Roane
Roane watched silently as introductions went around, her hands clammy despite the blaze of the bonfire. The assembled group was...eccentric, to say the least. It was a mosh of fighters, each one as interesting as the next. There were royals, manaketes, outlaws, tacticians--even, to the wyvern rider's surprise, a maid. All seemingly more trained and well-equipped than Roane.
She fiddled with her armor, more self-conscious than usual of its lackluster style. It was old, having been originally her father's, and devoid of any insignia. But it was heartier than most, design replaced with function, and well cared for despite the time. Still, Roane couldn't shake the feeling she always got since her arrival at court a mere three years prior. A silent, judging feeling of her origins and appearance.
Sit up straight, Roane silentlly chided herself, reminders of Lady K'shein's advice echoing in her mind. It's going to be alright. Just relax. Lyth is with you. Her eyes flickered to the side in search of her draconic companion, her tense posture relaxing as she spotted her friend weaving through the gathered crowd with a childish gleam in his black eyes. Though he was smaller than the average wyvern, he was still a large and imposing sight. But he was a comfort amongst strangers nonetheless.
After a moment, Roane slowly stood and bowed deeply. "My name--" She faltered for a moment, inwardly grimacing as her 'bumpkin' roots showed clear through her still present accent, before she forced herself to continue on. "My name is Roane Teresse, procector of Lady K'shein of House Niveana in the kingdom of Ereb." The soft nuzzle of a scaled snout on her side caused a small, upwards twitch on the corners of her mouth. "And this," Roane wrapped an arm around the neck of her wyvern, "is my partner, Lyth. I'm good with an ax, he can fly fast." Lyth pulled away, the smell of food dragging the wyvern lumbering towards a white-haired man, leaving Roane to smile at her new compatriots sheepishly and bow once more.