#torithas

Even in her self-directed educations, she learns from another.

“You don’t have to do this!”

The body has a problem with realising when things have really changed.

It’s simply not made with that sort of paranoia, hypervigilance, in its nerves. It is an effort, an education, to have the sort of perceptual sensitivity that Xiaohu is so infamously known for amongst her fellows. Or maybe more than that; some days she thought of it like a rewiring. Like those before had pulled her squirming channels from her and threaded something more cool, mercurial/reactive, into her.

With more forgiving suns, moments of revelation like this debunked that conspiracy. Brought her feet just a little closer to the soil.

It is not common to be so placidly adaptive - to forget the onset of newness until a coincidental look over shoulder reminds her that there used to be yellow earth where a sea lay; blood where a smile forms.

It is something very innocuous in someone who is more ambiguous than that.

And it is something that only strikes her when she is engulfed in it, this, them, us.

What she feels when she gazes upon her friend is nothing short of warmth blooming from the deepest parts of her - pushing aside mortar and stone as though their durability were nothing.

Or perhaps to say it only occurs when she ‘gazes’ is, ultimately, inadequate.

Maybe what is more adequate is that this is what happens when there is awareness.

Yes, that would be what is accurate.

Yes, that is how she loves.

Even when she is pissed. 

The cermet wall that is Torithas has chosen to settle directly in her fucking way.

This can’t be fucking happening.

Of course Avenai had to be taken missing, dredging up all of these feelings in her breast and leaving her with a Garlean that won’t fucking listen to her besides ‘follow’, ‘guard’, ‘attack.’ He’s supposed to be on her fucking side. Everyone’s supposed to be on her side. This is her fucking Fate-cursed business.

She pushes a breath through her teeth, then sucks it right back in as though the air would bring coolness to her spirit like she’s shot back alcohol.

Spoiler: it doesn’t. It just stokes charcoal all in her diaphragm and belly - sending the heat already there spiraling and wild, coursing through her insides in a bursting inferno. It cracks, and shatters, and sends this shockwave of invisible force racking through her muscles in a shudder of barely contained tiger-like ferocity.

“Torithas,” The giant tilts his head silently, his good eye plainly staring and his jaw lax, “Get the fuck out of my way.”

He shakes his fucking head like a golem, slowly crossing over the thick barrel-like form of his arms over his chest and then pulling away in a ‘No’ too pristine to be purposefully muddled.

“You can’t just keep me here, I should be helping them. We both should be helping them.”

The cords of muscle at the flanks of his neck raise like pulleys to the gate of a stone fortress. A shrug. A fucking dismissal.

That makes her more fucking angry. Makes her feel the muscles in her face flare her eyes and makes her want to claw the rest of his bad eye out of his skull.

“I’ve seen Ave work here enough. I can pull open the right hatch in the ship innards. I’ll kill both of us.”

The Halfblood‘s lower jaw sets as his machine-like, even, posture breaks its weight off towards a hip jut out towards her, ‘Oh really?’

Fuck you.

Don’t call my fucking bluff.

This isn’t a fucking bluff!

Take me fucking seriously!

Let me the fuck out of this engine room!

The universe occurs like she is looking through a bullshit scope-lens of white flower jelly. All cloudy and everything that moves, moves incomprehensibly and yet not at all - just reverberating everywhere and nowhere at once.

Her body feels numb.

It’s raised above the level she was before.

Because the marid-turned-man had picked her up by the waist and slammed her full-force against the ship hull.

Her gun scrapes, metal against metal, against the square of grating close to Torithas’ feet.

They are close, his face, blotting out the world, shoved almost into her’s is unabashedly, in his diminished way, frustrated, and frustrated, and frustrated, and worried; perhaps as much as her with their friend’s safety, and yet moreso, she realises then, witnessing the related drive in her that impulsed such a decision.

And suddenly her arms are wrapping around the hulking frame of her comrade, her cheek turned and profile against the crook of his shoulder as the tears begin.

“Sit down.”

