on something solid, flashes of magic cascading from further ahead in displays so brilliant they put fireworks to shame.
Stares of disbelief were shared all around the table, now not from the dazzling mystery of the five Aces that Torben had played, and most certainly used to win, the game of cards at the table. Ahhhh, but how swiftly disbelief turned to shock as the very brickwork of the tunnels began to shift, then erupt, as Nerbians poured forth from…somewhere.
How was Torben supposed to know? What was he, an Arachnologist? Of course not! All he knew is that they must have been here for one reason and one reason only. The gold.
How plain it was in the way they chittered and shrieked, scrambling forth onto the planks of the Underbelly’s finest establishment, the glint of greed in their numerous eyes. They were coming here to deprive Torben of his ill-begotten riches from this final hand of the card game!
That must have been it!
Alas, no matter how many legs they had and pockets they had on their pants, not a single one of them would be lined with coin if Torben had anything to say about it. Torben stood over the table and in one fluid, practiced motion drew forth the flintlock pistol tucked into his belt and fired at the nearest Nerbian, scattering their dreams of wealth, and chunky spider juices or whatever they had in their skulls (again, he was not an Arachnologist) through the air.
“Washed straight down the waterspout.”
What shock it was, to Torben at least, that things were still *spinning* out of control, as chaos was weaved around him. Why had that single Nerbian, foiled in it’s plans to interrupt the game of cards, not stemmed the tide of Nerbians that continued to pour forth?
Torben could see the scattered defenders of the Underbelly becoming swiftly overwhelmed, despite the fierce resistance these vagabonds and scoundrels offered, the blades of the Uncrowned spun into webs and imprisoned. It didn’t take a Marshal to access where things were going. This battle had turned against them.
In such times there was but one thing to do.
“Every man for himself!” Went up the cry from one of the patrons of the Underbelly, and with the practiced precision of cats being let out of a bag, everyone sought to scatter. To escape. To flee.
Not Torben, who stood with the still smoking pistol in hand. He would not flee. He would not abandon the UNderbelly to it’s fate of invasion and armed robbery by these eight-legged monsters.
Not until he had saved…
The gold.
Torben poured his winnings, pebbles, dust, coins and all into the knapsack at his feet, a number of the playing cards falling inside as well. The chaos of the exodus of the Underbelly gave him that precious time. Time to throw the sack over his shoulder, turn…and witness a sight so heinous that it could have chilled the core of a fire elemental.
The depravity. The horror. The crime was so perverse that it went beyond words in any known language to explain.
There were Nerubians…pilfering from the treasure hoard of the Underbelly. The collected wealth that all of the Uncrowned had earned through good and honest robbery. Yet these spiders sought to steal from thieves. It was something that could not be allowed to pass, no matter how readily Torben put his own life and limb at risk.
Pouring the last of the contents from the table, the few remaining playing cards and a handful of coppers into his hat, and placing it upon his head, Torben charged, with steel in hand.
Two Nerubains could never hope to stand between Torben and the hoard of gold behind them, so it was that his cutlass danced through them like a shears through silk, ichor pouring forth from missing appendages as the would-be thieves were dispatched.
There was little time, even Torben knew that. Not all of the treasure could be spared from what was an apparent invasion of Nerubians. His previous suspicions that this were nothing more than a robbery were beginning to unravel by the sheer number of them, and the fact that none of them, not a one, were wearing pants and thus, lacked pockets to pilfer anything inside them.
At least Torben could save some of the treasure, and keep it in his personal safe keeping, of course. There could be nobody better trusted than him to be the caretaker of such wealth.
So caretake he did, shoveling handfuls of jewels, a plethora of priceless treasures, and one namely, odd looking coin with the face of a skull on one side and twin blades on the other that he just felt compelled to take, into the knapsack until it threatened to burst at the seams.
It wasn’t the press of Nerubians that inspired Torben to finally beat that hasty retreat down the escape tunnel, ohhhh no. It was the sound of something far, far more insidious coming. The voice of a monarchist with a bad haircut coming from the other side of the Underbelly.
One wonderfully executed escape later.
Torben stood upon the banks of…well, who could truly say, watching what appeared to be a massive swell of inky magic consume the floating city-state in a mass…and then erupting with such a violence it made Torben’s puffy, ichor stained swashbuckler shirt billow.
