Ferah's Collection
Shouts highlighted by the ringing of metal filled the air. Intense heat from the furnace made it difficult to approach the blacksmith. His ashen skinned hands were fastened around both a hammer and the cloth wrapped handle of his current project. His strikes sounded out a steady rhythm along the narrow road of the Del Shira back alley. The drow man muttered continuously under his breath.
“Excuse me!” came a voice between swings. The sweaty smith drew his forearm across his soaked brow before turning towards the sound. Standing before his shop were three men in armor around an Elven woman, flanked by several bodyguards. One of her guards leaned against the building. His face was a bright crimson with a pair of horns sprouting from his skull.
“I don't do jewelry requests. Least of all for nobles,” snorted the smith and raised his hammer. His eyes flicked from the large, red being to the smaller humans that flanked the Elven woman.
“If you did, then you wouldn't have the problems you do,” spoke the woman flatly.
“And who in the name of the abyss are you, then? Got no time for you cousin,” he practically spit the final word.
In a monotone, disinterested manner of speaking the woman explained, “I am Ferah Windleaf of the Blue Phoenix Mercenary Company. My comrades and I are here to collect payment for our services rendered in acquiring this shop for you.”
“Go find some rich knob to suck on,” the Smith replied and this time did spit at the woman. With a heavy splat, the loogie landed on Ferah's cheek but she didn't flinch. Turning to the side the smith then bellowed, “We got four bluebirds looking to start trouble!”
Doors slammed open and bodies poured out. Though most of the thugs wore ragged clothes and were armed with makeshift weapons, a few were in armor. Ferah asked plainly, “Do you intend to not pay?”
“What do you think, you dumb whore? No, I'm not paying you idiots. But, I think your heads will make it clear to stay out of where you're not wanted,” mocked the Smith.
“In accordance with Del Shira law and the provision of our contract, I shall now claim the company's due on its behalf. Are there any objections?” Quoted Ferah. Reaching down to her hip, she produced a short, curved blade while each of her companions drew their own, longer blades. Ferah ordered, “Company business first!”
The nearest soldier swung at the blacksmith, who easily stepped out of the way. As he stumbled backwards, Ferah rushed in pushing her shoulder into his chest. As Ferah pinned the man's arm under one foot she aimed her weapon for his throat. One of the armored soldiers shouted out, “Hold it right there, Bird bitch. Kill him and we'll do worse than kill all of you. He's under our protection so we'll be required to take 'compensation' from you all. You understand?”
“Permission to go on a rampage, ma'am?” Ferah's red skinned soldier asked.
“Denied Rin,” Ferah spoke bluntly. Her arm tensed, sending the point of her weapon into his throat. Blood sprayed along her limb and landed on her unchanging face. The blacksmith grasped at his throat trying to hold back the flood of his own bodily fluids. Ferah said simply, “Rin, you'll take the left side. Rory and Erin, we have the right.”
Her escorts charged forward and sent the thugs stepping back to dodge their blades. As the armored men brought their own weapons to bear, Ferah slipped in. Her thin weapon sliding past the locked weapons to pare the flesh of his arm. The injured man howled before a second slice from Rory silenced him. Spinning on her heel Ferah plunged her weapon into the stomach of Erin's opponent while Rory engaged another.
Their dance continued with Ferah or one of the others delivering crippling blows while the others opened gaps in their opponent's defense. With most of a dozen corpses at their feet, the rest of the thugs fled. Ferah pointed to the more numerous corpses on her side of the alley before explaining, “Rin, have you learned your lesson? A rampage will never be as effective as teamwork.”
“Yes ma'am,” admitted the Oni with a lowered head. Only two corpses were at his feet.
Ferah walked over to the soldier whose arm she had cut open. He was slumped against the wall, gripping his injured arm. Tipping up his chin she asked, “What do you belong to?”
“Am I a prisoner?”
“That'll depend on your answers. What organization do you belong to?”
“Second private of the Wight Terror Mercenaries, Ansel Ashkin. At your service, ma'am.”
“Good answer. Rory, heal him,” Ferah ordered. The blonde man wiped his blade with a cloth before sheathing it once more. Placing two fingers to the man's wrist, his arm visibly closed up.
Ansel stared dumbfounded at his arm. Ferah stood up and motioned for the others to follow her. As they departed Ansel asked, “Don't you have a message for us?”
“That is for our commander to decide. We simply were here to perform a job. Your presence will be in our report,” Ferah said without breaking her stride. The entire group departed amid a constant flood of stares. From commoner to nobles, Ferah was glared at for being an Elf in the Drow capital yet their eyes would all inevitably flick to the blue phoenix she wore on her chest.