 Xiaohu stood straight in front of him, eyes narrow and brows knitted together, and pointed to a chair in the corner of the room- a pebble attempting to block the path of a boulder for all the size there was between the two of them. Everything in his bones wanted nothing more than to shove her out of his way so his blade could sing the sonata of death his blood so desperately yearned for. Fists clenched at his sides, Torithas tried to step past her, to body her out of his path and destroy the enemies that had wounded him and threatened the others but she refused to budge.

“Sit. Down.”

She did not plead with him like others might have, did not try to appease his sense of duty or placate the beast raging behind his ribs. No, this tiny Doman woman would cut him down to her size with two simple words and bend him to her iron will. For a long moment he stood there and glared down into those dark brown eyes of hers in the hopes that he could force her to relent. Still she would not. A fruitless endeavor on his part: there were few things in the world that Cao Xiaohu would submit to and he certainly was not among their count. Frustrated, defeated, and unable to raise a hand to physically brush her aside Torithas relented and dropped himself into the chair in the corner of the room.

Xiaohu nodded once and turned to the outsider the crew had enlisted. “Now then, Doctor, you may work unimpeded.” There was a moment of clear hesitation on the Elezen man’s part as he glanced from her to Torithas and then back again. She gave him a wide, all-too-sweet and reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. He’ll behave.”

For many of us, music is a source of inspiration for our characters, so I want to know what songs inspire and/or relate to your muse! Choose between 10-15 songs, compile them into an album and tag some friends to share the beat!

Rain - Yoko Kanno & The Seatbelts I don’t feel a thing and I stopped remembering The days are just like moments turned to hours Mother used to say “If you want you’ll find a way” But Mother never danced through fire showers

My Brother - Shirio Sagisu Lyrically, this one doesn’t suit him so much as the relentless, driving nature of the song as a whole.

Nightmare - Brendon Small I don’t think you know who I am But I have a tale to tell Born from a wicked spell Mephistopheles isn’t me But they’ll see what they want to see

The Pot - Tool Who are you to wave your finger? You must have been out your head Eye balls deep in muddy water You practically raised the dead

Bullet with Butterfly Wings - Smashing Pumpkins The world is a vampire, sent to drain Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames And what do I get, for my pain? Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game

My Name Is Murder - Brendon Small We’re maggots born to die The hourglass just measures time No difference tomorrow or now Consider it a mercy killing taking them out Evil Ways - Blues Saraceno I found out The hate grows cold The god rise up To damn my soul Elm - Yoko Kanno & The Seatbelts

The Measure of Our Reach - Nobuo Uematsu, et al Liberty or Death - Nobuo Uematsu, et al

This was a lot more difficult for me than I thought it would be at first. Torithas is both earnestly straightforward and a complex hypocrisy at the same time and finding a group of songs for him was definitely a challenge. He’s conflict given form, both within himself and toward others, and has this strange duality of character; he is both calm, rational, and logical to a fault while also being a bloodthirsty monster in a lot of other ways. This was friggin’ cool to do, though, and made me think a lot about him in ways I really hadn’t up until now. I’m not tagging anyone for this because, well, most of the people I can think to tag already has done at least one!

Contained below is a short story set to serve as the introduction of a very old character of mine, reworked time and time again as the years have gone by. Torithas has been with me in one way or another since 2007 and I’m happy to have a place for him again.

The story is violent, gory, and brutal. If these things unsettle you, skip ahead.

Silvermoon. A proud city-state, the self-appointed crown jewel in all the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms, the center of magical knowledge and trade and all of Azeroth. Not too long ago, all of these titles had been true- and then came The Fall. Near twenty years ago now, Arthas Menethil had led an undead army to war against one of the most powerful nations in the world and utterly decimated it. Even after all this time, the damage had still not been repaired in its entirety. While much of the city had been reclaimed and, to some degree, restored to at least a shadow of its former glory there was still a great deal of work to be done. There were still dark corners, pockets away from the prying eyes of the all-seeing State where those who wished to plot in secret could gather to whisper in relative safety.

