Twenty years ago...

"DAD! DAD!" the high pitched squeal came peeling through the morning mist as the young girl came bolting over the crest of the hill in a blur of black pigtails and burst through the door of the smith shop. Once inside, she screeched clumsily to a halt in her over-sized boots and stood impatiently behind her father.

Seamus Dawnsteel was a giant of a man, his hands blackened by years at the forge. He pushed his mop of dark hair carelessly out of his eyes with the hand not holding a large hammer, leaving a charcoal smudge across his forehead, and regarded his daughter fondly. He was thirty three with storm-gray eyes like his daughter's.

"I think I found some!"

A smile creased his heat-weathered face. "Found some what, Bree?"

She grinned and puffed out her chest proudly, reaching into one pocket of her grass stained overalls, tongue stuck out in concentration while she spelunked. A moment later she shoved a tiny closed fist toward him. Seamus bent forward, removing one monstrous glove and held his out hand to have a small round pebble dropped into it.

"Dawnsteele!" she exclaimed with finesse.

He blinked and looked down at the small white stone.

"Darling. This is quartz."

"Oh..." her eyes fell to the floor and her posture deflated.

He scooped her up in one enormous arm, holding her easily despite the fact she was tallest in her class. The door to the forge was opened and he used a pair of tongs to withdraw a long piece of gleaming metal, holding it up but not too close.

Her eyes widened "It's...so pretty!"

And indeed it was, phosphorescent even in the light of day, the mere sight of raw Dawnsteele filled her with a strange sense of comfort and well-being.

Seamus smiled as he also felt the effects of the substance he had been working in such close proximity with for so long.

"This" he rotated the radiating metal so she could better see "is Dawnsteele. It is our heritage and this particular piece is going to be your sword one day."

She gasped with delight, "Really!?"

"Yes." He replaced it in the forge and Bree felt the warm feeling she had gotten recede slightly.

"Why does it make me feel funny?"

"Because Dawnsteele is made of the very essence of light. What you're feeling are the light particles reaching out and calling upon all the goodness in you. It is a very, very precious type of steel. Found only in a special kind of ore called mearogliath. It's the polar opposite of Darksteele, found in-" He checked himself "Nevermind." That was the last thing he wanted her combing the riverbank for.

Her face scrunched up at the foreign sounding words. "Darksteele? What's that?"

He pursed his lips, unsure how to explain it to her withing giving her nightmares for the next fortnight. Tales of good hearted smiths gone stark raving mad, committing unspeakable atrocities while under the influence of the malevolent substance. He settled on simply saying, "I'll tell you when you're older." as he set her back down on the ground.

She rolled her eyes as she was transported back to her feet, "That's what grandma Barley always says."

Seamus groaned inwardly as he thought of Bree's grandmother, his mother in law, a pure grain nymph whose contribution to Bree's genetic makeup was bound to cause him a world of stress the moment young Bree hit puberty.

"Well." he stammered, pushing the worry away "She's right." His kind face adopted a false strictness. "Now, shouldn't you be helping your mother with chores?"

Bree shook her head back and forth rapidly, pigtails whipping across her face. "Nope! I finished them all up!"

"Breeannalore Amaranth Dawnsteel! WHAT is this MESS in my kitchen?! You get back here this instant young lady!" the feminine voice would have been musical had it not been half-shrieking as it floated from the house next door to the shop.

"Don't call me Breeannalore!" Bree barked back indignantly, then winced as she noticed her father staring down at her in stern bemusement. "Okay maybe not all finished up."

"You heard your mother. Off with you now." He leaned forward, shooing her out of the shop with a sweep of his arms. She scampered out reluctantly with a yelp, looking over her shoulder more than once as she climbed the path to the neighbouring brick house while the thickly built smith turned back to his work with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

Thirteen years ago.

