# I.
## Prologue
It was a hot summer morning in the coastal city of Harrowdale, north of Faerûn. The city was just starting to wake up - the humid air thick with the first hints of smoke coming from the stoked fires of the various taverns along the port. Mingled with the usual smell of dirt and sewerage, the city air was filled with the many scents of fried bread, spices and even ale.
At the port, various ships were already docked, their colorful sails dotting the usually brown landscape and contrasting with the deep crystalline blue of the ocean.
Not only the merchants and tavern owners were awake, however; in the narrow streets between the canals of Harrowdale, the street rats were already scurrying.
"Is she dead? She looks dead." The smallest of them whispered, running up ahead of the group. They were a total of three, between the ages of eight and fourteen, with an extra charge being carried in the arms of the largest boy.
They made their way through the back alleys. "She's not dead, she's passed out." The small girl's head rolled as if in response. She was bundled tightly in the older boy's arms, her yellow dress stained with caked blood and mud.
The trio briskly made their way to one of residential parts of town, keeping to the darkened canals and shielding the wounded child from prying eyes. On a street where every house looked the same, the nondescript plaster walls and weathered beams didn't make out the house they entered to be a remarkable place. They slipped through a backdoor, unseen in the first rays of morning light, and made their way to a hidden cellar concealed underneath its wooden boards.
"Quick!" Shouted the older boy, setting the child down on a wooden table. She looked to be about six or seven years old. "Get Harveus!"
A handful of children gathered around the table where the little girl laid, skillful hands worrying around her torn clothes, looking for wounds.
"She has horns!" Squealed one girl, holding a rag soaked in alcohol. Everyone collectively took a step back, staring hesitantly at the table. "Where did you find her, Jean?"
The older boy, the one who had carried the girl, sighed. "In the alley, near Talaric's stables." He beat down his clothes, ignoring the blood smear on his shirt. "Seemed she'd been there all night."
"She's cursed." Gasped one of the girls, covering her mouth, and the whispers spread through the cellar like wildfire.
"She's not cursed so much as her entire bloodline is. I figured I'd thought you better."
At this, the children all turned to look at the owner of that deep voice, almost as if on command. The elven man dressed in clothes akin to those sported by the noble families of Harrowdale, although his had seen some obvious wear and tear. He walked towards the table where their guest breathed steadily. Harveus ran his hands through the girl's thick raven black hair, stopping to rest his fingers on a pair of small horns poking out close to her hairline. Her skin, although bronze colored and tanned from the sun like most citizens who lived near the port, bore a distinctively pink undertone. He guessed that under her fluttering lids were irises of a singular color.
"She's a tiefling. Now I suggest you help me patch her up before she bleeds out on the floor."
The thieves obeyed, hurrying with rags, water and clean linen clothes. She was small and frail, so they had no difficulty handling her.
Jean approached Harveus, overlooking the fretting children with his arms crossed. "What do you figure happened to her?"
"Someone chopped off her tail, boy."
Orianna woke up on a hard straw bed, staring up at a tall and dark ceiling she didn't recognize.
Before she had time to assimilate her surroundings, a searing pain shot through her small body. She cried out, writhing and tangling her legs on the meager sheets covering her. A pair of strong hands held her in place, the pain still very real and burning hot like coals, and Orianna thrashed against her captor.
"Let me go! LET ME GO!" She screamed, tears streaming freely down her puffy face, golden eyes wide with fear.
She registered the damp cloth being held over her mouth and nose, and the world went black again.
The second time she woke up, it was easier.
The ceiling looked the same it had when she last opened her eyes, the bed felt just as uncomfortable, but the pain was softer this time. Orianna groggily slipped a hand up her tunic to make sure the throbbing corresponded to what she remembered from last night. Had it been last night? Or the night before that? She couldn't tell.
"I wouldn't touch it if I were you." Said a mousy girl sitting on a chair to the far end of the room. She wore commoner's clothes, although cleaner than most. "We gave you some poppy milk for the pain, but it was an angry red thing last I saw it."
Orianna shook her head. "Where am I?"
The girl came over to her, carrying a rag in her hands. "The Lantern District, near the docks. You know where that is, right?" The smaller girl just nodded. "Jean found you in an alley south of here."
The room looked to be an infirmary, to Orianna's eyes. It wasn't large, but it had a few beds, some with sleeping forms tucked into them, a few washing pots and tables with what looked to be all sorts of scissors and bandages. Seemed like a strange place to have in the middle of the Lantern District, known mostly for its taverns and pleasure houses.
"Did they really...?" She asked to the child nurse.
"Yeah. Did a pretty messed up job, too, we had- "
The door banged open, and a freckle-faced youth poked his head inside. He had tousled brown hair and piercing green eyes Orianna vaguely remembered, like in a feverish dream.
"Mopsie? They're asking- Ah, you're awake!" Jean said, trodding over to where the girls were. He kneeled next to Orianna's cot, actually grinning. "How d'you feel? Rhona here did a good job patching you up after we found you." Rhona gave her a curt nod, folding her hands with professional flair.
Orianna didn't say anything, simply staring at the people in front of her. Jean's smile never wavered as he extended his hand to the girl. "I guess I never introduced myself. I'm Jean."
She frowned at his hand, suspiciously, and tightened her grip on the sheets around her. When she finally spoke up, she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "Where's my mother?"
Jean pulled back hesitantly. "You were very alone when we found you." Rhona turned to look at him, but he shook his head. "In any case, come, Master Harveus wanted to talk to you as soon as you woke up. Are you fit to walk?"
The girl nodded, swinging over the side of the bed and finding herself strangely unsteady on her feet. Pain shot up her spine as she held onto Jean's arm to avoid collapsing in front of them. The boy patted her hands, and looked uncomfortable in her presence for the first time. "I guess you'll take some getting used to walking around without that tail."
She made an effort not to cry. She had done a lot of crying the night of the incident and felt as if she had dried out all of her tears. Orianna would not let herself act like a feeble child. She let herself be guided by Jean towards where Harveus would be waiting, with her head help up in defiance.