In one such place, deep in the shadows where even the most dedicated of Silvermoon’s servants dared not tread, gathered those who called themselves The Loyalists- men and women doggedly dedicated to their Sun Prince and his ambition. Dark clouds and driving rain had given them the cover they needed to gather as only those loyal to the Prince knew the path to take. In hushed voices they schemed, they cursed the traitor Regent-Lord and all those who turned their backs on the Prince in favor of the usurper. Justice, they said to one another, would need to be served. Back and forth the snakes hissed, each unable to agree with the next when and where to strike and how best to deliver their venom. Hushed whispers escalated to a fever pitch- and were summarily cut off by a deafening boom at the door.

A dozen heads turned in unison, wide-eyed and pale-faced. They had all been accounted for. No one else knew of their gathering. Did they? Petrified, none dared budge from their place around the old table at the center of the room in hopes that they had collectively imagined the sound or that whoever it was would just continue on their way. No such luck. Another thundering boom echoed in the empty hall. The Loyalists looked among themselves, silently asking who would be the one to check. At long last one worked up the courage to draw a knife and silently pad across to the door, hand shaking as he reached for the knob. With one last glance back at his fellows, he turned the knob. It would be his last act on Azeroth.

Without warning, the door exploded off its hinges with an ear-splitting crash followed by a shrill shriek as the most courageous of the snakes disappeared through the doorway. His companions stood stock still as panic and dread began to overwhelm them. There was silence for a brief moment punctuated by the shallow, staccatoed breaths of the Loyalists. From the darkness, a shadow stirred. It ducked through the doorway and began to rise to its full height once across the threshold, towering over the Loyalists by a full head or more. Each step was accompanied by a thunderous clap and the rattle of heavy plate. A flash of lightning backlit the massive figure- and ushered a horrified gasp from one of the snakes as the light revealed what had become of their fellow. His twisted remains dangled limply from the beast’s gauntleted grip, skull caved in and expression frozen in horror and agony.

Like so much refuse, he was tossed to the floor at the feet of the Loyalists and landed with a wet splat and a thud. A few recoiled away from the remains of their colleague as the shadow crept forward, looming over them in the darkness. Two mismatched eyes, the right a pale green and the other a ghostly white, peered from the darkness, predatory gaze akin to a jungle cat perched and awaiting precisely the moment to strike. Silence descended again as dread strangled any thought or action the Loyalists could conceive.

“Wh-...what are you?” one of them weakly managed.

The shadow’s gaze shifted to him and it spoke, its voice an unearthly rumbling bass.

“Judgement.”

Whatever spell had been cast over the Loyalists to freeze them in place broke as panic overwhelmed them completely. The two nearest the shadow darted for the doorway behind it in a blind attempt to escape the storm. Neither made it more than two steps. In a flash of violence the shadow struck at the man to the left, gauntleted fist catching him cleanly on the chin with enough force to catapult him across the room and into the wall. The second shrieked as the shadow whirled about and caught her by the hair and threw her to the floor. Her wailing quickly turned to gurgling as a booted foot crushed her sternum and her ribs into powder. She convulsed violently on the floor in her death throes, choked by blood and vomit. As the shadow turned back to the group, a third Loyalist found his courage. He drew a knife from his waist and shouted as he rushed forward at the creature, consumed by blind fury.

A poor decision.

His thrust with the knife was swiftly intercepted by the shadow’s vice-like grip and he found himself dangling in the air, held aloft like a child’s toy. He struggled and kicked and writhed but found himself unable to free himself from the shadow’s grasp. Venom laced every word as the Loyalist cursed and spat at the shadow, damning and hexing him with every dark phrase he could think of. Then, with all the effort of twisting his wrist, the shadow silenced his prey with the sound of shattering bone and shredded tendon. The Loyalist whimpered and clutched at his ruined arm as he was dropped to the floor. He never saw the silver flash of his own knife being snatched up from the floor and plunged to the hilt through his throat. Satisfied with his grisly work, the shadow turned his attention back to the remaining Loyalists. One of them, the leader, came to his senses and bolted toward the stairs at the rear of the hall as the shadow approached.