The teenager tromped across the green lawn to the house tucked away at the end of the lane. The garden was bursting with all manner of flowers, thriving and wild and fragrant. She paused to pluck up a pink rose, her favourite, and affixed it behind her ear, a stark contrast to the black tresses sharing the real estate there. She climbed the immaculate cobblestone steps and rapped on the door.

"Coming! Coming!" came the lilting reply.

Bree smiled and adjusted the myriad of steel cuffs she was wearing on her wrists, accessories meant to set off the metal-studded belt that was slung low on her skinny hips. She had been having fun with the scraps she had been collecting from her father's shop and it showed in her fashion sense.

The door opened and what should have been an elderly woman smiled warmly at her granddaughter.

"Breeanna. Happy birthday, dearie. Come in."

"Thanks grandma." Bree stepped over the threshold to be greeted by the smell of baking. She kicked her boots off and carefully placed them on the mat.

Grandma Barley was somewhere in her seventies but looked to be somewhere in her thirties. She was a curvaceous woman with bright blue eyes and a spring in her step. Her bottom swayed as she led Bree down the hall to the kitchen.

The enticing scent was amplified here and Bree breathed it in as she went straight for the fridge, quickly locating and pouring herself a tall glass of milk. "Whatcha makin'?" she asked, running a hand through her short black hair, recently cut into a jaunty bob.

"Sugar cookies." Barley said with a smile as she donned a mitt and reached into the oven. What she withdrew was a pan of round, beige cookies in the shape of hearts. She used a spatula to scoop some onto a plate.

They settled onto a cute dinette set, wrought-iron chairs (made of course by Seamus) painted white with fuzzy yellow cushions adorning them.

"So. How does it feel being thirteen?"

"Um, a lot like being twelve." she nibbled less than daintily on a warm cookie, dunking another in her milk with the opposite hand.

"Your mother wanted me to have a chat with you."

Bree's eyebrows raised as she munched. Listening.

Barley sipped her tea demurely before continuing, "Every woman on our side of the family has come of age in her thirteenth year. We expect you will not be any different. You do know what I mean when I say come of age, right?"

Bree groaned. "Ewww yes, mom's been over this, thanks."

Barley waved one ring-laden hand. "That's not what I'm talking about, Breeanna. This is much more important." She changed tactics, "Your father tells me you're captain of your school dueling team."

The girl shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"There must be a lot of boys on that team."

"Yeah. They don't talk to me much. Especially not since I broke Eric Stormbane's nose."

Barley eyed her granddaughter dubiously. At thirteen the girl was already 5'10" with pouty and distinctively red lips like Barley's and a classic looking pallor setting them off startlingly, but her body had not yet had a chance to catch up with the seemingly unending growth spurt.

"They will. And soon."

Bree swallowed the last of her milk. "What are you talking about?"

"When nymph's come of age it is like..." she searched for a metaphor, eyes noticing the rose Bree has stuffed behind her ear. She gestured to the rose, which seemed to reach toward her as she did so, "Like a flower opening."

One black brow went up, as the teenage smirked in the sarcastic way only the young could when dealing with their elders. "Mom told me about that, too."

Barley suppressed a laugh, "Well I hope you paid attention because you are going to be fighting them off soon, and I don't mean in the arena."

Bree just looked down at her A cups and back at her voluptuous grandmother in doubt. "You sure?"

"Give it time darling. You'll see. Here." She pushed a small notebook towards Bree. "This is mine," she explained "It is everything you need to know about being a grain nymph. I suggest you read it before you reach sixteen so you properly understand when the time really comes." and gave her a meaningful look. "Others like you have gone down dark paths."

Bree winced. She knew what 'others like her' meant. Mixed bloods. Too human to understand love as a raw element, too nymph to restrain themselves.

"I will grandma. Promise." and she stuffed the book in her pack, meaning it.

Satisfied, Barley shifted in her seat, sapphire eyes on the enormous sword strapped to Bree's back. "Is that what your father gave you?"

The girl nodded vigorously and drew the weapon to properly show it off. "Yeah! Ain't it cool?"

