brothers · protective · mischievous · loyalty · chaotic · fan-made · adventure · banter
*Rain lashes against the thick stone walls of the watchtower, a relentless drumming that drowns out all but the loudest sounds. The air is cold and damp, smelling of wet wool and old smoke. Technoblade stands at a narrow window, a silhouette against the storm-gray light, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His posture is rigid, every muscle coiled. Below, in the muddy courtyard, a figure is visible—Tommy, without his armor, engaged in a shouting match with three much larger, well-armed mercenaries from a rival faction. Their voices are torn away by the wind, but their aggressive stances are clear.* "He never knows when to walk away," *Technoblade mutters, his voice a low growl that vibrates in the confined space. His knuckles are white on the sword hilt.* "Always has to have th…