The others made to follow, but too slow. Like lightning, the shadow surged forward and kicked the table they had abandoned as hard as he could manage. Heavy oak legs protested, screeching across the stone floor and slamming into the wall at the rear of the room. One of the Loyalists yelped as he found himself pinned to the wall by the heavy furniture. He scratched and clawed and begged for his fellows to aid him, but his pleas went unanswered as they saw to their own survival and abandoned him to his fate. The shadow approached and his prey began to beg for mercy, pleading for forgiveness- but there was none to be found in the shadow’s heart. The cold grip of unfeeling justice wrapped itself around the Loyalist’s neck, table held in place by the shadow’s immense weight, and it wrenched the upper half of his body back, snapping his spine. Before he could even think to shriek, the shadow drove his skull into the wall and shattered it. Blood and gray matter sprayed across the wall as bone and flesh ruptured under the overwhelming force.

Upstairs, the remainder of the Loyalist group had scrambled for a solution. Several heavy bookshelves had been had been dragged from the study and into the landing, then toppled over to block the stairs. They looked to their leader, pale-faced and wide eyed, for guidance.

“We must push our plans ahead. The ritual will be carried out now.” he said, voice low and somber.

“So soon?!” asked a second. “But it isn’t ready! We don’t have near the materials-”

The leader cut him off. “I am aware! We have no other choice! The hounds of the State have found us and I will not allow our cause to die here!”

They looked to each other, the remaining five, and nodded in unison.

“You two! Retrieve the weapons from the stockpile. Delay the beast as long as you can.” Those selected needed no encouragement; they took flight as fast as their feet could carry them, ripping up loose floorboards and tearing away at false walls to retrieve the weapons they had so meticulously gathered in secret over these many months. “The rest of you will come with me. We make for the observatory on the top floor.”

And so they climbed. Heavy footfalls echoed in the stairway below, booming and ominous as though the apocalypse itself nipped at their heels. No sooner than the leader and his followers reached the top floor did they hear the panicked shouts of their comrades from the floor below. They would have to hurry. Each knew their duty and needed no instruction as they raced from shelf to shelf in the ruined observatory, gathering the reagents for the profane ritual to take place. Dark tomes containing heretical magics, fel-touched crystals that pulsed with the barely contained rage of the demonic essence within them, scales and horns of dubious origin and several phials of a thick, viscous, sickly green fluid were all assembled in a ring around the leader at the center of the room. Each of his disciples, hands shaking and hearts racing, hastily traced the runes they had so painstakingly memorized into the dilapidated wooden floors around him.

As each piece fell into place, the ruined observatory began to hum with wicked power and was cast in a pale vermillion glow as the runes were finally complete. The faintest flicker of hope began to bloom within the Loyalists. They could do this. There was a chance. Enthused, the leader of the Loyalists stepped into the center of the runes and held his arms out wide beside him. He and two of his followers began to chant their incantations, each word more vile than the last, and the foulness in the air began to intensify. The third made for the stairs, to watch for the creature that had murdered so many of his comrades. He peered into the darkness, straining his eyes and ears for any sign of the beast. Suddenly, there was a flash of silver from the dark and he jumped back as quickly as he could. What was that?

A beat passed. Something was wrong. His chest was burning. Every nerve ending felt as though it had been dunked in ice. That sensation radiated outward into his shoulders. Why was he so cold? One of the others shouted something to him, but he couldn’t understand; the words were distant, muffled by the hammering of his heartbeat in his ears. Next he realized he couldn’t move his hands- they were clutched out in front of him. Why? His gaze drifted slowly downward to his chest and his eyes went wide. There was blood on his hands. Was that...his blood? Dumbstruck, he continued staring as he tried to process what was going on through the thick fog that had descended over his mind. Something was clutched in his grip- something wooden, coarse and splintered. Realization struck him like a hammer blow.