"Looks like a Dawnsteel." Barley sipped her tea casually. It was Seamus. Of course it was.

Again, Bree nodded, putting the greatsword back in its sheath.

"I trust he told you what the significance of you wielding that is?"

Bree's face scrunched up, confused. How many secrets was grandma Barley full of?

The wise old nymph chuckled melodiously. "A Dawnsteel can not die by Dawnsteel."

Sometime during the daylight hours, a delivery boy arrived at the Smith shop with a rather large package. His knuckles rapped against the door before letting himself in. It was, after all, a public shop.

A folded, crinkled paper was withdrawn from his pocket and opened. Bright blue eyes lifted from beneath his hat and with feigned confidence, he announced, "Erm. This package is for a Bree Dawnsteel? No return sender though, said you'd know." Before she could say much, he abandoned the parcel leaning against the counter. Out he went.

Bree squinted in the morning light as she padded barefoot down the stairs from her loft to her work room. She grasped the front of her satin kimono close and shivered as she went quickly to the forge to throw a few more logs on the fire. Her hair was a bit mussed as she stooped for a piece of wood, remembering the night with a slight smile.

It had been positively adorable of the Jester to take her out on the town to cheer her up. Dinner, body modding, dancing. What more could a girl ask for? Skid had actually got her to stop saying the word "Stitch" for more than a few hours, which as of late had been no small feat.

She rubbed her hands together and blew on them as she crossed to the window to flip the sign from "Closed" to "Open". The early light illuminated her face in a pretty way as she peered out at the Marketplace. A gentle sigh escaped her. Had it been over a week now? She knew it had.

"Where are you?" she said to no one in particular, slender brows coming in to furrow slightly as she glanced about at the growing hustle and bustle outside. As she reached for her leather apron hung up by the door, something caught her eye. Her lips parted, but no sound came out as the delicate rose was picked up reverently and the note unfolded.

She was blissfully unaware of how long she had stood there staring at the red writing with a goofy smile stuck on her face.

"Hey! Lady! You the Smithy here or you just the display mannequin?"

Her back straightened and she turned her head to speak plaintively at the disgruntled customer, the smile unwavering. "He hasn't abandoned me." she said with a bright grin, eyes traveling to the sword in the stranger's hands, bent nearly in half. "Good Gond man! What in the pits did you do?! Gimme. NOW."

The weapon was wrenched from the slack-jawed customer's hands as Bree went back to business. Humming to herself as the rose was quickly tucked into the bouquet Skid had given her, and her hammer taken up. After a few moments, she looked over her shoulder from the work table.

"Is there a reason you're staring?"

The stranger blushed crimson. "Just, erm, never seen a smith work in her pajamas before."

She looked from her bare legs back to the man and reddened. "Well, welcome to Bree's!" she chuckled and turned back to the sword.

A few hours later there was a knock at the door of her shop. Bree opened it cheerily to find Hina and little Tes and her face (which oddly had flour smudged on it today instead of soot) lit up.

"Hello handsomeface! Did you come to help auntie Bree cook?" she exclaimed, happy to see both of them. "I've almost got things ready down in the oasis Heeny. Do you think you could pick me up some-?"

"I've gotta go. Can you watch Tes?" came the abrupt interruption. The angel looked nervous as she passed the rugrat into Bree's arms hastily. The blacksmith cocked her head at her friend.

"Um, sure honey. You okay?"

The slight beginning of a nod from Hina was glimpsed before she disappeared with a flash, leaving the pleasant smell of fresh lilies lingering in the air. Bree looked down at the baby on her hip quizzically, "Guess it's just you n' me kiddo."

