sattin

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My ever growing TE collection.

  • Lawrence of Arabia: The man, the Legend - Malcolm Brown
  • A Touch of Genius - Malcolm Brown
  • Hero - Michael Korda
  • Lawrence in Arabia - Scott Anderson
  • Lawrence of Arabia: The Authorised Bio - Jeremy Wilson
  • A Prince of Our Disorder  - John E. Mack
  • T.E. Lawrence in Arabia and After - Liddell Hart
  • An Handful With Quietness - Patrick Knowles
  • The Last Days of T.E. Lawrence - Marriot and Argent
  • Solitary In the Ranks -  H. Montgomery Hyde
  • Another Life: Lawrence After Arabia - Andrew R.B. Simpson
  • A Garland of Lengends - Sidney Sugarman
  • The Boys Life of Colonel Lawrence - Lowell Thomas
  • The Golden Reign - Clare Sydney Smith
  • 338171 - Victoria Ocampo
  • T.E. Lawrence - Vyvyan Richards
  • The Golden Warrior - Lawrence James
  • Lawrence: The Uncrowned King of Arabia - Michael Asher

  • The Mint: Limited Edition 1st printing copy #1820, 1955 - TE
  • The Mint: First Trade Edition, 1955 - TE
  • Seven Pillars of Wisdom, 1935 - TE
  • The Odyssey of Homer, 1935 - TE
  • Minorities, 1972 - TE
  • T.E. Lawrence By His Friends , 1937
  • T.E. Lawrence By His Friends, 1937
  • The Letter of T.E. Lawrence, 1938 - David Garnett
  • The Letters to T.E. Lawrence, 1962 - A.W. Lawrence
  • The Selected Letters - Malcolm Brown
  • Revolt in the Desert, 1927 - TE
  • Seven Pillars of Wisdom, The Complete 1922 Oxford Text, 2014 
  • Seven Pillars of Wisdom, 1997
  • Journal of the T.E. Lawrence Society, 4 issues
  • The Young T.E. Lawrence - Anthony Sattin
Jack Dryden

Jack Dryden is was a man of many talents.

Just before the Pandaria campaign, Sattine Sinclair (Today known as Mercy) was transferred to a large battalion of militants. Mercy was always one to catch attention, even before the markings. Harassment of any type wasn’t foreign between soldiers. Racism, sexism, it all existed. 

Sattine had easily become unconcerned with what she was called, or who looked at her, but when you touch her - you better pray she’s isn’t in a bad mood. One of her  comrades learned this the hard way after she put him through the table. That was when Jack and his boys rolled up. They were practically inseparable, and adopted Mercy rather quickly. 

Jack Dryden: Unconventional Warfare + Direct Action + Counter-Terrorism

 Baudric Sampson: Demolitions

 Wess Marlowe: Information Operations 

Duncan Wyther: Psychological Operations 

Norman Fisc: Reconnaissance 

Gerard Payton: Counter-Proliferation

And then, Sattine Sinclair: Sniper. She proved brave, intelligent, and witty enough to match them. Her individual relationships with each of these men varied. The one she took to the most being Jack. 

He quickly became her closest friend, and fuck-buddy. She was like a guardian angel reigning hell from above on any who sought to harm her team in battle. And when the time called, she would fearlessly hop downward in to the fray. Back to back, the two took on practically anything.

It was Jack who birthed “Mercy”. He was there before and after the orcs. He was practically her other half. The two even sought to be married after years of war. Not for love, but for companionship. 

Perhaps in his own, twisted way, Jack did love Mercy. He found himself unhappy when she paired herself with other men. Or maybe it was that underlying alpha male that thrummed through his veins. A territorial possession of what was, even partially, his. They were the ultimate duo. 

Then, when that thing happened, that terrible, excruciating thing, it drained Mercy severely. Who she was, who she was built to be, felt fragmented like rhyming lines of a poem. 

He had died. 

She was in the guard, a Master Sergeant, at that. She should have saved him. Where was she? What was she doing? How many were there? Did he want to die? 

Thousands of questions flooded her mind, and even to this day she hadn’t healed. So when Mercy got the missive, there was no question what she had to do. Even if it was a trap, even if it was a joke. How could she just say no? 