A single tear rolled down his cheek as he stared up at the immensity of the loss. All that treasure. Gone.
The Nerubians would pay.
Torben can die happy now.
@torbeen asked:
❛ you were dead, i saw you die. ❜
Hel leaned forward, a bemused and menacing smile on her pallid features. "Did you? Or were you captivated by a spectacularly compelling act?"
She eyed him up and down, smile widening.
"Look at me. Look at you." She turned her head to the side, like an owl, jointed on a swivel. "You think you are someone important enough to behold my demise? Truly?" She giggled and it was something odd. Sweet and sickly, unlike her visage. She was playing a game and he was her unwitting toy.
"When I go, I will poison the waters and salt the earth. None who see my bones will live to question my return. What ever you think you saw, you were mistaken."
"You think you are someone important enough to behold my demise? Truly?"
"Never doubt how grandiose my own sense of self importance is. It does us both a great disservice." Torben finally retorted, freeing himself from the stunned silence that had chained him to speechlessness for an entire minute. Now that had to be some sort of record of some sorts. One that, Torben assumed, the cosmos itself would write into the annals of his impeccably length biography.
What exactly had Torben seen? To that not even he was certain. Magic, incantations and all nature of phenomena beyond that he could hold in his hand were as mystifying to him as calculus was to kobolds. But what he had thought he'd seen was, well, the untimely end of one who he could only assume was some sort of Drustvarian Woods Witch. Or Necromancer. Or something of the sort.
Truly it would have been best if Torben had simply pretended he'd not seen anything at all. To continue about his business as it were and forget he'd seen anything akin to the apparent reversing of the mortal coil. But here he was. Sticking his nose in business in which it didn't belong, as bold as he liked.
"Then just what did I see then? Come now, you can't expect me to just carry on as I was now that I'd seen such a sight. It is my personal obligation to tell this tall tale over a cup of iced milk at the nearest tavern, chilling the blood of the locals and disturbing their tranquility."
Lord Admiral
@lady-proudmoore
but, often to shed light on the darkness, light isn't enough. often what i need is an even darker darkness...
template credit to @unholymilf!
Do me a favor. Reblog this if you welcome the use of ask memes as icebreakers between characters that have never, or rarely, interacted before.
(Trimming post, continued RP with @westfall-faith)
"Why should I ask 'What would you even do', when it is far better to ask 'What do you want'? Look past the obstacles to it. Silence any doubts there may be. Look only to the horizon of your wildest dreams, and what is there?"
Torben raised a finger, not in a scolding manner, but only to stitch an addition onto his notion. "You need not tell me, or anyone, if it is too sacred to your heart. But to know it is all that matters. Strive for it, step by step, without worrying about what lies ahead. The helmsman of a ship only knows their destination, not what storms may be in their path until they are there. You are the helmsman of your life, and I'm certain you can endure whatever storms may gather."
What faith said about the Brotherhood being no better than the monsters beneath the bed rang so true it painted a grimace across Torben's lips. It was all true. The one who stepped into Vanessa's discarded boots was a man wholly unworthy of the position. A brute at best, he would lead the Defias down a path that will certainly spell doom.
But the Brotherhood was all that Torben knew. It was the very ship that he wished to sail to the shores of his own outlandish, wild dream. A dream of broken chains and liberation for those who had been enslaved for so long they didn't even feel the yoke around their neck anymore.
Torben felt her fingers brush against his own gloved hand, and gripped it snug enough to be reassuring. Humor crinkled the corners of his eyes at her words, mirth slipping into his words all over again. "Ahhhh what would they do if Torben Hackney lost yet another partner while out on assignment? There are any number of tales that I could weave, I'm very certain. You were captured. You perished when we were discovered. You were swept away in a twister." The very imagery of the last one only inspired all the more humor in him. "Perhaps not swept away, but the hat blown straight off your head and you went chasing after it. I'd look for you, to be sure. But Westfall is a big place after all."
His hand in hers, she moved with a hestiancy, and wrapped her fingers with his. The warmth that emanated from her seemed to intensify, a beacon in the gloom. Then, in a movement as startling as it was intimate, she tilted her head forward, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead. It was a gesture of vulnerability, a silent plea akin to confession or prayer.
