knightofaedirn​:

Starter for @catofblaviken​

“Behind you!”

Torben bellowed towards the Witcher from horseback, shield raised on the left with sword raised in preparation to deliver a downward stroke. The strike would surely hew limb from body. Of that there was no question. What did matter was would Torben’s strike be dealt in time to spare the Witcher from an assault from the rear, for the man behind the monster hunter was poised to deliver a blow of their own with a two handed cleaver. A crude piece of iron with a rusted blade it was. Yet even the dullest of blades could deal a fatal blow when it came from behind.

How Torben stumbled onto the scene of a group of bandits surrounding their lone prey was by the hand that so often found the knight thrown amidst things that did not concern him. Luck. Fate. Destiny. A nose for trouble. Many names for the same thing.

It had been the sound of struggle, of steel meeting steel, of grunts and the occasional scream that drew Torben’s attention. Not a arow’s shot from the main road the bandit’s encampment could be found, crude shelters of textile and odds and ends strewn about. Plunder, most like from unsuspecting travelers on the road. Only today it seemed that their latest foray into thievery appeared to be going against them.

So it was that Torben urged his horse forward, drew steel, and threw himself amidst business that had nothing to do with his own. That was when he spotted the man with the axe raised, threatening to strike a blow onto their would be victim. So it was up to fate if Torben could impede their assault, or would be tragically be too late.

Continued RP with @rhenawed​

“Fantastic legends are built upon the backs of the common folk, from courier to commoner. The tale of the great and powerful is woven from the thousands of threads that are all those that make them possible.” Torben gestured ahead, into the distance, where one of those magnificent things existed. Beauclair Palace. 

“Those that live there were not the ones who laid the stones. Nor raised the keeps or towers. Everything from the food they eat to the wine they drink. Grown and delivered by hands that are not their own.” Not that the great and powerful would ever admit to such a thing. For if those that supported them realized the power that was in their hands, ahh…that was when trouble began.

“I would argue that what you do is just as, if not more important than what I do. You deliver means of sustenance to those who do not do it themselves. I swing a sword about on horseback for the love of the commons. Entertaining to be sure. But it doesn’t fill any bellies.” Torben paused there only to grin as a hand slapped against his surcoat. “Other than my own, perhaps!” Swinging around a sword and knocking lordlings into the mud with a stick from horseback turned out to be surprisingly lucrative after all.

Torben barely noticed that their walk had steadily taken them further and further from the heart of the city and the din of commotion that accompanied it. What it did offer was the opportunity to turn about and receive an unrivaled view of the Palace in the distance. That high curtain wall, spiraling towers that jutted upward like fingers reaching towards the heavens. That archway that was said to be a wonder of architecture from Nilfgaard and beyond. Something so marvelous it could only exist in such a place as Toussaint. 

“I believed another story once upon a time. Of the ‘Invincible White Knight’ of Aedirn. Seltkirk. Every lad who played at stick swords dreamed of being him, and every knight worth their spurs dreamed of being even half the swordsman he was. Unstoppable the stories claimed him to be. Unkillable.” For the first time since their meeting a genuine frown succeeded in toppling those earlier smiles, and not even Rhena’s sea blue eyes and smile could rekindle it just then.

“Yet he burnt. Just like all the others in the horror that was Lormark. The stories were just that. Stories. He was no more invincible than any man.”

Torben’s attention gravitated back down towards his companion, all the day’s earlier humor exhausted. “That taught me that if a story sounds too good to be true it usually is. There is something odd about these golden knights in their plumed helms. Something I can not riddle out.” That had been the most frustrating part. Feeling that you were so close to discovering an answer yet to be mercilessly unable to grasp it. The stories portrayed them as perfect. Too perfect.  “Do you know what it is, Rhena? Do not be afraid to say so. You have it on my honor as a knight your words will go no further than between us.”

Continued RP with @rhenawed​ If Torben noticed the falter in the stranger’s smile from his words it was not remarked upon beyond more than a lingering gaze that sought in vain to determine if indeed his words had caused offense in one way or another. Fleeting it was, of course, for when warmth returned to the courier’s expression such questions found themselves evaporating like drops of dew beneath the morning sun.

“Ahhh, if you’ve seen one tourney you’ve seen them all.” Smiths hawking their blades and plate, winesellers promising only the finest of vintages from their stalls, jewelers displaying works of gold and silver inlaid with precious stones that glimmered like the sea, the sun and flame itself. Jugglers, mummers, all sorts of entertainment that served as distraction before the main festivities began. 

“I’d rather hear the thoughts and words of someone who lives besides these great knights and beneath their ‘Enlightened Duchess’ any day than see another mummer’s show.”