He’d been stabbed.

Terrified, the remaining Loyalists could only watch as the beast that had been hunting them stepped into the light for the first time. It was massive, easily pushing seven feet tall with shoulder so broad it almost had to turn sideways to get through the door. With little more effort than a child would put into picking up a favored toy, the shadow lifted its victim high aloft impaled on the poleaxe gripped in its two massive hands. It allowed him to dangle there for a brief moment, squirming and struggling as life slowly left him. Mismatched eyes burned with a furious anger as the shadow stared up at its impaled prey ensuring that the last thing he would ever see would be his tormentor.

“What are you fools doing?!” shrieked the leader as his remaining followers stayed rooted to their spots. “STOP IT!”

They both glanced at each other, then back to their friend as the last life faded from his body and he fell completely limp. Being faced with the embodiment of death with no way out seemed to spark something within them as they drew their knives and charged ahead. Was it courage? Was it desperation? Neither was sure. The sudden movement drew the shadow’s attention, setting it in motion with frightening speed and precision. A massive, booted foot swung around and kicked the butt of its poleaxe outward allowing the now very deceased Loyalist to fall to the floor with a wet thump as the spike was ripped free from its victim. He pivoted on his back foot, using the momentum from kicking his poleaxe free to swing himself around, plant his other foot, and drive the butt spike of his poleaxe deep into the chest of the nearest loyalist.

Before the loyalist even had a chance to realize all the air had been driven from his lungs, the shadow ripped the butt spike free, stepped out wide, and swung the head of the poleaxe with as much might as he could manage. The flat of the axe head caught its victim squarely in the side of the head with such violent force that it twisted around with a sickening crunch as his eye ruptured and his body was sent sailing through the air. His colleague stopped squarely in her tracks as the shadow- no, the monster turned its attention to her. That feral gaze told her everything she needed to know; that she was little more than an object, an obstacle barring the way to the beast’s objective. Her leader’s voice called to her from over her shoulder and she craned her head to see him.

“You know what you must do, child.”

Hands trembling, she nodded to him and turned back to her foe. What must be done. A necessary sacrifice. Yes. As the shadow took a lumbering step toward her, the last of the loyalists summoned her courage and raced to close the already miniscule gap between them. She swung with all her strength, hoping to at least offer some kind of resistance and wound the creature- but there was to be so much fortune for her. Her blow was batted aside effortlessly. Stars exploded in her field of view as the pommel of the poleaxe struck her temple and she stumbled, struggling to find her balance. She never saw the hammer head come around an instant behind, shattering her jaw with such force that she lost her footing entirely and collapsed to the ground. Fingers numbly clawed at the floor as she struggled to crawl away from her assailant and, blinded, she reached for the comforting presence of her leader.

A yowl of agony was wrenched from her throat as the crescent head of the poleaxe bit deeply into her shoulder and pinned to the floor. That final act of life was quickly snuffed out as a heavy boot crashed down through her neck and into the floor, pulverizing bone and tearing flesh. Alone and with no route to escape, the leader of the Loyalists should have been terrified, pleading for mercy or for parlay. He did no such thing.

“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” His foe replied by casually lifting its foot and wiping the bloodied on his most recent victim’s robes. “You fool. You’re not the first to hunt us. So you’ve killed my followers. A simple task for even a rabid dog to destroy a wretched nest of vermin.”

His hands rose to his waist, palms upturned and face twisted into a wicked sneer.

“You will not find me such easy prey, beast.”

A low rumble rose from the floorboards as the old wood creaked and groaned. The pale lavender hue of the air intensified as blood began to seep up through the floorboards and pool at the leader’s feet, filling the intricate rings of the runes that had been carved into the floor.  Bookshelves began to shift as the room shook with energy, spilling their contents into the floor before toppling over with a thundering crash. Fel energy licked at his hands and feet, swirling around his body and lifting him from the ground. Warped by tainted power the Loyalist lifted his hand to eye level and curled his fingers, fascinated as they transformed before his very eyes. Wicked laughter filled the room as the power coursed through his vein, pulsing with his heartbeat and irreversibly twisting his soul.