"There's more," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "A few months back, I was at Sentinel Hill. You know, the pardoning… the Defias. They formed the Breadbasket Guild, offerin' Westfall a lifeline. While I wasn't one of them lucky ones…" Her voice trailed off for a moment, a flicker of something akin to envy crossing her features. "But even without a pardon, I been watchin' em, helpin' them when I can. They're... wonderful"
This was a bold confession, a gamble. But with a surge of unexpected resolve, she continued. "I can take you to em'. Let you see for yourself. Westfall is dyin', Torben. They need all the help they can get." She leaned closer, the warmth radiating from her a palpable presence despite the chill of a tomb. With a boldness that surprised even herself, she pressed a kiss to the back of his gloved hand. "Come with me," she pleaded, her voice a mix of desperation and a nascent hope.
@torbeen
A sad smile crept across Torben's lips as she spoke as the look in his eyes shifted. It was not anger, nor rage, nor disgust. It was, for one of those times that were truly so few Torben could count them on one hand, genuine sadness. The acceptance of an inevitability, as it were, as he words only served to harden, like permafrost settling into the depths of a shallow river for the winter.
"I can't." Was how he began, the hand that she still clasped giving hers one last squeeze before he sought to disentangle his fingers from hers. "Pardons. Breadbaskets. Peace. They are things that belong to different men. Different women." The word was softened, just as his eyes did for that moment as he watched Faith. "They belong to you. But not me."
How could it be explained, what his goals were? What he strived for, without sounding like nothing more than a fool who would fly too close to the sun and all but surely be burnt, but his heart demanded he do it? Perhaps it was madness to dream of a world where any chains could be broken, let alone those of the people of Westfall. But it was a dream that Torben radiated from every single speck of his being.
"They are a lifeline, it is true. Their goals are noble. Commendable, even." Torben continued, his eyes once again seeking out the stars above/ Now why was that? Because he could not stand to meet the warmth of those steel eyes? "Let them be the lifeline while others like I cure the rot that poisons our society even now. For it is a poison. Of that there is no doubt. If it takes my all to administer the antidote, I will gladly do it. I would do it a thousand times if it meant freedom from the boot on their necks."
"Tell me why I'm here. You never bring me anywhere near your work."
SOMEWHERE IN PANDARIA. "Mr Hackney, please. Have a modicum of faith that I would never intentionally bring you into something uncouth and dangerous." He explained. "An...associate...of mine is currently displaced in time. An employee with employees of their own." He said, his cowled visage turning to look at the human. "From a certain point of view. While I -can- order around the former, I cannot exactly wrangle to what they hold in oath." "So I need you to keep an eye out for a demonic ambush while I take their report across space-time distortions." He explained, "Afterwards, I'll buy you a drink at the Elysian Sojourn. It' only about an hours flight from here."
@torbeen
"Demonic ambush? Why is it always some sort of demonic ambush?" Torben exclaimed in exasperation, those so often jovial brown eyes of his breaking from the cowled visage of his...now what exactly was Nixalegos to him? What exactly was fonder than an acquaintance but short of a comrade? There was definitely qa word for it...what was it...
Friend.
Ahhhhhh, that's what it was.
With a sigh of acceptance, drawn out enough to be performative, Torben brought one wrist down to drape over the hilt of the cutlass at his belt, the other to the flintlock pistol hanging safely within its holster. Torben, despite the number of times that he had experienced martial events with demons that had risen so startingly sharply since entering into the company of his friend, wasn't an expert on battling them. But, interdimensional horrors or not, most things stopped living after being shot and hacked to pieces.
"Demons in Pandaria." Torben said, shaking his head at the very notion. It was just...wrong. Like rain falling up, snow being hot, or Stormwind having a stable king on the throne. "If the Shado-Pan show up and arrest you, don't worry. I know enough Pandaren to say 'Take him, I'm innocent.' I'll be on my way to find you legal representation, then. Or to inform your wife of your hijinks."
(Trimming post, continued RP with @westfall-faith)
"Why should I ask 'What would you even do', when it is far better to ask 'What do you want'? Look past the obstacles to it. Silence any doubts there may be. Look only to the horizon of your wildest dreams, and what is there?"