Then there was, of course, the opportunity for a knight to brush elbows with their fellows in good natured revelry. To a point. Knights were, by and large, akin to birds of a feather. Landed knights, with their golden plate and plumed helms of colors Torben had never seen, flocked together. So did the Hedge Knights. The two rarely mingled. Except in the lists, and in the melee. There a man could crush in their splendid golden plate with a hammer and rend plume from the helm if fortune allowed. 

The very thought brought a very broad grin to the Hedge Knight’s lips.

“Then by all means consider today a reprieve from the perils of your profession. At least for a day.” Torben fell into step beside them, oblivious to the fact he’d not asked exactly where they were in fact venturing. They would be leading and he would be following. As simple as that.

Something else had been neglected that, surprisingly, had not slipped beyond Torben’s notice. Learning the name of the one kind enough to regale him with his requested tales and tolerate his questions. “What is your name? You can call me Torben. Or, as so many here seem to prefer, ‘Nordling’. The former comes off the tongue easier I’d argue. Yet the latter has its use.” 

The grin that only grew across Torben’s lips told it all. He did indeed think what he was about to say was absolutely the funniest thing that was to be said in all of Beauclair for weeks.  “If I take an especially savage blow to the head in the tourney at least I’ll be reminded where I hail from.” 

Where to begin with his questions? Ahhh, there were simply too many to number them. At a loss at where to begin the most pressing of curiosities found itself turned to words. “Everything is exactly as everyone says? How…surprising. So often the story never can foot the bill that the truth demands.” Beneath it all, all the splendor and the gallantry of Toussaint, something felt wrong. It all seemed too…perfect. Akin to a bedtime story brought to life.

“Who is everyone, then? Do you count yourself among such a vast host?”

Continued RP with @rhenawed

“Her ‘Enlightened Ladyship?’” Torben parroted, humor never leaving his tone. “The people must truly love her if they hold her in such reverence. Or is it more of a self-styled title?”

Half was jest, the other half a genuine inquiry. He knew little about Toussaint and even less about the monarchy and who ruled beyond the blindly obvious knowledge of who ruled the Duchy. That being none other than the Duchess Anna Henrietta. Yet to know the name of a ruler was one thing. To know what the people thought of them was something else entirely.

“Life as a courier here sounds mighty perilous, if that is what awaits failure in your line of work.” Ahh, another inquiry. This time seeing just how much of what the apparent courier had spoken was jest and what was but a humored truth. Curiosity, after all, was a ceaseless itch that could never be scratched.

Their words of flattery threatened to darken the knight’s cheeks. It was all too much. In the end it was sought to be mitigated by the shake of the head paired with a chuckle of his own. “Any other passerby would have done the same, I’m certain. Let alone any knight. Especially here. Why, the chivalry of Beauclair is known even in the north! True knights to the last of them. In their golden armor.”

Was that sarcasm? Mockery, perhaps? It had seeped into Torben’s tone without even his notice by the end. The notice of such a thing was apparent to him at the very least, for that easy smile of his faltered, the warmth of it leaving like the sun passing behind a cloud.

All clouds parted from the sun in the end. This was no different. The subject was changed and Torben was all easy smiles yet again. “Call what I did nothing more than doing what one must to endear themselves to others in an unfamiliar place.” A finger was raised to the badge on his surcoat, the yellow and red chevrons of Aedirn on a black field. As if his accent had not been enough to make such a thing obvious beyond a fact. “Here for the tournament in the coming days. Figured it best to learn what one can about their neighbors to the south, no?”

“Allow me to accompany you on your delivery, if you would be so kind! Tell me more about this Duchess, these golden knights and the perils of a courier. It will be a fair exchange.” As if the proposition had already been agreed upon, Torben stepped alongside the cowled stranger in the direction of which she had been traveling.

Impending Changes

Hello, my dear loyal followers and fellow Witcher Roleplay fandom compatriots!

I’ve officially decided to take Torben off the shelf and end his semi-permanent hiatus/retirement.

But with that is going to come a rework. I have SO much creative energy that I want to expend on Torben in the coming days and at the forefront of that will be to go back over his biography and make some changes.

How extensive will these changes be? I don’t know. Even I don’t know for certain. 

Will he still be an absolute himbo daring to choose the lost cause against all reason? Definitely. That may be the only permanent thing about him. It is the core of his being.

What changes do I know for certain are coming? A few:

Let me just say I have adored writing with all of you here, and I’m so excited to throw myself back wholeheartedly into the fandom again. I have missed you guys. Let’s write some beautiful stories.