Elite, not a title, not a status. An organization, a mercenary band that will take, almost, any job, for the right price. Thrill seekers and paragons, heroes of the ages, all of them with skills, and abilities, so far beyond that of the normal soldier that they would be wasted inside a kingdom.
Working in groups of three they do work across the known realm, helping, or hindering, as the organization sees fit. All kingdoms they work for most follow the guild law, members are to be treated as member of a sovereign nations, nobles at that, and the guild must be notified on their capture.
Often as not the captured member are not even removed, or kicked out, but rather banned from taking jobs from those that caught them for a time being, effectively removing both the contractor they failed, and the possible, angered, party as ways to put coin in their pocket, and whatever friends these two may have.
However, even member of Elite have to start somewhere, from the bottom, or at least, what they consider the bottom. Every member has a test, every core decided on beforehand, if one fails, they all fail. Each core given a name, and an emblem of varying crossed blades on a pattern specific to them.
The core that is in particular import, the one that is beginning, the core that starts with a brawl and ends with this invitation, well that core is…
The Devil’s Own, for they’ve his luck as it’s told, and their cross blades instead pitchforks, their symbol? Why, a horned skull with a golden tooth.
This is their story, their beginning, and, as it was said, it all started with a brawl.
I’ll be posting more of this later today, as for now, I’ve some things to get done elsewhere!