Torben raised a finger, not in a scolding manner, but only to stitch an addition onto his notion. "You need not tell me, or anyone, if it is too sacred to your heart. But to know it is all that matters. Strive for it, step by step, without worrying about what lies ahead. The helmsman of a ship only knows their destination, not what storms may be in their path until they are there. You are the helmsman of your life, and I'm certain you can endure whatever storms may gather."
What faith said about the Brotherhood being no better than the monsters beneath the bed rang so true it painted a grimace across Torben's lips. It was all true. The one who stepped into Vanessa's discarded boots was a man wholly unworthy of the position. A brute at best, he would lead the Defias down a path that will certainly spell doom.
But the Brotherhood was all that Torben knew. It was the very ship that he wished to sail to the shores of his own outlandish, wild dream. A dream of broken chains and liberation for those who had been enslaved for so long they didn't even feel the yoke around their neck anymore.
Torben felt her fingers brush against his own gloved hand, and gripped it snug enough to be reassuring. Humor crinkled the corners of his eyes at her words, mirth slipping into his words all over again. "Ahhhh what would they do if Torben Hackney lost yet another partner while out on assignment? There are any number of tales that I could weave, I'm very certain. You were captured. You perished when we were discovered. You were swept away in a twister." The very imagery of the last one only inspired all the more humor in him. "Perhaps not swept away, but the hat blown straight off your head and you went chasing after it. I'd look for you, to be sure. But Westfall is a big place after all."
Continued RP with @westfall-faith from Here
Those honeyed words were all it took to transmute Torben's smirk into a full fledged grin, eyes alive with the sparks of mischief all the while. "You really do have a way with words, don't you?" He remarked, the hand that parted the grasses which allowed the vantage point down at the Hill closed in response to the flame of the lighter, and that of the ember of the cigarette.
Such a light amidst the darkness could give away the entire game, but far be it from Torben to dream of offering a reprimand while his own outburst hung in the air, and the heat of her calloused, delicate touch lingered on his face. No, his mind was far from anything of the sort in that moment.
Rolling onto his side, his full attention was unmistakably on his compatriot as she spoke. Nothing was about to distract those mud brown eyes of his as they studied her and listened to her tale. Not the cascade of stars above, the fireflies that hovered just overhead, nor even the assignment that saw them both laying in the sunbaked grasses tonight.
Sentinel Hill would be there when her story was over, and when the embers of that cinder of light between her lips was extinguished.
Listen he did, the grin on his lips flagging into a grimace at the mention of her parents, anticipation where this story was going clear on his face, before collapsing into a frown of condolence as their fate was revealed. As hollow as words were, especially from all but a stranger as he was, they were said. "I'm sorry."
It was never said what the apology was for. For the premature death of her parents? For the childhood stolen from her by their death as she was put into the hands of a Brotherhood of hopeful revolutionaries? For their promised dream of full bellies and liberation for the masses unfulfilled? For years of her life spent for that? What use were words when such a debt could never ben repaid?
No excuses were offered on his part from the Brotherhood. No explanation for the failures, for failures there were. The brotherhood in Edwin's time were manipulated by forces they could not have imagined. They lacked a coherent ideology beyond a demand for repayment, and later for justice for their stolen and shattered lives.
At least in Vanessa's time there was a dream beyond selfish desires. But fail again they did, crushed by the forces of the Crown all the same. But this time the failure meant a blow to the dreams of all that relied upon them. It was nothing short of letting down every single poor, wretched soul that saw them as their hope for a better tomorrow.
"Go on until he sun rises. Better to let it all out, and I'm here to hear it all." Torben invited. Ahhhh, but a question was posed to him. One that he wasn't about to refuse.
"Me? Ahhhh, I'm nothing special. Just a simple man devoted to the dream of broken chains and the Brotherhood."
Was that all he was going to say? Of course not. this was Torben, after all. And that tongue of his sure did love to wag. "Family immigrated from Southshore, seeing as my father was a mason and Stormwind offered that contract that would leave anyone and their family set for years. But we both know how all of that went..." Betrayal, the murder of a Queen and the transformation of honest laborers into bandits. "Was an apprentice myself, and I took up the family trade. In a sense. Except I traded the sword for the hammer and chisel."