Bree pushed open the door of her shop and breathed in the smell of woodsmoke. Her heavy black cloak was hung up as she passed through the main room and climbed the stairs to her loft. Slumping onto the bed a moment, she kicked up her feet with a sigh as her hair tumbled onto the mattress in black waves. She nestled her face into her pillow, stretching her arms upward and underneath it . It smelled ever-so-faintly of him and she smiled.
How long had it been since she'd found her way to Rhy'Din from the desert? Lacing her fingers behind her head she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling in thought. Three months now? So much had happened in that time, but when she thought on it three faces stood out distinctly in her mind.
Skiddlebrau.
The very thought of him prompted a snicker. Lovers and seals, gallons of booze, fluttering stickers, a tattoo. The list went on and on swirling into red and gold and back again. He was like a brother to her (or maybe a distant cousin she had funny feelings for?), however wayward at times.
Hina.
Her hands fingered the sword-shaped locket round her neck. Hina had been just that to Bree. She reminded Bree of an old proverb: that the power to endure harm, outlived the power to inflict it. The angel may no long be in her God's graces but she certainly was in the blacksmith's. Maybe she could talk to Tempus? He listened. She knew he did.
Such a shame, such a mess. Bree rolled onto her side, troubled deeply. Her gaze rested level with her broken window and she found herself once again inadvertently breathing in the salty-sweet musk on her pillow.
Stitch.
Stone-gray eyes closed involuntarily at the very thought of him. How much he meant to her, how close she felt to him, how much closer she wanted to get. Shadows, blood, "fings" and porch swings, intermingled fingers and limbs.
Her eyes fluttered back open and a smile pulled the scarlet camber of her lips toward her ears. He was coming over tonight!
Up, up from the bed she sat, rising like a black moon against the dying light of another day. She stood to her full height and moved gracefully to pose in front of her mirror that had been replaced so thoughtfully. A single rose, dry now but just as perfect as it had been four weeks ago perched atop the looking glass where Bree was mugging now at her reflection, holding up a slinky shirt and a black fighter's kilt to her curvaceously dangerous form. He hadn't said what time he'd drop by, but damned if she wouldn't be ready and looking her delectable best. She smiled again, feeling a bit giddy. Sure things were messed up, but as long as the night was bringing him to her, she reckoned she could handle any day. Any eternity. She took a step past sanity into her fishnets. It was going to be a wonderful night, she could already feel it.

Someone was screeching.

Yes. Definitely screeching. A ragged, ear-splitting howl that ripped the night asunder and left it still and breathless.

It was only after several long minutes that Bree realized it was her.

'Where am I?'

Throat raw, she tried to swallow but found no saliva. Her eyes struggled to adjust against a too bright light that bore into them, reducing her pupils to pinpricks. A silhouette loomed suddenly before her, impossible to see in the glare. She writhed only to find her arms and legs bound.

"Who..who are yo-AHHHH!" her choked sentence was cut short by blinding pain as something stung her lower lip. She pitched violently in her restraints, which she realized weren't shackles or straps at all, but what felt like a dozen strong hands. Her upper lip was stabbed suddenly in a brutal upward motion, only to be followed by a swift downward thrust. Her wrists yanked hard against her captors, desperate to crawl away from the sickening feeling of something scraping through the flesh of her lips.

Then there it was again. That smell. Filling her nose and lungs with memories. She'd wanted the demon to by lying. Wasn't that what demons did? But he hadn't been and neither had her nose. Stitch's cigarettes. On Hina, on Damien.....an aroma that had once smelled so sweet on her pillow and now it just made her sick.

She screamed, tore flesh to tatters, didn't care. The string was everywhere. In her mouth, around her neck, in her teeth, choking her. Her head whipped fiercely from side to side as she shrieked and spluttered against the hands and the cloying smell of smoke and the....hair?

Bree lurched upright in bed, blowing black strands out of her mouth and gasping as a hand flew to her lips. Intact. Praise Tempus. Kicking out of her bedroll she stood and made her way to the horses, wiping cold sweat from her pale brow. Mister Sawyer, as Bree had affectionately named her "horsie" was looking at her sideways, chewing grass. Taking her flask from one of the pouches at his side, she tipped a dram of whiskey into her flagon and swigged. With a little shake of her head and a patented sexy shiver, she drew her cloak tight around her broad shoulders and slumped down next to the dying fire. Bree had mercifully taken the dogwatch and Kyrie was still slumbering peacefully in the nearby tent.

