Blade of The Orashin (A Private story)

[Firewind]

A world in peril of a Dark Lord, and a mercenary band is caught up in the middle of it. With all this and a Drow newbie on the group, what else can go wrong?

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Beranir, a world of Magic has seen several dark forces in the past, but none as Serious as a Dark Lord that's able to call upon demonic forces to bolster his army. One of the elf countries has called upon a well reputed Mercenary group known as the Dragon's Fang. The group is comprised of elves, human, Dwarves, and several half elven. They have recently acquired a new member from one of the Largest Forests of Beranir, a Drow Elf.

Unknowing of the World outside the woods, the Drow had followed the group when he was first discovered by them. Currently the group are on their way to meet their employer in the Capital city.

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Character Sheet:

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[Firewind]

"So do you think he can be trusted?" One mercenary said to the other, noting the Dark Elf watching other people making small campfires and trying to set up one himself. He was a tall adult Drow, possibly five feet eleven inches. His silver hair fell slightly past his shoulders. The clothing he wore was mismatched leather, given the things he killed in his home in the woods. His ruby red eyes observed everything there is about the camp.

"He'll make a good soldier. Don't question the leader's decisions." The Dwarf the mercenary was talking to replied as he walked away past the Drow. "Welcome to the group Sir Drow."

"It's not Sir Drow. My name is Maelthra. I thought I told you that...or was it another dwarf?" The Drow muttered as he started trying to mimic the other people making the fire, trying to make a fire using the friction of a stick.

He was halfway unsure how it worked as he sighed in confusion.

[redversustheblue]

The talent was sorely lacking. Whisper wasn't entirely sure why she was here, she hated working in groups, hated trusting other people, and hated taking directions. Oh right, it was the empty purse that had brought her here. She was in this entirely for the coin. She watched the people moving around below her while she was propped comfortably into a tree, one of her feet propped against a branch with the other dangling freely. She was tossing her dagger from hand to hand, twirling it in the air and catching it expertly. She knew why she was here, but who exactly had assembled all these other people? A drow, really?

She turned her green eyes toward him, watching a few of the others approach and talk briefly before departing. Then she watched him try to light a fire, her lips twitching in amusement. Surely he knew how to light a fire, but it didn't look like it right now. She pushed her cowl back, her black hair escaping and tumbling down her shoulders. By most accounts she was quite attractive, a feral kind of beauty, and she knew how to use it. It was all part of her lucrative business plan; she could bewitch almost any man to pay her twice the amount he owed her for her services rendered.

"Having a little trouble there, drow?" She asked, calling down from her comfortable spot on the tree.

[Firewind]

Maelthra stopped what he was doing to glare up at the woman who spoke to him. "Do not call me by that name." He said, "I'm trying to do what the others are doing but cannot comprehend how the stick makes a fire."

As he said this a human warrior with greying hair happened upon the conversation. He was the leader of the Mercenary band that is now currently making camp. "Here, it works like this." Taking the stick he began to demonstrate the technique as smoke came from it as he then placed Maelthra's share of wood in a neat fashion. "There's your fire wildling."

"Must you make fun of my home?" The Drow stated in annoyance. The leader of the group simply patted the young dark elf on the head before departing. "These people are strange, but I guess they like to make fun of the new guy."