Torben raised his shoulders into a shrug as best as he could from where he lay on the grass, propped up on one shoulder as he faced Faith. "The rest is history, I suppose. Though you've got my wondering...what keeps you around? In the fight? For me, it's all I know. That is my excuse. But you...you could be anywhere, doing anything, a sharp lady like you. Why here? Why this?"
Faith flinched. Westfall was a hollow shell of its former self, but at least it still stood. At least she had a roof over her head, a place to return to, even if it was an empty one. She still had Asher and Penny. When things got rough, at least she could watch Asher’s tail wag or walk across the field to brush Penny’s mane. At least she could scream into worn blankets and pillows when the frustration of loneliness gripped her and wouldn't let go. A pang of sympathy lanced through her. "Nah, don’t be sorry, sugar. I'm sorry," she said quietly, the words heavy in the air.
"The coin I get here, from jobs, it buys enough food to keep me and a handful of my neighbors from goin’ belly up."
She plucked at a blade of grass and watched it crumble beneath her touch. "It weren’t always like this," she murmerred in justification more to herself than to him. She had never expected to be tangled up with the Defias.
A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hoot of an owl.
"Suppose loyalty keeps me here too. They were the ones who took care of me after my folks..." she paused just before stating the word. Such a finality to it, it seemed to disarm her for a moment. "...died. Pa always said you don't bite the hand that feeds you, and them scraps of bread sure did taste good. But I just don't think crooked hands is worth keepin' in my mouth."
She met his gaze head-on, her own holding the smoky allure of gunmetal. Deep and cool, it reflected the faint moonlight with an almost metallic sheen. But unlike the coldness of steel, her eyes simmered with a hidden warmth. “If I ran away from this post, reckon you would tattle tale on me?”
@torbeen
"Crooked hands?" Torben parroted, amusement flickering back onto the corners of his lips at the indictment. Was Faith even remotely, wrong, though? The Brotherhood had suffered another tragedy thanks to the selfish desire for revenge by those who had ascended high enough to put a hand on the wheel. To absolutely no surprise, they had steered the Brotherhood straight into another calamity.
But what could be expected of those who would do anything for the sake of revenge and power, including collaboration with a noble who thought himself a dragon. Or...something along those lines. Torben had heard many stories of what occurred in Northshire, each story stranger than the last.
Including the tale that their former Kingpin desired to dissolve the Brotherhood itself, as if by her decree the entire Brotherhood would lay down their arms and...what?
Integrate into the feudal structure once more with a bowed head and a hand clutching the royal pardon? Be content with the pittance that the Crown was offering Westfall until those funds were diverted to their industries of war when tensions with the Horde sparked once more?
Chains were chains, even if they came etched in gold.
"What would tattling on you truly accomplish? At best some hot tempered killer with a blade would come after you and yours with the word traitor on their lips." Distaste coated his words, as did it seep into his mood. What troubled times it was when that was what the Brotherhood, those remaining few, had to offer. Knives for their old compatriots. "The question I'd ask you, is..."
Torben's eyes ought out hers, meeting that warm steel with brown as cool as deep soil. "Does leaving feel right in your heart?"
Cliche it was. Cliche enough to make a grin slip across his lips as he broke eye contact first, flopping back to stare up at the sea of stars so potent that not even the clouds chose to impede the sight. "I can't say what is coming for the Brotherhood in the coming days. It could be our darkest days. Or it could be a brilliant dawn."
There was nothing but optimism in his voice. The kind that came with having stared into the hungry maw of defeat twice over. Two times before Torben had been pleasantly shocked to see the Brotherhood cling to life, for the fire of revolution to not be quenched beneath the waves of the blue and gold lion.
Yet still it burned on. As small and flickering of a flame it was now.
"I'm no prophet but it feels like darker days ahead before the dawn. It is the sort of darkness you need not face. You don't owe the Defias anything. If anything, we owe you for debts unpaid. Your unfulfilled dreams and our unkept promises."
Torben looked over once more, conviction chiseled in his eyes with flecks of hope combined in his eyes. "Stay and you can see those debts paid before your very eyes. Go...and I'll be here to ensure they are."