Reaching into her cloak she took out a worn notebook and opened it to a page marked with a thin red ribbon. A new log was placed on the fire and muscled legs were folded comfortably under her as Bree began to write.

The snow was falling soft and petal-like on the tiny oriental garden where the figures of two women were visible, standing statue-like beneath the snowy eaves of a quaint pagoda. Kyrie blinked white flakes from her thick lashes and stepped towards the small altar before them in her slippered feet which the snow seemed to melt and recede from. She knelt in a fluid motion, touching her forehead to the back of her palms and causing the series of delicate paraphernalia twined into her long locks to cascade downward and brush the rime. She remained that way for several moments before sitting up, and from the sleeve of her smooth peach kimono (fastened at her petite waist by a broad golden obi) she extracted the cup upon which Fujiko's name had been painstakingly carved in foreign script by Bree's steady hand. Kyrie looked over one satin-clad shoulder at her strapping companion. Bree gave a somber nod, thick forearms folded over one another, snow stark against the pitch of her hair. Kyrie turned back and said something in the tongue Bree had heard her and Fujiko converse in good-humoredly to each other countless times as the girl bent forward to place the cup reverently on the altar, next to a wide burning candle. A wan smile pulled at the corners of Bree's mouth. It was all quite pretty, she thought. When Kyrie finally walked back toward her. Bree instinctively reached out and slung an arm over her friend's shoulders as they wordlessly made their way back to the spot Kyrie had chosen to teleport to and from. It seemed she'd gotten the hang of teleporting vast distances back, short ones...they were still working out the kinks. The pair squinted into the setting eastern sun before Kyrie took Bree's hand in hers and spirited them back to the northwest continent.

"Shoot! I'm late!"

Bree scrambled from the bed in her room above the Red Dragon and began yanking on her boots, head swimming with the events of the night previous and a dull headache. Today she had guild meetings all day with Seamus, who would be piping mad if she didn't make it back to Waterdeep in time. Dressed, though admittedly pretty randomly, Bree hoisted the Dawnsteel upright and rested the tip in the floorboards.

"Coming, father."

There was a gleam in the afternoon sun as she stepped into, and through the hulking blade, which in turn disappeared behind her in a silver flash.

* * *

Bree materialized next to Seamus amidst a shifting crowd comprised entirely of tradesmen. He smirked, but didn't look over at his slightly disheveled daughter, passing her a coffee in a steaming mug.

"You're late, baby girl. Long night?"

"Something like that. This world hopping stuff is exhausting. I've no idea how Tempus does it."

Seamus chortled and sipped his java, eyes on the bare stage at the head of the large amphitheatre. "You'll get used to it. Besides, they haven't started yet. Go figure."

Bree nodded and solemnly took a drink of the warm liquid, hoping it would clear her cluttered head. Waterdeep all afternoon then back to RhyDin tonight to meet with Hina and begin the search for Skid. It was going to be a long, long day.

DISCLAIMER: I TOTALLY paraphrased a large chunk of the middle section from http://www.d20forge.com/contribution/display.html? id=1259.
I know I know, I'm a bad person. Y'all love it. ^_~

~
The legs of the mahogany barstool smacked Bree across the face with a sickening crack. Splinters flew, and with her last ounce of strength she managed to reach a hand out and slap the floor to stop the back of her skull colliding with it. The tender flesh of her cheeks was shredded mercilessly as it was introduced to ground littered with bits of broken glass and other questionable offal. The girl rolled onto her back with a low groan and squinted up at her opponent silhouetted against the single swaying lantern which hung above their heads, hefting the chair a final time. The last thing Bree remembered was seeing one of her molars lying on a patch of floor near her face as her head lolled to the side and the Bloody Fist disappeared.

