This record will be kept for the purpose of remembrance of the teachings shown me, and possibly even posterity, though that hope is a feeble one in such a dismal and dangerous place.

I, Kairn, was a hotheaded brawler prone to clashes with nearby human settlements. The wasteful and self centred ways of the human and the ugly way in which they despoiled the forest around them - my forest - filled me with a restless anger that was not evinced by my kin. Yet their admonitions served only to make me feel guilty and estranged, which in turn fed the anger.

I raided, stole and burned, inflicting many injuries yet never killing, until the villages pooled their meagre funds and hired a knight protected in very expensive armor. He simply burned swathes of the forest until I came to him; he then defeated me sword against sword in a few quick movements I never even really saw, but which disarmed me and had me breathless on the ground, wrist nearly broken.

I was taken a prisoner and hung in a cage in the largest village, where I was ridiculed and pelted with refuse by anyone who cared to, for two days. The knight stayed with me the entire time, seemingly deaf to my railing and curses, and he allowed no serious harm to come to me. At the time I simply wished to die because my kin showed no signs of coming for me. I was abandoned.

"They will not come for you, both out of fear and because they do not understand what you are," He said near the end of the second day. "What am I?" I demanded, after my initial surprise that his long silence had broken at last. "What possible use am I? I have only brought them trouble." He removed his helmet and studied me for a few moments that stretched and are with me still. He was terribly ugly, features uncouth and heavy even for a human, and marked by much combat. Squashed nose, missing eye and teeth, blade scars everywhere, and unkempt straw yellow hair and beard. But his eyes were an amazing blue and considered me intently, heavily. As if I mattered somehow. "You are a bringer of blood and violence," he said. "As am I. The foible of your tribe is that they shun such people, instead of turning them onto the proper path. You, elf, have taken the first steps on the path of the Brigand and Murdurer, a type I have made it my life's work to oppose. However, there is another path for a bringer of blood; that of the Warrior."

He was silent again for a long time as a cold dusk stole over the surroundings houses and fields. Time seemed to slow, and I found myself wanting desperately to hear more, and not only to help it by pass more swiftly. This knight seemed to hold some sort of absolution, some sort of hope that my angry ways did not make me evil and twisted as my kin thought - as I had thought. "Tell me what this difference is, if you're so wise" I said at last, barely managing to keep a snivelling, pleading note from my voice.

"Aggresion and violence are not wrong in themselves, nor are those who bring them," the knight continued, as if the conversation had not lasped at all. "The difference between warrior and brigand is this : the aggresion of the warrior is channeled to protect and preserve those around him, whereas the brigand's aggresion spews forth in all directions and serves only to appease his own needs and wants at the expense of all else."

Again he studied me, and I suddenly had a great sense of humility and shame. My actions had not served to protect anyone; they were done out of spite because land me and my kin barely even tread on was no longer there for my own use and pleasure. Someone had touched my soul ; one of the Selderarine perhaps, had given me, a fool, a clarity of introspection I could not attain. My life turned on that moment, and I was given a gift to help me seize it.

I hung my head in wretched, unbearable shame. The knight continued. "You have never murdured, and that is why I hung you in this cage instead of slew you outright. What is your name?" I told him. "Look at me, Kairn." And I did, seemingly compelled again to look into his eyes. I felt like a stupid, wicked child whose dark deeds had been cast suddenly into light. I wished he would kill me instead of ask me to look at him - but look I did. "Will you learn to direct your violence as I did, Kairn? Will you accept that the right use for it is to protect a cause, a person, a society - or will you use it to glorify yourself?" "I will be warrior," I sobbed, overcome with guilt and relief, and cried like a child. When I looked up, drying my eyes, it was midnight. The Knight was gone. The cage was unlocked. Away I slipped.

My life had changed. I now wanted to use the violence inside me to protect others. Once in my travels I came across two human males mugging a traveller and beat them with stern warnings to abandon their way of life. However, I realized I could not simply wander the lands hoping for chance encounters. I became deeply frustrated and restless at my lack of real direction, so I foolishly jumped at a rumor that stated that a band of slavers was headed toward the Underdark with a long column of slaves. My reckless attack felled a few of them, but they had magic that could hold me in place, magic I had never heard of. All my attack accomplished was a short delay before I was added to the miserable group of slaves and delivered to a secret entrance to the Underdark. I escaped them shortly thereafter by strangling my guard with the chains and breaking off the manacles on a rock. I should have perished in the tunnels, lost and bewildered, but the Lone Wolf must have guided my steps. Against all odds I found a settlement of former slaves.

I worked to acquire a blade and armor so that I could defend this settlement from the monsters and slavers that roam this dread Underdark. I never expected to find foes within, yet I have.

