The writing is stylized and elegant, with wild serifs and long accents, written in mostly common, but switching into the halfling language occasionally and apparently at random.

Note to self: carry personal belongings in more than a single satchel. That way when you are toying with a strange contraption and it teleports you to the middle of a god forsaken rock, you might not leave everything you own stranded helplessly in the middle of an abandoned gnomish village.

Sparrow begins absentmindedly chewing on the small quill, before realizing she has blackened her mouth with the vile tasking ink, spitting.

Well on the brightside, if I really am in the underdark, I'm the first person I've ever met to have been here. I guess I'll spend a bit of time exploring the area, I am sure that there is a lot to be discovered down here. At the very least it'll be a fantastic tale for the people back home.

With a glance around the dark, smoky inn room she closes the book and tucks it away.

Sparrow sits on the top of a rocky embankment overlooking the gates of the Sanctuary. It is nighttime, but the vast cavern that encases the city is no darker or lighter. She looks back to the gaping chasm that is the doorway from the protected grotto, gently scribing into the delicate tome.

I've seen my first drow! What a spectacular creature. So comfortable in the shadows, as if they'd lived their whole life in it! At that she pauses, crossing out the line with a muttering comment at the sheer idiocy of it. Their skin is black as ebony, yet they don't look dirty at all. In fact, it is quite the opposite.. Their hair is as white as fresh untouched snow, and their clothing ornate and beautiful. I did not attempt to contact him, as I've heard from the other residents of the Sanctuary that they are most unfriendly. Still, it may have been worth the risk to get a little closer, since it was hard to see features cleary in the darkness. <A picture of a drow, examing the corpse of a slain spider.>

People and Places: I met a very interesting man by the name of Ivandur Reynolt. The timing was actually quite fortunate, being that moments after I encountered him I was set upon by a horde of large fire-spitting beetles. He escorted me while I finished a cartographing trip down the southwestern caverns, even though I could tell he'd have rather been home. Such a helpful fellow. Sparrow glances down at a gathering of people returning from the mines. While we explored, we came upon what I thought was a group of goblins, but apparently they are called kobolds. <A picture here of a small semi-reptilian man, running with a jagged curved blade held high, and a forked tongue lunging out.> We tried to subdue him rather than kill him, but his screaming only produces the ire of some sort of superior. I attempted to barter for maps or other information about the area, and we ended up having to do a task for them involving a necromancer, whom I was no help to Ivandur in defeating. Killing him seemed to trouble Ivandur greatly, but although I did pity the sniveling creature, the dark arts he performed in the chasm we traversed earned him a spot in Kelemvor's book. To make matters more frustrating, when we returned to the kobold he did not offer us any sort of compensation for the task. Later a large orc would accost me, and try to convince me that a strange item called a Godstone had rendered Ivandur insane, but most likely it was the orc who was missing a few of his faculties. King Bug, he called himself. <The page is graced with a picture of a tremendous half-orc in heaps of metal, with a crown-like helmet atop his head, and a gigantic double bladed axe..>

Sparrow taps her lower lip in thought at this, letting a wry smile cross her visage, before continuing to scribe.

Though he did have an interesting tale to tell. Apparently these "Godstones" are powerful artifacts, 6 in total. All but a single last one have been recovered, and he had some information as to where the last was hidden, but too difficult for him. I shall see what I can discover, as a discovery of this sort shall surely be a noteworthy venture in the end. Not to mention my collection of trinkets was all lost in my unfortunate method of travel to this place, and is in need of rebuilding.

Sparrow suddenly closes the book and then carefully drops down to the cavern floor, making deliberate strides towards the book store.

Sparrow sits silently in the corner of a dark tavern bedroom. Her eyelids are heavy as she fights the urge to fall asleep. The aroma of ale wafts from the bed across from her, and the occupant beneath the sheets.

People and Places: I met an interesting woman. A blonde human who goes by the name of Morgan. The mouth on her would make a sailor blush, and her capacity to imbibe alcohol could intimidate, nay strike fear into the heart of all but the stoutest of shield dwarf. I have been with her nearly the entire day, and sobriety has not touched her. I believe she is little older than I, but time has worn her down much moreso than it has me. <There is a sketch here of a young woman, light haired, and a long slender form. Her eyes are a bit dull and bloodshot, half closed with intoxication. There is a side note that says "She would not allow me to hide the less complimentary details of her appearance here."> Though she is still quite pretty and she has endurance that impresses me, even if I do not agree with her method of utilizing it. She has spent the last few hours up until a few moments ago singing me all manor of songs, one of note described a great deal of dead gnomes, from what I could tell. I have learned a good deal of her personal history, what she would share at any rate, and am starting to understand the suffering of the inhabitants of this place. I believe I should offer my service to the people of the city and aid them in locating some sort of escape from these depths.

Sparrow takes a deep breath, realizing with a cough that it may have been a poor decision, given the strong presence of liquor in the air. She then sighs and continues scribbling

8 miles I am told, much further than my original estimation. At any rate, it appears as though I had better prepare for a long stay here and put together enough money to support my exploring and research.