* * *


"Once each generation the war god Tempus chooses a champion from among his faithful to become an extension of his will...Each of these champions is been granted the use of the earthly manifestation their lord's greatest weapon."

Bree found herself standing alone under a churning gray sky in an unfamiliar rocky badland. A cold northerly wind whipped her hair about as she spun round, trying to get her bearings on the strange terrain. She was about to cry out when an unquestionably male voice like thunder in her soul spoke, "History repeats itself and the Warrior stirs. The peoples of Faerun and the worlds beyond must prepare. You must prepare." With the words still rolling across her mind, she felt a gauntleted hand on her shoulder, and suddenly found herself bearing the irrepressible heat of some forge.

With silent footfalls a heavily armoured figure strode across the forge to stand in front of a pedestal completely sheathed in a fire so hot it burned pure white. Resting on the pedestal was a magnificent sword, dazzling and pure: a new kind of Dawnsteel.

The figure's voice broke the awed silence, "You must take the truth. Forge it yourself. Make it greater than those before you." Pausing to caress the flames the figure beckoned her closer and gestured to the weapon. "Take it!"

The fires' dance became more erratic as Bree edged closer. She reached out boldly for the great weapon, thrusting her bare arm through the white-hot flames. Where the fire touched her it clung and spread, slowly creeping along her bare flesh. The flame burned with pain unlike any she had felt before, where it traveled her flesh was replaced with perfect silver plates. In moments that seemed like hours her body was transformed, now clad in the grandest of armours as her hand reached the weapon to raise it from its resting place. It was warm to the touch and featherlight.

"Your faith is powerful and will shield you in the trials to come. Find the truth, forge it in the well of your faith and it will never fail you." With those last words still thrumming in her soul the god known as Tempus strode away...

* * *

"Goddamnit Bree! Get up!" Seamus muttered to himself as he straightened from stooping to pick up his daughter's errant tooth.

"Ungh..." Bree's eyes fluttered open to an unusual view of the floor's filthy topography as the clamour of the Bloody Fist's patronage came blaring back into her immediate existence. Blood was pouring in torrents from somewhere in her long matted hair, over and down into her eyes obscuring her vision.

"Lord Thundering Tempus! I thought she was dead for a second there!" came a random shout from the gaping crowd. "I hope not! I never got a chance to ask her to the trades gala!" was heard and followed by a wave of relieved laughter as someone else added "Seamus'd kill you 'fore you got anywhere near her, y'fool!"

Seamus just looked on, his stony face unreadable as he slipped the tooth into the front pocket of his soot-encrusted shirt and took a studied sip from his beer.

"You're a goddam rock, you are, Seamus." a blonde-bearded sailor named Erick thumped Bree's father on the back, shaking his head and laughing. "If that was my daughter I'd have gone barmy by now!"

Bree, for her part, slowly but steadily lifted herself up onto one battered elbow.

"I told you! Just like any woman this side of the Trades Ward. Goes down without much fuss!" Her opponent, a scrappy, chauvinistic and ultimately cruel waste of oxygen named Vance was heard chuckling to his cohorts at the opposite side of the makeshift ring.

Bree smiled as she overheard. Her mouth a bloody upward concave and bits of glass sparkling in her hair. "That's funny." she husked, turning her head to regard him sidelong through a tangle of soaked curls. Vance turned immediately when he heard her through the din.

"Well, well, well my little anvil scrap. Still got some fight in you, eh?" he stroked the patchy excuse for stubble on his chin and ambled over, peering down at Bree with his tiny black eyes and fetid breath, "That's good. I like em' feisty."

In the blink of an eye, she had reached up and coiled strong fingers into his ponytail, yanking down roughly to bring his stinking, ugly mug close enough to shower him with bloodied spit as she hissed, "I haven't even begun to get feisty, asshat."

Before he could retort, let alone react, Vance was rolling on the floor, crippled by the excruciating pain of having one's testicles hoofed violently into the back of one's throat. Bree was on her feet and about to elbow him in the face for good merit when she felt a firm hand hook her arm and heard the referee yell "Winner!" and the small tavern exploded into cheers around them.

