The following passage i feel is a good place to start it's Sandra Marie's past written in her own words. It tells of her life before she came to Sanctuary.
PrettyHateMachine
My beginning:I was born in Waterdeep, in a room above an ill reputed tavern. That section of the city altogether had a bad reputation. My father worked-when he felt like it I suppose- but I never saw him doing anything that could be called as productive as work. He was past his prime, bordering on becoming a failure of an old man. My mother was barely out of childhood and all my life she never seemed to grow beyond that point. My father was always gone and she would always talk to me as if I could understand her fears, most I assume born of her own mind. It was clear she once loved my father like a god, though why I cannot fathom. The older man took what he would from the girl, her body and crushed her soul. It seemed to me the infatuation she once had was what chained her to the dark and dirty room.
My mother was not much of a mother, being entrapped in childhood. The small room that for my first couple years was my world was a filthy and festering place with no one to clean it up. Aside from her mental illness my mother was very sick. The lack of hygiene surrounding us both took its toll and I can’t fathom what poisons may have coursed through her. Often times men would come knock on our door and my mother would answer in her dirty clothes. Men from the tavern would speak to her and come inside handing her gold and taking her in exchange while I pretended to sleep. I don’t remember a time when my own mind didn’t race asking "Why?". I needed to understand what was happening and why our lives had come to be as they were. From the time I could walk I escaped the confines of the room as much as possible but I was afraid to leave my poor mother there alone. I needed to be there to care for her, I was all she had, and while she wasn’t much of a mother I knew she loved me; though perhaps it was only because she had no one else left to love.
I wandered the streets sometimes, an awkward looking little girl. I dressed in boys clothes always. I didn’t want to think about what might happen to a little girl in a neighbourhood like mine. Sometimes I roamed the city in its entirety but I always came back. When I crossed into my section of town it was if someone turned the brightness down in the world. I watched the people around me, and those in the tavern closely. Though still very young I wanted to unlock this secret that plagued me. If I figured out why this place was so horrid maybe I could fix it, and maybe I could help my mother so she could go grow up and be a woman some day.
I never looked forward tot he times when my father came home, except for the fact he brought food. Bread full of weevils and some cheap beer but it was enough for me, I didn’t think of food as a pleasure item anyways. He did as the other men with my mother, and seemed to be wholeheartedly focused on pretending I did not exist, even when I was in the room, as if I were one of those annoying problems you shove to the back of your mind and hope never comes beck to the surface.
As I approached nine the tavern was not a safe place for me. Even then the drunkards looked at me with lecherous grins. One night I stole a knife from the kitchen and cut off all my hair. I dressed always like a little boy, covered in grime and dirt. The absence of my femininity didn’t bother me much for I found skirts got in the way of my daily wanderings. I gained strength from my endless adventures, always climbing and running, or traversing great distances. I stopped at the door of every inn and tavern I passed, hoping beyond hoping for one thing.
My soul filled when I heard music. The emptiness and angst that had built up inside me from my mother’s blood even before I was born seemed to be enhanced somehow by music, and given a purpose. When I heard the beautiful melodies it was like a release somewhere inside of me. I could channel any of my emotions and examine them alone without the constant buzzing of my overactive brain. With all the questions constantly humming inside of me sometimes I wondered if I had gone crazy like my mother. When I found an entertainer I would sit outside or by the window and listen until the very last note before making my way home in the dead of night. Of course I had to go home; someone had to care for mother. I had started making feeble attempts at cleaning the squalor that was my home. The look of it drove me to near insanity and I felt when I stepped through the door as if I could sense the small creatures and diseases making their way through my veins underneath my skin. She always thanked me for what id done and sometimes in the delirium of sleepless fever she would call me mother.
The most incredible event of my life occurred on my tenth birthday. As I was peering inside a window with rapt attention on a local bard I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I looked up to find myself staring into the eyes of a tall man, so old his hair had turned completely white, though his age did not show in his eyes, not the features of his handsome face with the exception of crinkles near his intelligent blue eyes. I looked straight into those eyes unblinkingly, trying to discover what I could of this man. I did not know what he could possibly want of my urchin self but I tried to puzzle it out nonetheless. He spoke to me seriously, as a scholar would address an adult. He told me he had seen me often around the city, watching and discovering, but never seeming to have a goal. Most children were content to play at mock sword fighting with sticks. He was also curious why such a 'pretty little girl' would want to be a little boy.
I could not read or write but I was an articulate child, always listening to others conversations, and the voices of my own endless thoughts inside my head. I told him of my goal, my home, and my mother. I spoke to him very seriously and can only imagine the words sounded strange in my high pitched child’s voice. He listened with attention only scholars possess and leaned upon a gnarled staff. He asked me to join him at his home and speak more of these matters. He told me he had the answers to some of my questions so I could not even dream of declining his offer. We made our way towards his home in silence as I watched him. I watched the way he moved and the expressions on his face, and I watched who his eyes lingered on as we progressed down the crowded streets. His home was nothing of importance, but it was a fair size and it was clean, so clean that I felt out of place and had to battle myself as I felt my skin crawl with the bad things I knew lived inside me. We sat down on a table, littered with scrolls and stacks of thick leather bound books. I was especially curious about these books. Though I could not read or write I knew they contained vast amounts of knowledge and I felt I needed to know all of these things. He followed my gaze and faintly smiled. This was the answer he had spoken of. In exchange for the story of my life, and services as a messenger for him, he would teach me to read these great volumes, and even to write. Such fortune had often crossed my mind in my wildest dreams and I accepted with great enthusiasm for I felt nobody knew this city better then I, and of course I could deliver messages. It was like he was giving me gold for lint.