It took me ten minutes to drag her to the bedroom, after she finally succumbed to the alcohol, as humans are quite heavy. <There is a sketched scene here, starring a young human woman launching vomit into a river, doubled over by the effort of it, her back turned to the artist.>I had to enlist the aid of a pair of hins I met near the tavern while I watched over her outside. She is quite possibly the saddest person I have ever met, though she seems a bit receptive to my demeanor. I believe I shall see if I can't help her out of her depression.

Closing her book, Sparrow leans her head back against the rough wooden wall of the room and lets sleep close in around her.

Sparrow lays on her back, her eyes closed tightly shut as if to pretend for a moment that the high stone ceiling was actually a clear night sky. The wooden planks of the dock are cool against her, and the lapping sound of the Dark Lake's waters colliding against the stone remind her of the waters of the surface. She sighs deeply, rolling over until her slender form is prone on the dock. She then opens her eyes and fumbles for the delicate book in which she keeps her travels' journal. She watches the water pass by beneath her, her legs curled up above her, swishing to and fro. With a bit of will, she begins to scribble.

It's only been a bit under a week and I already feel weighted down by the dreariness of this place. Everyone I meet seems desperate, with no hope of relief in sight. The sounds and sights of this place are so alien to me, I find myself being somehow...warped by them. It is as if the rock beneath my feet is sinking deeper and deeper, pulling me far away from the grass and horizons of the surface. I must try to resist this thinking as long as I can, or I'll have no hope of discovering the egress these people deserve so much.

With that she lets a little grin come to her face, as she turns the page and begins writing again.

People and Places: I met an elven man today. He asked me to call him Leith, or Leitha. It sounds like the name of a girlchild to me, but he says that it's the elven word for freedom. He is ever so gentle and sensitive. He arrived to the Sanctuary only days before I did, and so he feels a bit out of place as I do. He covers every inch of his flesh with clothing, and wears a helmet that he never removes. I suspect that his former captors have done terrible things to him, and he is ashamed of his damaged appearance. Even so, he maintains a very caring and inquisitive attitude, and he speaks with much wisdom. Although he is probably many years older than me, like most elves, and so has had many years to cultivate the clarity of his thinking. In any case, knowing that such a man exists even in this world weary place gives me hope that possibly things could become better in time, with enough effort. I find myself curious about him, however, and I suspect that he will be a useful companion in the future, as he seems to be very comfortable in the darkness without the city. It is difficult to travel these walks alone, as I have seen more and more dangerous things in my exploration of the deeper tunnels. I wax with a sense of dread, and I fear that something is waiting in those deep depths for me...for all of us.

Sparrow forces herself to sit up, a light breeze from off the lake moves her hair ever so slightly, and upon it the sounds of cities and people reach her alert ears. Whether it comes from the nearby Sanctuary, and echoed off the stone cage that is the underdark, or came from the nearby drow, she could not tell. She begins to feel a bit nervous, and so decides to finish writing before the noise grew louder.

Sparrow passed down into the darkness below. The smooth walls slowly climbed up around her as she descended. The rope strained and swayed with each length that her companions fed down. The sound of their groaning and the skidding sound the rope made as it slid along the edge of the chasm soon faded away, leaving her in absolute darkness.

She stared upwards, and then downwards into the crushing blackness, her hands clenching the rope until her knuckles turned white; not that she could see her hands. She waxed with a sense of dread as the uncertainty that comes with lack of sight enveloped her, but yet felt driven by the curiousity of what was beneath.

For what seemed like an eternity, she sunk into the shadow. Deeper and deeper until finally a glimmer of hope beat back the fear that now clutched her. Light. She concluded that it must be the glowing ring her elven companion had dropped on her own trip down the gauntlet.

As she came closer to the only light in existence and began to see shadows. Not even shadows, as everything was shadow, but forms melting in and out of the puny circle of illumation the ring made. Wisps of forms.

A foul rotting stench assaulted her nostrils, and did not abate. She tore small strips from her soft clothing and tried to block their passage into her nose, but was only partially successful. The fear within her was growing steadily and intensely, however so did the curiousity.

She decided that she was close enough, and tugged the rope gently to signal the stop to her assent. But yet, she continued to sink.

PANIC! She descended closer and closer to the smell, that foul smell and the shadows swirled faster and faster growing in intensity until they almost seemed to reach for her. She tugged firmly this time, to no avail.

She wrenched the rope as hard as she could muster, putting every ounce of her strength into it, but nothing. Did they not feel it? Did they not know she wanted to stop? Did they not care? Had they had planned this all along, to lower her into the pit to satisfy their hidden, dark purposes?

Sparrow decided to pull the rope twice, the signal to come up, but as she applied pressure to the rope, she found that it disintegrated when touched. Unsupported she plummeted to the dim light below, the shadows embraced her and all became black.

A moment later, she collided with the base of the chasm, all her remaining effort employed to raise herself off the ground. Pain wracked her form as she looked up desperately to see her surroundings. Her eyes widened in horror...

Far above her horrible fate the companions stood silently staring into the chasm, the rope destroyed and useless at their feet. Even as far down as the small girl was, they could still hear her terrible screams.

*** DISCLAIMER *** Howland says they were too far away to hear...but you know they still did :P