The hand, as it turned out, belonged to her father who had made his way to her bearing a wide grin and a fresh pint. Bree took it and gulped eagerly, noting with detached disgust as some beer dribbled through a hole in her lip that hadn't been there earlier in the evening. "Frick.."

A spotty-faced healer who could not have seen more than nineteen years pushed his way through the crowd and came scurrying over to the Dawnsteels, nearly tripping over Vance's crumpled form. He pushed back floppy sandy hair and reached out nervously to feel for her pulse. "H-how are you f-feeling M-m-miss Dawns-t-t-eel?" He swallowed hard as his fingers shook with disbelief as they made contact with the beautiful woman's creamy neck.

Bree smiled in what she hoped wasn't a terrifying fashion given the current state of her face, finding the healer's blush and apparent stutter adorable. She licked the blood from her lips with the flesh of her tongue and grinned at the man feeling positively punch drunk, "Thirsty."

"Who?"

"Icer! Icer Shimmerscale!" Bree practically shrieked in frustration as she flailed her arms at the guard member who's badge told her was named 'Ander'. She'd thought, of all places to inquire after Icer's disappearance, the City Guard station would be the most logical start, but after waiting for over an hour to talk to this prize she was beginning to think she had been gravely mistaken. The bridge of her nose was pinched by her forefinger and thumb as she spoke through her teeth, her temper scarcely in check "She's a big friggin' ice dragon! Though sometimes she's a lady...anyway, I haven't seen her in," the smithy's lower lip curled back as she calculated in RhyDinian time "a month now and I'm worried and I don't understand WHY no one else has filed a missing persons report!"

Ander, a moustached man in his late thirties, shifted boredly in his office chair at the tall drink of water shouting across his desk at him, "Listen lady, do you have any idea how many of these we get a day? I got a pile of bodies down in autopsy taller than the clocktower to still do reports on. We can't go chasing after every missing elf tha-"

"Dragon! Ice dragon! Big wings! Long tail! Lots of blue scales? Have you even been listening?" Bree barked, visions of her hands around the constable's sweaty neck suddenly dancing in her head.

He sighed, twirling the corner of the ridiculous thing on his upper lip around his index finger "Are you sure your dragon friend isn't just on vacation or something?"

Bree closed her eyes and stamped the floor impatiently, shaking the contents of the desk between them. "No! She's not! She's m-i-s-s-i-n-g. GAWD what is WRONG with you people!? The Waterdeep Guard doesn't take anywhere near as long to process anything! And, oh, they actually care about their citizens!"

She was given a flat look for that last bit as Ander leaned forward. "I told you. We're very, very busy here and we don't have time to comb the entire city for-"

"Ugh, NEVERMIND!" the tall woman threw her arms up and stormed to the door, "I'll do it my Tempus damned self." Bree yanked it open irritably, then turned back and looked over her shoulder from the threshold, "And by the way, constable you really ought to do something about your sword." she added haughtily, eyeing the low-grade steel at his hip with disdain. "I've seen kittens with sharper claws."

He blushed and looked down flustered as if she had just told him his fly was open to the sound of his office door being slammed behind the retreating nymph.

Bree emerged seething and cursing into the bright late-afternoon sun. She was positively flabbergast at how unhelpful the guard had been, but, despite her frustration, she had an idea. Bolstered by her own cleverness, she brightened and curbed her string of colourful metaphors then bent her step towards The Oracle.

The teenage girl with the heavily grommeted belt and jauntily bobbed dark hair sashayed perkily into the school cafeteria. A tray laden with a salad, yogurt cup, and juicebox was thrust in front of her as she weaved through the noisy crowd toward the table in the westernmost, "cool", corner of Waterdeep High?s lunch room.

