Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I noticed that most people begin their telling of the tale when the KC walks into the Flagon. This works great because it gets into the "meat" of the story so I can totally understand why. I decided to start at the very beginning. I felt it was important with this particular character because she's kind of a hard nut to crack. I honestly feel that if I don't start at the beginning, it will be difficult to have any sympathy for her. My other, more selfish, reason is that I haven't written in a long time, and I am hoping this will help me hone my skill again. I sorely miss telling a good tale. So please, whether you like the story or not, please leave a review telling me why or why not. It will be immensely helpful to me as I hone my craft. Thanks a bunch everyone!

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Thea's eyes snapped open. Disoriented, the lingering sound of a scream ringing in her ears, she sat up. Her heart pounded in her chest like a blacksmith's hammer. Nightmares again. Perhaps she would take Daeghun's advice this time along with the tonic he had offered. Brom shuddered anxiously on his perch near the window. She made a soothing sound at him. Must have cried out in my sleep. But the scream came again, sounding far away, followed by the thud of heavy boots in the soft soil. Someone was running frantically past the house.

She scrambled from bed. Without thinking, she pulled the leather mask from its place next to her pillow and pulled it on. Lifting one of her scimitars from its scabbard, she went to investigate. Daeghun was coming out of his room as well. The loose linen pants he wore made a soft hiss as he moved. Thea could smell sleep thick upon him.

"West Harbor is under attack!" The voice sounded far away, but the unmistakable sound of something exploding made her start.

"By the gods…" she whispered.

"Get your armor." Without another word, Daeghun disappeared into his room. She could hear the muffled creak of leather being moved and buckles being clasped.

She hesitated. Perhaps this was some kind of joke? Who in the hells would want to attack West Harbor? It made no sense. As she turned to her room, the front door burst open. She instantly smelled the familiar scent of Bevil's militia armor on the accompanying night wind and heard the heavy thud of his boots as he half stumbled in. "Thea, hurry! Get – get your armor, get weapons!" he panted. "We're under attack! I need to warn the others!" Then he disappeared into the night, leaving the door slightly ajar in his haste.

Thea hurried to her room. With shaking hands she pulled the leather armor from its place on the chair and quickly pulled it on over her bedclothes. She buckled the scabbards to her belt. The familiar weight of the scimitars on her hips was somehow comforting. Her mind raced. This made no sense but there was no time think about it. Brom shuddered again and made a quiet chirp. She could hear his claws click against his perch as he moved about nervously.

As she reached for her bow, she was assailed by a strange pungent odor and the sound of unfamiliar footsteps on the wooden floor. She darted behind her door, listening to the heavy footfalls make their way slowly down the hall toward her room. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears and she struggled to grasp how close it was, or even what it was. This was no lizardman, nor orc. She had never smelled anything like the dry musty odor that met her nostrils.

The footfalls moved cautiously. By their sound, she could tell that whatever this thing was, it was much heavier than she. She could feel its position in space, where the smell and the sounds combined, like heaviness in the air. It would be near the hanging mirror now; two or three steps would bring it to her door. She tried to block out the sounds of screams outside her window and concentrated instead on the subtle creaking of the floorboards as the thing shifted its weight to take another step. With her hands on her weapons, she waited.

But it never made it to her door. She barely heard the softest rasp of leather, the quietest whisper of a bowstring being drawn, before the heavy thud of an arrow hitting home was loud in her ears.

"Thea?" It was Daeghun's voice.

"I'm here!" She came out from behind the door. The sound of Brom's wings filled the air and he settled on her arm. "What in the nine hells are they?"

"There's no time. Let's go."

They darted through the door of their home and into the damp night. She could hear the steady flutter of fire from somewhere to her left, where the barn stood. The waves of heat that radiated from it ebbed and flowed with the wind. The thick smoke, heavier than the surrounding air, was settling low, choking them. Her eyes stung. Brom moved up to her shoulder, his claws finding their usual purchase in the leather.

Suddenly, under the smoke, that strange odor. Daeghun's lessons were not in vain. In one fluid movement, Thea slipped an arrow from the quiver on her back, knocked it, and let it fly. Her slightly pointed ears twitched as she married sound and smell, finding her targets through the thick black smoke.

