“I was born into minor aristocracy in Caspian Hive, on Arcola. My family had ties to the great forge unions of the hive, and so we lived a happy, sheltered existence. Of course, an idle mind will find ways to occupy itself, and I fell into exploring the rest of the hive. I ended up falling in with a series of underhive gangs, and was in a fair position when I reached adulthood. I suppose that colored my perspective, getting to see life through the eyes of the wealthy and the impoverished at the same time.” Torin responded, skirting around the bulk of the facts. He regarded his formative years as being just that, and he didn’t like to dwell too much on his experiences with inter-gang warfare.<br/><br/>“After turning eighteen, I joined the local Guard regiment. I was young and carefree, and I wanted to see the galaxy. I was an Arcolan Streetsweeper, a sergeant in the illustrious One-Twenty-First, until I was crippled in a siege on Bornholm.” He continued, wincing slightly at the memory. A grenade had pulverised his lower legs, and the memory was still vivid in his mind.<br/><br/>“The Captain was present during the campaign, and she singled me out for my bravery and determination. I still don’t know what exactly she did, but she somehow got me honourably discharged, and paid to rebuild my body. This was two years ago. She took me in, and I’ve been by her side ever since.” He finished, shrugging simply. He didn’t often tell his life story - frankly, he didn’t much care to - but it felt strangely cathartic to discuss it here, with somebody who seemed to be interested.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>