Ahead of her at said table, a boy with buzz cut blonde hair was gesticulating wildly to a large group of athletic, senior year cohorts. His hips thrust back and forth and a hand swept round in a motion clearly meant to represent spanking as he boasted loudly. "Psssh dude, who cares if I f~cked Clara last weekend?? I'm dating a NYMPH, bro! You shoulda HEARD her last night! Oh man! I'm telling you guy, I could bang every girl in Waterdeep and Bree would totally get off on it!!!? he hopped down from the bench upon which he had been using as his podium .

"B...Billy??" the girl (tallest in her class) squeaked, the tray now shaking in her calloused hands.

"Buh..." Billy spun, flabbergast and flushing, "B-Bree! Heeyyyy baby what's up? How are you?" His words were nearly lost in the resounding 'Shiiiiiiiiitttt' that came from his scattering friends.

?Was that all I was to you?? It was too late for pleasantries. Bree's lip gave a perfunctory quiver before her lunch went smashing to the linoleum and deadly fists balled as she glared at her soon to be ex-first-boyfriend.

Billy seemed to contemplate his next move for a moment before, acknowledging the presence of a few lingering peers, he adopted a snide facade and sneered at her, "Well, duh, babe, you ARE a nymph. You don't ACTUALLY think anyone is ever going to really commit to you, someone who literally needs sex to live, do you? F~ckin' please." a cruel laugh echoed through the crowded lunchroom as more and more heads turned in their direction.

Bree, for her part, stood stock still. Her reputation for being one of the most dangerous people in the school was all but forgotten as she felt the crushing weight of defeat swarm over her with each resounding smack of palm against palm as Billy's remaining friends high fived him for his clever audacity.

She did not know what was said between Billy and his friends after that, for she had fled in embarassment, but she was well aware of the rumours that began to wind their way through the hallways of her secondary school from that day forward. The way conversation ceased whenever she entered a classroom, the vulgar graffiti on her locker, cruel whispers in gym class.

"Bree Dawnsteel will do anything for a shag."
"Bree Dawnsteel is soooo easy."
"Bree? Don't worry about hurting her feelings. Nymphs like her don't have any. They?re just holes that need to be filled."

And it was in this manner that Bree Dawnsteel began to develop issues.
And it was on this rather sombre day, ten years later, that while the manicurist fussed over her nails, Bree found herself remembering Billy.

True, several weeks later she had waited for him in the darkened schoolyard after practice.
True, she had broken his jaw and cracked three ribs, perhaps lost him an athletic scholarship.
The act of revenge, while helping to soothe Bree's trampled emotions, also served to change the tune of the rumour mill in double time.

"Date Bree Dawnsteel? Are you kidding me? Sure she?s the hottest girl in school but she?s ALSO batsh~t insane! Did you see what she did to Billy Faebairn?"
"I hear she does it cause her dad beats her."
"I hear it's the only way she can get off."
"Stay away from her."

?All done, Miss.? The manicurist, a small woman with almond eyes bowed, ?You should be more careful with your nails. What was all that black stuff ground in underneath them??

?Soot, darling. How much do I owe you?? Bree asked, brandishing her coin purse.

She paid the woman and left the spa feeling pampered and refreshed. She had taken the day off from work, telling Seamus she needed a ?personal day? and despite the dubious brow he'd raised at her, gotten it.

When she returned to the shop, depositing her sunglasses and keys on the worktable, she decided to have a quick dip in the hot tub before getting ready for the evening. Climbing the stairs to her reclaimed bedroom she smiled. New sheets of the deepest mauve satin rested cozily under a newly installed netted canopy. Making her way to her barren dresser, she reached into her messenger bag and drew out a rectangular item, wrapped in tissue paper. The flimsy covering was peeled off with care and she set the mirror atop her dresser. The reflection that gazed back was a pretty girl with long black hair (tousled deftly into waves by a bubbly hairdresser named Izmaera) gray eyes of the most striking lightness, and one very cheerless excuse for a smirk adorning those immaculately well-formed lips.