Somewhere between the frenzy of arrows and the clanging sounds of battle, Thea realized she could no longer feel Daeghun next to her. Ahead of her, a scream cut through the chaos. Amie! She moved through the smoke toward the origin of the cry, the low heavy fluttering of fire and the creaking of falling timber vibrating around her senses.

Find Bevil and Amie! No sooner had Thea sent the command to Brom than he pushed from her shoulder, the sound of his wings disappearing into the smoke. She followed Brom's cries to the bridge where the sound of metal ringing against metal greeted her. She could hear Amie's voice, rising and falling rhythmically as she called out her incantations. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke and blood.

"Thea! Thank the gods!" Bevil cried out when he saw her, his longsword cutting through the thick air with a whoosh as he fought. "They're in the house! Go to the house!"

One quick motion from her hand and Brom was diving out of the sky to help her friends. Thea ran to the house, heart thudding madly in her chest, fearful of what she would find.

The door was partly open. Knocking an arrow, she put her nose near the opening and sniffed. She could hear Bevil's mother, Retta, crying. A dry throaty voice said, "The shiny thing! Tell us where it is!"

The Starling's hunting hounds growled menacingly at the creature. She could hear the vibrations in their chests, the wetness of their jaws as they bared their teeth at the intruders.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Retta pleaded.

From the sound of the creature's voice, Thea could tell it faced away from her. Retta's sobs placed her to the right. The arrow found its mark with a soft thwack. The creature gurgled. Its foot tapped against the wood floor, once, twice, and it was still. She slipped inside.

Retta's voice was tight with terror. "The children! They're hiding! Those things, there are more of them!" Thea felt Retta's frantic gesture disturb the air. "They went into the living room!"

"How many?"

"I don't know, gods, I don't know!"

Thea made her way to the door and listened. She could hear the creatures' raspy voices speaking some guttural language she could not understand. The floorboards creaked under their movements. Carefully, her mind picked out the differences in the sounds. Three….no, four of them. At least. Her mind raced. She knew she had the advantage of surprise but that would only last for a few moments.

Then Amie's voice: "Thea!" She smelled Amie's unique smell, a mixture of sweet herbs and bitter chemicals, tinged with blood. Then Bevil's smell mixed in. She felt them at the door.

"The kids?" Bevil whispered anxiously.

"Hiding." From the living room, they could hear the sounds of books hitting the floor. Thea nodded at the living room door.

"How many?" he asked.

"Three or four…"

"Send in the dogs first," Amie said. "Confuse them."

Bevil gathered the hounds. With a mental count of three, Thea whipped open the door and the dogs went tearing inside, snarling. All hell broke lose. Bevil charged in, his longsword meeting the steel of one of the creature's blades. Amie's voice rang loud and strong in the confines of the library as the power of her words transformed into bolts of energy. One of the creatures squealed as the magical bolts slammed into it, sizzling against its skin. It hit the opposite wall sending books crashing to the floor.

Thea's ears twitched as she separated sounds and smells, friend and foe. She felt the presence of one of the creatures, too close for her bow, coming low and fast. No time even to pull the scimitar from its sheath, she jabbed it in the eye with the arrow she had readied. It squealed and reeled into a small piece of furniture but regained its balance and with a raspy growl, threw itself at her, knocking her to the ground. She reached for the small scabbard at her belt that held her skinning knife but the creature grappled her, pinning her arms. Its dry papery skin smelled of dank places, of mold and festering, brackish water. She fought back a wave of nausea as its face touched hers and its fetid breath filled her senses. Then a sharp pain blazed through her midsection like fire. She had never felt anything like it. White-hot and overwhelming, the pain radiated out in a spider-web of agony.

She heard Amie cry out. Then the weight of the creature's body was gone. Unable to concentrate on anything but the bright hot pain, Thea squeezed her hand against the wound. Warm blood trickled between her fingers. It hurt to take a breath. The sounds around her, so sharp only a moment before, now seemed to be coming from a great distance away. She heard Bevil say her name once before pain cut the last thread of consciousness.