I knew there was something fishy about those Jinyu! A caste system.
Continued RP with @westfall-faith from Here
Those honeyed words were all it took to transmute Torben's smirk into a full fledged grin, eyes alive with the sparks of mischief all the while. "You really do have a way with words, don't you?" He remarked, the hand that parted the grasses which allowed the vantage point down at the Hill closed in response to the flame of the lighter, and that of the ember of the cigarette.
Such a light amidst the darkness could give away the entire game, but far be it from Torben to dream of offering a reprimand while his own outburst hung in the air, and the heat of her calloused, delicate touch lingered on his face. No, his mind was far from anything of the sort in that moment.
Rolling onto his side, his full attention was unmistakably on his compatriot as she spoke. Nothing was about to distract those mud brown eyes of his as they studied her and listened to her tale. Not the cascade of stars above, the fireflies that hovered just overhead, nor even the assignment that saw them both laying in the sunbaked grasses tonight.
Sentinel Hill would be there when her story was over, and when the embers of that cinder of light between her lips was extinguished.
Listen he did, the grin on his lips flagging into a grimace at the mention of her parents, anticipation where this story was going clear on his face, before collapsing into a frown of condolence as their fate was revealed. As hollow as words were, especially from all but a stranger as he was, they were said. "I'm sorry."
It was never said what the apology was for. For the premature death of her parents? For the childhood stolen from her by their death as she was put into the hands of a Brotherhood of hopeful revolutionaries? For their promised dream of full bellies and liberation for the masses unfulfilled? For years of her life spent for that? What use were words when such a debt could never ben repaid?
No excuses were offered on his part from the Brotherhood. No explanation for the failures, for failures there were. The brotherhood in Edwin's time were manipulated by forces they could not have imagined. They lacked a coherent ideology beyond a demand for repayment, and later for justice for their stolen and shattered lives.
At least in Vanessa's time there was a dream beyond selfish desires. But fail again they did, crushed by the forces of the Crown all the same. But this time the failure meant a blow to the dreams of all that relied upon them. It was nothing short of letting down every single poor, wretched soul that saw them as their hope for a better tomorrow.
"Go on until he sun rises. Better to let it all out, and I'm here to hear it all." Torben invited. Ahhhh, but a question was posed to him. One that he wasn't about to refuse.
"Me? Ahhhh, I'm nothing special. Just a simple man devoted to the dream of broken chains and the Brotherhood."
Was that all he was going to say? Of course not. this was Torben, after all. And that tongue of his sure did love to wag. "Family immigrated from Southshore, seeing as my father was a mason and Stormwind offered that contract that would leave anyone and their family set for years. But we both know how all of that went..." Betrayal, the murder of a Queen and the transformation of honest laborers into bandits. "Was an apprentice myself, and I took up the family trade. In a sense. Except I traded the sword for the hammer and chisel."
Torben raised his shoulders into a shrug as best as he could from where he lay on the grass, propped up on one shoulder as he faced Faith. "The rest is history, I suppose. Though you've got my wondering...what keeps you around? In the fight? For me, it's all I know. That is my excuse. But you...you could be anywhere, doing anything, a sharp lady like you. Why here? Why this?"
Starter for @westfall-faith from starter call!
There were few things as beautiful as the plains of Westfall bathed beneath the moonlight in Torben's most unhumble of opinions. Especially on a night like this, where warmth from the afternoon still clung to the air and not even a stray cloud dared too besmirch the portrait of stars in the night sky.
Even the fireflies themselves could not resist to dance among the loose, sun bleached grass just ahead from where Torben lay on his stomach, just below the crest of the hill that overlooked the seat of royal authority in Westfall. Sentinel Hill.
Though the tower had become more of a fortress, besieged by the most insidious and dangerous of invaders in the minds of those who wore the blue and gold lion on their chests. The homeless. the downtrodden. Those unfortunate enough to have lost everything in the aftermath of when Westfall, and the world, broke.
It had meant the resurgence of the Brotherhood as misfortune fell upon Westfall. Those with nowhere else to turn, those who wised to take a stand against the tyranny of the crown that failed to protect and provide for them, those who sought to bestow justice at the point of a dagger for their suffering. All types had flocked to the Defias and swore themselves to the cause.