But standing there in front of him, the smell of rotting flesh filling her nose, his flesh ripped, sliced, hanging. It was Jack,— no, it wasn’t Jack, but some terrible, disgusting mirror image of him. Nightmarish. 

“Jack.” Mercy breathed out, unable to make the beats bounce off of her vocal chords. She had her custom pistol pointed towards his fragmented skull. Hollow eyes watched her pas the barrel, haunting. His voice was the same, sort of. A rough, grinding sound emitted when he spoke - broken. “Who…did this to you?”

“A dead man did this to me - a necromancer seeking to make his own undefeatable army.” He replied, so smoothly. 

All these sharp sensations punctured her heart, lungs, throat. She just wanted to rip everything apart. “Let me fix it – let me fix you.” Mercy frowned severely. It was sickening to look at him this way. She stepped forward, her gun nearing him. 

“You don’t have the right to take what is mine from me,” he barked, radiating authority. The same as Jack always did. “I sold my life to purchase a tomorrow on the Broken Shore. Fate designed to bring me back from the dark. I am in no hurry to return to the darkness I saw after death. There was no glorious realm of light or happiness there. It was darkness and I will not return there If I can help it.” He took chilling steps forward, resting  bony fingers along the curve of her shoulder. She felt a flush of angry heat pulsating down to her legs. He kept on, “The Alliance retreated and left me to die on the Shore. I laid bleeding out on the bluff, having tired to chase down the Horde. They were in shambles. The Darkspear Warchief was dying, their forces were being slaughtered. They retreated because they had to: because they were overwhelmed. Because we were all overwhelmed and -foolish-. But you wouldn’t know that. You didn’t see.” He swallowed a thick wad of slimy saliva in his throat, “I watched King Wrynn die. I tried to climb to my feet over and over and over. Then I died. I was ripped from life by a swarm of felbats ripping me to ribbons. When the pain stopped, there was nothing but black. Darkness so thick I thought I might never see myself or anything ever again. When I was ripped back to this world, I knew I could never let myself go back.” 

“The Alliance fucking retreated and left me to die on Draenor! But I didn’t, Jack. I didn’t die, I fought and I survived and I’m fucking here. I’m living and I’m still me. – You? You, you…You’re just pretending to be something more, something better than you were. You’re so godsdamn scared of crossing the fucking finish line you’re willing to go against everything you were.” She inhaled sharply, straightening her posture. “I’d rather spend my enternity in darkness, where I fucking belong, than serve that rotting cunt.”

SMACK, his bony hand connected with her face, forcing her eyes to roar with ferocity. She belted out a snarl so inhuman it caused saliva to fly from her teeth. 

Eagle had been next to her the whole time, making sure this whole thing wasn’t a trap. He moved his hand to his gun, letting his fingers rest on the trigger and tensing lightly as the undead’s hand made contact with Mercy’s face. He did not take a liking, tearing through him with his eyes alone.

Mercy was far too blinded by her rage to even see this happening, “You.. Would rather serve the Banshee Queen – Sylvanas, than die? That selfish bitch is the reason our King died. The very fucking King you lived to serve. The King you risked your life, for so many years, and dedicated everything towards. And now you want to kneel at her feet like a submissive bitch instead of lay down in the fucking grave you dug for yourself?” She strong steps brought her a little closer against the stench.  

Oh yes, she was matching that stern rage he bleed through her lungs, eyes, voice, chest. Her face was flushed, rosed complexion examined under dark flesh. “I’d rather see you dead.” 

Oh, Mercy why did you say that? You don’t mean it. But gods, she was so angry. So fucking angry.

“If you are hellbent on forcing me back there, I will murder you and your friend here. And I will bring you to Lordaeron where you will join me. Forever.” Jack said, a calmed, chilling anger present. 

“Fine.” She spits to the side. “If this is what you want. But don’t expect me to pretend like this is any better than thinking you were dead.” 

“You speak of selfishness,” he remarks, “I am using this gift to serve the tomorrow I died for. Yes, you were left to die. You’re right. I’m not comparing fates with you. You weren’t eaten alive and forced to believe that you died for nothing.”