Rin leaned over and whispered, “Should we hurry back to the compound? I don't like all the staring.”
“Don't be so self conscious, Rin. You're a handsome man, just think of it as the gazes of potential suitors,” flattered Ferah causing the Oni's cheeks to further redden. Rory and Erin both began to laugh.
Between guffaws Rory teased, “So, which dark elf strikes your fancy? Perhaps one of the bold and valiant guards? The soft, inviting ladies? Or perhaps the haughty lords?”
“Hmm....I must admit I like the guards in the spiked armor. To wear that they have to be in quite excellent shape for an elf, right?” answered Rin honestly.
“I forgot about the Oni fetish for muscles,” Erin snickered, “I'm sure me and Rory wouldn't mind some alone time with the Noble ladies. They've got nothing but time to come up with something fun for us!” Both men shared a mutual nod.
Rin asked, “What about you, Ferah? Any particular type suit your tastes?”
“None of them are bloodthirsty enough for me,” Ferah said in her usual bland tone.
Rin and Erin gaped as Rory demanded, “What are you talking about? This is Del Shira, the capital of the Drow Imperiums! Blood flows quicker than water here. We were attacked trying to collect rent!”
“I know, it's so petty,” Ferah let out a sigh that silenced her comrades for the rest of their trip. The others were dismissed to the barracks while Ferah entered the main tower. In the main room, Ru'Sala sat behind a desk looking over paperwork. Saluting the large man she explained matter of factly, “I have returned. The blacksmith refused payment so we will be free to reclaim the building. It's a bit too far to station one of our own smiths in, though. He had either employed or was under the protection of the Wight Terrors mercenary company.”
“I see. Let's assume they're the ones who tried to ambush Mask for the time being,” Ru'Sala nodded and leaned back in his seat. The right side of his face rose into a lopsided grin. Hooking a clawed finger, Ferah walked around the desk. Leaning in so his breath was hot on her cheek, his rough tongue slid along her soft cheek. Ferah winced. Ru'Sala sighed, “Such weak trash. You shouldn't have dirtied yourself over him. Still, good work Ferah.”
“T-thank you, Commander,” stammered the Elven woman. A slight hint of crimson stained her cheeks.
With a chuckle Ru'Sala ordered, “Get yourself cleaned up and catch a meal. I'll want you along with our diplomatic envoys to the Wight Terrors.” Ferah bowed and excused herself. She made sure her posture let her hips sway as much as she could on her way to the door knowing Ru'Sala couldn't help but watch her.
“Excuse me!” came a voice between swings. The sweaty smith drew his forearm across his soaked brow before turning towards the sound. Standing before his shop were three men in armor around an Elven woman, flanked by several bodyguards. One of her guards leaned against the building. His face was a bright crimson with a pair of horns sprouting from his skull.
“I don't do jewelry requests. Least of all for nobles,” snorted the smith and raised his hammer. His eyes flicked from the large, red being to the smaller humans that flanked the Elven woman.
“If you did, then you wouldn't have the problems you do,” spoke the woman flatly.
“And who in the name of the abyss are you, then? Got no time for you cousin,” he practically spit the final word.
In a monotone, disinterested manner of speaking the woman explained, “I am Ferah Windleaf of the Blue Phoenix Mercenary Company. My comrades and I are here to collect payment for our services rendered in acquiring this shop for you.”
“Go find some rich knob to suck on,” the Smith replied and this time did spit at the woman. With a heavy splat, the loogie landed on Ferah's cheek but she didn't flinch. Turning to the side the smith then bellowed, “We got four bluebirds looking to start trouble!”
Doors slammed open and bodies poured out. Though most of the thugs wore ragged clothes and were armed with makeshift weapons, a few were in armor. Ferah asked plainly, “Do you intend to not pay?”
“What do you think, you dumb whore? No, I'm not paying you idiots. But, I think your heads will make it clear to stay out of where you're not wanted,” mocked the Smith.
“In accordance with Del Shira law and the provision of our contract, I shall now claim the company's due on its behalf. Are there any objections?” Quoted Ferah. Reaching down to her hip, she produced a short, curved blade while each of her companions drew their own, longer blades. Ferah ordered, “Company business first!”
The nearest soldier swung at the blacksmith, who easily stepped out of the way. As he stumbled backwards, Ferah rushed in pushing her shoulder into his chest. As Ferah pinned the man's arm under one foot she aimed her weapon for his throat. One of the armored soldiers shouted out, “Hold it right there, Bird bitch. Kill him and we'll do worse than kill all of you. He's under our protection so we'll be required to take 'compensation' from you all. You understand?”