Countless men and women wrapped the bandana around their face and wore the inked cogwheel upon their body. All ready to do their duty to their fellows.
One such was the woman next to Torben in the grass. A stranger to him, of that he was certain. For how could he have ever possibly forgotten the sight of those wild red curls and the scattering of freckles across the face of this woman? It was as likely as the sun failing to rise in the morning, the world stopping from turning and the smirk that always just seemed to cross his lips when his attention fell upon them. It wasn't uncommon for the Brotherhood to dispatch agents in pairs, especially on assignments such as this one. Reconnaissance of Sentinel Hill. An assignment that would last until the first light of morning, when they would slink back into the tall grasses around them without a trace.
But for now, there they would lay, watching. Waiting. Monitoring their foe.
"First time on assignment?" Torben whispered, attention straying from the moonlit tower to the Defias sister at his side. "I've never seen you before, is all."
A cool breeze whipped Faith's wild copper curls around her face, the gunmetal glint in her eyes mirroring the fading light over Sentinel Hill. Beside her, her partner, a man whose name she still didn't know, scanned the valley below. His question hung heavy in the air – was this her first assignment?
Faith's lips pressed into a thin line. Conflict simmered within her. News had trickled in – Anduin Wrynn, the boy-king, had issued pardons to most of the Defias Brotherhood. Not her, but most. Aid, they said, was on its way to revitalize the ravaged Westfall. Westfall, her Westfall, the land she'd called home for the better part of three decades. A low rumble sounded from her belly; she was still hungry. Yet, a pang of longing twisted in her gut along side the hunger pain. She closed her eyes, picturing the verdant plains that had become a desolate wasteland. Towering trees, vibrant green grass, and the cheerful gurgle of brooks – a bygone era that mirrored the Elwynn of fairytales.
Opening her eyes, she met the man's gaze. Doubt gnawed at her. Spying on the Alliance, the very ones offering a lifeline to her dying land, felt like a betrayal. Was this what the Defias stood for anymore? A champion for the downtrodden, or a bitter echo of a resentment long past its due?
She wrinkled her nose at the question, and the freckles that peppered the bridge of her nose bunched together like constellations. She needed a little more time to think.
Instead of answering right away, Faith hoisted the binoculars with a grunt. The leather straps groaned in protest. Ugh, these things felt like they hadn't been oiled since before the Cataclysm. A layer of dust, thick enough to write her name in, smeared the lenses. She squinted through them, the view of Sentinel Hill below wavering like a mirage in the lingering heat.
"Dangnabbit," she muttered, her voice a slow drawl that stretched out the syllables like hot taffy. "Can't see nuthin' but a blur of green and brown. Might as well be tryin' to read a kobold's tax return through a wasp's ass." She thumped the binoculars on her chest, the movement sending a puff of dust motes into the air. "Reckon these things are older'n dirt itself. Probably belonged to my pa’ at some point.”
She stuck her hand out for the man to take if he wished. “Faith Lewis, damn fine to meet ya. Just for the record, I ain't no rookie, and this ain't my first assignment.”
@torbeen
The laugh that Torben stifled caught him by such surprise that the wave of humor, when it finally receded, left flecks of true concern across his expression. Had the outburst of laughter been heard? The night was all but silent, except for the cool breeze that made the blades of grass dance to their rhythm and the lazy buzzing of the fireflies hovering all about them. A cough, a sneeze, a laugh. All were something that had gotten better infiltrators than Torben killed.
Ahhhhhh, but who could blame him? What had passed faith's lips passed amusing four miles back. It was downright hysterical. It was too...too...on the nose. Between the drawl of her accent and her very mannerisms. If the rugged charm of the breadbasket of the Alliance could be distilled into a person, Torben was now entirely certain that it would be Faith Lewis.
Peering down at Sentinel Hill, breath all but held as he waited for the sound of a cry to go up. For the clanging of an alarm to be raised as the sentries on duty heard his outburst. To see doom coming to them...
But it never arrived. Luck, it seemed, was still on their side.