“Now then!” he bellowed, voice echoing with unholy fury. “Begone from my sight dog of the Regent-Lord!”

Fel flames licked at his fingers then coalesced in his hand as a rapidly growing orb of pure evil. With a curse on his lips, the Loyalist rolled his wrist over and thrust his arm outward as though he were driving the wicked magic straight through the heart of his foe. What a glorious moment this was to be! The fireball rocketed from his palm and streaked across the room toward the shadow, who had hardly moved an inch, and as it grew closer a warped grin twisted its way across the Loyalist’s face- and then was immediately wiped away as the shadow reached up and swatted the foul magic to the side with the back of his hand and sent it careening into the far wall where it exploded with a deafening boom.

“Impossible!” the Loyalist shrieked as the beast took a step toward him. He conjured another fireball, whipping it wildly in the shadow’s direction with the same result. “Die!” he shouted, voice cracking as fear took hold. “Die! Die! Die!’

Each word was punctuated with another bolt of fel energy, and each bolt was dismissed with all the effort it would take to shoo a fly as the shadow drew nearer and nearer. “I’ll kill you! I’llkillyouI’llkillyouI’ll-gack!”

As the shadow neared, the Loyalist felt as though the wind had been sucked from his body. He collapsed to his knees, hands flying to his throat as he struggled to breathe the suddenly very thin air. All sensation had fled him, leaving him numb and cold and struck by a stark realization. His eyes trailed upward to the towering shadow above him now backlit by the rolling flames of Fel fire. One colossal hand descended and clasped around the loyalist’s lapel, dragging him up to eye level though he suspected the shadow barely noticed the weight. This was not some beast, some creature of darkness summoned by the Lords of Silvermoon to track him. This was an Elf, one of his own kin, shrouded in a thick cloak black as the night and likely enchanted to enhance the darkness that seemed to cling to it.

“I know what you are.” he gasped weakly. Mismatched eyes burned from behind the shroud, daring him to speak.

“Half-breed!” spat the Loyalist. “Mongrel!”

He felt the shadow’s free hand encroach and the strength further leave his body. The Loyalist’s hands dropped to hang limply by his sides. Both hands closed firmly around his neck and the shadow began to press slowly inward, collapsing the Loyalist’s windpipe one agonizing inch at a time. If he was to choke to death, he would at least choke on his words.

“You repulsive, detestable creature! Weak! Feeble! You could be more- so much more, but you content yourself to being the State’s lapdog!”

His eyes began to roll back in his head and his vision began to fade as the air was choked completely from him. Then, suddenly, a reprieve. The shadow’s grip loosened and the Loyalist sucked in a greedy breath, life unexpectedly renewed. Delirious from the lack of oxygen and confused, the Loyalist turned his blurry sight to the Mongrel in silent question.

“I know what you are.” rumbled the beast.

With all the contempt he could muster, the Loyalist answered.

“And...what...is that?”

The Mongrel’s reply was non-verbal. A quick twist of his wrist filled the room with the snap of breaking bone and shredded cartilage as he effortlessly broke the Loyalist’s neck. For a moment longer, the Mongrel gazed upon his handiwork. Then, with a contemptuous scowl cloaked by shadow, he discarded the wretched filth by flinging it to the floor. Thirteen. That was the count for tonight’s endeavor.

A good night’s work.

He turned, satisfied, and began to make his way downstairs as hellfire consumed the top floor. Down he went past the disemboweled remains of the two that had been left at the stairs, around the table that had crushed the one too slow to escape and over those few more he had slain near the front doorway. Once across the threshold, the Mongrel cast one last look up at the ruined observatory as it collapsed in upon itself and was swallowed by Fel green flames. With this, there would be no doubt in the message sent to those who plotted in the shadows of Quel’thalas.

Torithas Suntalon had returned to the ruined Kingdom.