“Permission to go on a rampage, ma'am?” Ferah's red skinned soldier asked.
“Denied Rin,” Ferah spoke bluntly. Her arm tensed, sending the point of her weapon into his throat. Blood sprayed along her limb and landed on her unchanging face. The blacksmith grasped at his throat trying to hold back the flood of his own bodily fluids. Ferah said simply, “Rin, you'll take the left side. Rory and Erin, we have the right.”
Her escorts charged forward and sent the thugs stepping back to dodge their blades. As the armored men brought their own weapons to bear, Ferah slipped in. Her thin weapon sliding past the locked weapons to pare the flesh of his arm. The injured man howled before a second slice from Rory silenced him. Spinning on her heel Ferah plunged her weapon into the stomach of Erin's opponent while Rory engaged another.
Their dance continued with Ferah or one of the others delivering crippling blows while the others opened gaps in their opponent's defense. With most of a dozen corpses at their feet, the rest of the thugs fled. Ferah pointed to the more numerous corpses on her side of the alley before explaining, “Rin, have you learned your lesson? A rampage will never be as effective as teamwork.”
“Yes ma'am,” admitted the Oni with a lowered head. Only two corpses were at his feet.
Ferah walked over to the soldier whose arm she had cut open. He was slumped against the wall, gripping his injured arm. Tipping up his chin she asked, “What do you belong to?”
“Am I a prisoner?”
“That'll depend on your answers. What organization do you belong to?”
“Second private of the Wight Terror Mercenaries, Ansel Ashkin. At your service, ma'am.”
“Good answer. Rory, heal him,” Ferah ordered. The blonde man wiped his blade with a cloth before sheathing it once more. Placing two fingers to the man's wrist, his arm visibly closed up.
Ansel stared dumbfounded at his arm. Ferah stood up and motioned for the others to follow her. As they departed Ansel asked, “Don't you have a message for us?”
“That is for our commander to decide. We simply were here to perform a job. Your presence will be in our report,” Ferah said without breaking her stride. The entire group departed amid a constant flood of stares. From commoner to nobles, Ferah was glared at for being an Elf in the Drow capital yet their eyes would all inevitably flick to the blue phoenix she wore on her chest.
Rin leaned over and whispered, “Should we hurry back to the compound? I don't like all the staring.”
“Don't be so self conscious, Rin. You're a handsome man, just think of it as the gazes of potential suitors,” flattered Ferah causing the Oni's cheeks to further redden. Rory and Erin both began to laugh.
Between guffaws Rory teased, “So, which dark elf strikes your fancy? Perhaps one of the bold and valiant guards? The soft, inviting ladies? Or perhaps the haughty lords?”
“Hmm....I must admit I like the guards in the spiked armor. To wear that they have to be in quite excellent shape for an elf, right?” answered Rin honestly.
“I forgot about the Oni fetish for muscles,” Erin snickered, “I'm sure me and Rory wouldn't mind some alone time with the Noble ladies. They've got nothing but time to come up with something fun for us!” Both men shared a mutual nod.
Rin asked, “What about you, Ferah? Any particular type suit your tastes?”
“None of them are bloodthirsty enough for me,” Ferah said in her usual bland tone.
Rin and Erin gaped as Rory demanded, “What are you talking about? This is Del Shira, the capital of the Drow Imperiums! Blood flows quicker than water here. We were attacked trying to collect rent!”
“I know, it's so petty,” Ferah let out a sigh that silenced her comrades for the rest of their trip. The others were dismissed to the barracks while Ferah entered the main tower. In the main room, Ru'Sala sat behind a desk looking over paperwork. Saluting the large man she explained matter of factly, “I have returned. The blacksmith refused payment so we will be free to reclaim the building. It's a bit too far to station one of our own smiths in, though. He had either employed or was under the protection of the Wight Terrors mercenary company.”
“I see. Let's assume they're the ones who tried to ambush Mask for the time being,” Ru'Sala nodded and leaned back in his seat. The right side of his face rose into a lopsided grin. Hooking a clawed finger, Ferah walked around the desk. Leaning in so his breath was hot on her cheek, his rough tongue slid along her soft cheek. Ferah winced. Ru'Sala sighed, “Such weak trash. You shouldn't have dirtied yourself over him. Still, good work Ferah.”
“T-thank you, Commander,” stammered the Elven woman. A slight hint of crimson stained her cheeks.
With a chuckle Ru'Sala ordered, “Get yourself cleaned up and catch a meal. I'll want you along with our diplomatic envoys to the Wight Terrors.” Ferah bowed and excused herself. She made sure her posture let her hips sway as much as she could on her way to the door knowing Ru'Sala couldn't help but watch her.