It was then that Torben allowed the smirk on his lips to melt the concern from the corners of his eyes, attention drifting back to Faith. She certainly was no rookie. That he absolutely believed, as if her words hadn't been enough. The way she held herself, the way she moved. The utter lack of fear in her even as they lay spying on the stronghold of royal power of Westfall. The hesitation in her earlier words, and the conflict he read on her face bathed in the moonlight.
The scars of inner turmoil were not worn by fresh faced recruits. They were mercifully spared from carrying the leaden weight of doubt about their neck. To know what it was to know the lines that ought to not be crossed, and perhaps to find yourself pushed over them amidst a life in service of the Brotherhood.
Extending his hand in turn, his words came out hushed. "Torben Hackney. The honor is entirely mine." Once his hand was freed, if it was, it was once again used to peer through the grasses, down at the Hill. "Let me guess. You joined when the Kingpin's daughter rose?"
There's no judgement in the words, as some veterans of the Stonemason's Guild might have carved their words into a bid for superiority. There weren't too many of those days left. fewer, even now, in the aftermath of a certain unscrupulous figure causing a schism in the Brotherhood not too long ago.
"You don't seem like a Stonemason is all."
Curious just kept the words coming, hushed as they were, barely above a whisper. "What're you doing here then?"
Starter for @westfall-faith from starter call!
There were few things as beautiful as the plains of Westfall bathed beneath the moonlight in Torben's most unhumble of opinions. Especially on a night like this, where warmth from the afternoon still clung to the air and not even a stray cloud dared too besmirch the portrait of stars in the night sky.
Even the fireflies themselves could not resist to dance among the loose, sun bleached grass just ahead from where Torben lay on his stomach, just below the crest of the hill that overlooked the seat of royal authority in Westfall. Sentinel Hill.
Though the tower had become more of a fortress, besieged by the most insidious and dangerous of invaders in the minds of those who wore the blue and gold lion on their chests. The homeless. the downtrodden. Those unfortunate enough to have lost everything in the aftermath of when Westfall, and the world, broke.
It had meant the resurgence of the Brotherhood as misfortune fell upon Westfall. Those with nowhere else to turn, those who wised to take a stand against the tyranny of the crown that failed to protect and provide for them, those who sought to bestow justice at the point of a dagger for their suffering. All types had flocked to the Defias and swore themselves to the cause.
Countless men and women wrapped the bandana around their face and wore the inked cogwheel upon their body. All ready to do their duty to their fellows.
One such was the woman next to Torben in the grass. A stranger to him, of that he was certain. For how could he have ever possibly forgotten the sight of those wild red curls and the scattering of freckles across the face of this woman? It was as likely as the sun failing to rise in the morning, the world stopping from turning and the smirk that always just seemed to cross his lips when his attention fell upon them. It wasn't uncommon for the Brotherhood to dispatch agents in pairs, especially on assignments such as this one. Reconnaissance of Sentinel Hill. An assignment that would last until the first light of morning, when they would slink back into the tall grasses around them without a trace.
But for now, there they would lay, watching. Waiting. Monitoring their foe.
"First time on assignment?" Torben whispered, attention straying from the moonlit tower to the Defias sister at his side. "I've never seen you before, is all."
well, getting there is one thing. getting back's the problem.
"The Shadowlands?" Torben inquired, halting the sip of iced milk in his hand to peer at Nixalegos from over the rim of the cup. "What a shame traveling there is problematic. I hear the scenery is to die for."
It was low hanging fruit, but what could Torben say? Sometimes you had to indulge in the simpler pleasures in life. The simpler of puns being included among this very variety. But it served it's purpose. The most casual of means to change the subject from a place that, truth be told, Torben hadn't the slightest inclination to arrive at the afterlife station.
After all, what was there that could possibly interest him? A radiant tower of angels who judge sins? A land comprised entirely of the undead? All of them having a bone to pick with the living it could be assumed. A land of supposed vampires that was said to embrace their darker pleasures, namely bond- well, perhaps he had been a bit too swift to judgement...
The topic was changed nonetheless.
"So what's this I hear about Warlocks up to no good at the Darkmoon Faire? Coming under new management? Hostile takeover, perhaps?" Mischief swam in Torben's eyes at that. "Not that I'd ever assume you would be having any part in anything of that sort. But if you did, you wouldn't happen to have a pair of tickets to Blight Boar, now would you?"