Our lessons started immediately and he wrote out the letters of the alphabet for me. I repeated everything he said and after that my mind seemed to repeat it a thousand more times until letters were echoing through my head, bouncing off the walls of my brain and colliding with each other. When our first lesson was complete he gave me an entire armful of scrolls and told me to take them to their respective owners. I snatched the paper with the alphabet on it from the table and folded it up, tucking it into my tunic and took off down the streets at a run to fulfil my end of the bargain.
When I got home that night despite my great fortune I found myself in great distress. I had gone from something much better to being back in the dark place, which festered around me and inside me. I ran from there to the nearest fountain and stripped down in the dead of night. I used bucket after bucket full of water, scrubbing at my skin until it was pink and raw. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and ground my teeth in frustration. I knew I had to get away from that place or I would die. Id die like my mother would die, surrounded by the shadows of a wasted life. I just had to. But not yet.
I was supposed to return to the mans house every other day but I found I could not wait. I started showing up every morning, but the old man did not seem to mind. He had me doing small tasks around his home while we continued our lessons. I was progressing quickly and my whole mind seemed focused on one thing for once. I could not deny my nature, however, and at times I would wander off without a word, exploring my world and searching for the sounds of music. For another year this was my entire life. When I had mastered reading he taught me to write, which was considerably less difficult in my opinion. All I had to do was copy the letters I saw on the pages and engraved into the front of my brain. I even tried different styles of writing, adding extra decoration to my letters and playing with their loops and spikes and curves.
My eleventh birthday was another cause for great celebration. My life had improved considerably, at least away from my home, and what happened next I though was nothing short of a miracle. My mentor and I often spoke of our lives and as I had promised I told him my story, always confiding in him my darkest of thoughts. I told him how I felt when I heard music and he gave me a secret smile. On my birthday he presented me with two incredible items. The first was a set of Bones, a fabulous instrument that I had a great love for, and the second was a set of black and orange robes, tailored especially for me. The outfit had no skirt and was flexible, which would allow me to continue my adventuring which he knew was so dear to me.
I hugged him and thanked him, this man was my father in heart and he had given me more than any other ever could. I left both at his house every day for I knew I couldn’t take such prizes home with me. I experimented with sounds and finally seemed to find a purpose for my restless mind. The thoughts that always swirled inside me could suddenly be written down on paper and I composed my own music. Most was still childlike in sound but with a haunting ring which gave the all too adult lyrics a place in the song. He would always have me play for him, saying it soothed his old aching joints to sit and hear me sing. My voice was still somewhat a Childs and possessed an eerie beauty to it. I sang whenever he wished and despite myself I sang at home as well. In the darkness I sang to myself under my breath, building a wall with my music to keep my sanity inside me.
It was at this time I decided that I would be a girl after all. My hair had grown out again in dark golden brown waves and my eyes were large and unmistakably feminine. My body was starting to change shape and instead of an awkward child I was looking more like a miniature woman. Every day I would leave my house and don my black suit. My mentor proceeded to start teaching me elvish, saying it was a language of beauty and such a beauty as his little Sandra Marie should know it. I started playing on the streets far from my home and was thrown paltry sums of money at times. I gave this small amount to my mentor and asked him to hold it for me. He put it all in a beautifully crafted flower vase, day after day. I told him when the vase was full I would leave Waterdeep. Though I knew he loved me he said no word to stop me. He knew.
Things got complicated at home as I neared twelve, especially since I had decided to be a girl after all. I clung to what shadows I could and tried to be inconspicuous but could not avoid the lecherous tavern patrons altogether. Luckily I was quick and strong, one swift kick to the proper area and I became a force to be reckoned with. Eventually all but the drunkest of men left me alone for I was a wild thing and they knew if they tried to touch me their chances of coming out of it with their manhood intact were slim. My father noticed me now, but not in a way I ever would have desired. He too looked upon me as if I was fresh meat but I knew I had no reason to fear him. He was too old now to ever be much of a threat to a woman and he blamed my mother for his-rather limp state. His frustration turned to violence but that was easy to ignore. Pain in itself is just another one of those buzzing little voices in my head to be ignored. One night I fought back, and though I was badly injured I didn’t let it show, and my father fared worse. After a swift kick to a sensitive are and a few more blows in various spots the old man was half conscious on his knees before me and I looked into his eyes. I don’t remember what I said but for a moment he seemed afraid and that was enough for me. My mother only cried.
The vase was not full until I was nearly thirteen. When it was I went to my mother and I told her I was leaving. I gave her a handful of coins and practically threw her out of the door of the tavern, ordering her to get the fuck out of there and to not let herself die. I don’t know if she ever listened, I turned on my heel, and made my way towards my mentor’s home in my beautiful black suit. I hugged him and kissed him goodbye, packing up food and my precious instruments. I had made copies of all of my songs just for him and put them in little matching black books. He held the gift to his chest as if it was made of gold and he told me "I believe in you Sandra Marie".
With that I was gone. I travelled for a year or so, down roads and through the woods. In the cities I passed I sought out performers, eager to hear all of the songs in the world. I was often disappointed by their ballads, for they contained naught but shallow rhymes, without the slightest regard for the depth of the human emotions which were constantly sending me down so many paths. I was determined to write songs that were different, songs about what -I- felt, regardless of anything else. I wanted to connect on a personal level with people and give people words for their most confusing emotions.
One night when I was just over thirteen it poured rain. I retreated to a cave somewhere in the woods outside of a city called Arabel or some such thing. I sat before a little fire and wrote in my little song book. I had no idea the cave extended as far down as it did. It was never much my concern for I knew nothing of the underdark. I watched the storm and shivered in pleasure at its power, the electricity I could almost taste in the air made my heart pump madly, as if I could channel the power by breathing and make it something even greater.
It was here that the drow raiding party found me.