The Awakening of a Drow

   If you have been following the Demon storyline, you will know that Ryn was the body the Demon had possessed these past months. Now the Druids have banished the Demon and the Drow, having lost a considerable amount of time in his life, has no idea what is going on.

   The corner the Drow had secluded himself in these past weeks had an empty kind of charm if one liked rocks and caves and darkness. He had found an old bedroll; well more than find, he had stolen it from a gypsy camp, along with a few rations and a metal cup for drinking.
   He sat there in his hideaway, fingering the edge of an unfamiliar dagger as a small fire sputtered and crackled nearby. He shook his head, strands of the blackest of black hair dancing around his shoulders, framing his lighter skin.

Ilmryn Xyltyn, the Drow

   Everything seemed a mystery to him - where he was, how he came to be here. Indeed, he had only just begun to remember bits and pieces of  his life. He remembered, through patchy dreams, an UnderDark, but not this one he now hid away in. He vaguely remembered a Drowess and the remembrances, vague though they were, were fragments of a harsh and unkind life.
   But, there seemed a bit of space and time that had become lost to him and he had no idea how to retrieve it. The clothes he wore were unfamiliar to him. The dagger he fingered as he sat there, another thing he had no recollection of.
   During the nights, he left the convenience of his hideaway and scouted nearby areas. He knew there was a human town nearby and that an Elven city sat high in the mountains to the south. He encountered people now and again, but he avoided them.
   Sometimes, he would hide close enough to listen to the gossip and chattering of villagers or farmers. He knew for certain that these lands were ruled by a Druid. But, there was talk of other Druids, as well. He had heard the talk of a Demon who had terrorized the lands and finally been banished by those Druids.
   Everyone seemed friendly enough; yet, he was a Drow, after all and though he was not comfortable making his presence known to the Drow of the UnderDark, he certainly was not comfortable with confronting the lighter races.
   "Where do I fit in?" he mumbled to himself, sliding the dagger back into his sheath. Then he slid down into his bedroll and pulled a tattered blanket over his lean frame. "Perhaps, in time my dreams will guide me," and he closed his eyes and slid into slumber.