The first was named Rob, though I killed him without knowing his name at the time. I thought him a simple mugger when he attacked a travelling partner. I therefore, beat him into submission with the flat of the sword and gave him stern warning to abandon his way of life. He offered his gold but I was not interested in anything he had. Rob did not learn. He set an ambush for us, filling the hall with caltrops and rushing at me enchanted by many potions and wands the moment he had a chance. I nearly died in that first attack, and my partners scattered like cowards, but I eventually got the upper hand. Rob tried to flee, but a mass of the wererats that infest the tunnel blocked his path and I hacked him down. Later I learned that Rob was not just a thief, but a murdurer of many and a former lord of the tyrannical Montezzi court. Yet I don't regret trying to spare his life the first time. I did the best I could based on what little I knew at that time.

Lately there has been much talk of the nearby Drow city sending patrols outward, making demands for slaves. It was therefore not really surprising when a Drow swordsman, bored and indolent with a priveledged life in that blackest of socities, came wandering to this town and challenged its warriors to duels to the death.

One of the ill-reputed order of the Spellguard, Agent Symbaern who is supposedly one of the People, was first to challenge this drow. What she wanted to achieve I don't know. She laid waste to the bystanders with her area magics of storm and ice without a care, one of whom nearly died. All she achieved was to annoy the drow as she ran in circles from him, and the next was the watchman Alejandro.

Alejandro, supposedly a swordsman of repute, fell despite his tricks, scrolls and potions. He was then taken by his comrades and raised. Meanwhile three other challengers were killed in like fashion. The skill of the drow was far above anything offered by the town's warriors. Finally, filled with dread and with my heart pounding beneath my tongue, I stepped forward. I did not want to, yet I felt compelled to end the slaughter. With the potions I used, it was more of an execution than a fight. Yet, my skill was praised by those present. Such a strange attitude this town has, as if the spells in the potions were my own doing. Potion-fighting, is not real fighting. The drow would have beaten me in any fair contest, yet this dawns on no one no matter how often I say it. With the drow dead, Alejandro came forward and told me that he would have revenge one day soon because I had stolen his chance to seek out the drow in future. No goblin could be so base, stupid, and cruel as to even entertain the concept Alejandro had a legitimate grievance against me, yet none present seemed to care. Agent Symbearn certainly did not. Not a word of reprimand was said to him by anyone.

In their minds, I am guilty of some sin against Alejandros pride and deserve whatever death he inflicts on me. This is such a great evil, so unreasonable and monstrous, that I have come to believe this town is worse than any Drow city. The drow were born and raised to their ways and know no different. These people have chosen them.

I was once again reprimanded by a spellguard Associate named Vincent who said I deserved Alejandros ire for stealing his enemy. Vincent also said I would pay for the slight against alejandros honor and began drinking potions. I used a spell to stun him and tried to take him down, to knock him out, but his halfling partner and he pushed me back together.

I fled, unable to face two, then returned to see what was being said and done. I saw the corpse of Atos, a comrade - a simple man of childlike humors - they had hacked him down, killed him unnessecarily. As far as I know he hadn't even been trying to help me.

For that, I killed them both. The halfling is apparently immortal since I saw him walking in the Canal ward earlier. Vincent however is gone, the ocean has swallowed his body and no trace of him should ever be found.

I made a challenge, a public poster saying I wanted to duel Alejandro. That was when the Sheriff Azzam, who may have been a fair man, was alive. Now he is dead and there is Chaos, no one to ensure Alejandro will duel me fairly. More than likely i will simply be assassinated with magics when I step into Upper.

I have no recourse but to hide and bide my time, as so many in Lower do. The Boredom of no longer being able to travel openly and battle creatures of threat as I once did may yet undo me. we'll see if I prevail against it.

Lower has seen an increasing presence of kobolds and other monsters lately. With them a very strange elf with gear of odd make - though I should not talk as I wear a helm forged by Orog smiths and blessed by Orog magics. I don't wish to end up fighting and making enemies in Lower too. Therefore I hope and pray that their intentions are not predatory toward the area residents. If not, I will be plunged into yet another battle that I did not choose. Even a being of violence such as myself needs to have some refuge where they can rest, plan, and meditate, and Lower has been that lately. We'll see if it lasts.

Since while Alejandro has his position I can't call Upper my home, I've settled in the crone, whiling away the time with cards.

Seems I share the inn with a necromancer, a lizardman Prince, and a drow. This drow was only the third I've ever seen, I killed the first two as they offered combat. This one seemed to hold no rancor toward me, and says he wishes to make Lower a place of stability, where people may come and not have to worry about gang violence. For a moment every instinct screamed to strike him dead right there, but i will watch and wait. This may be one of those who left his cruel society willingly. I want it to be true. I want to believe a drow might be a figure of justice and protection. I want to believe that between him, the shadow tribe, and myself, Lower can become a place that people feel safe in escaping to. Perhaps I am the greatest idiot ever born. I'll watch them carefully and see how things progress. Meanwhile they give me opportunities to spar with them, get out and slay monsters such as trolls, and have someone to talk with. All of which are better for my development as a warrior than frittering away my funds at Shelkin's card table.

The drow and lizard are dead, and I've been condemned in letters for my sins of apathy and negligence by a servant of the Black Archer - one sworn to never smile, dance, or laugh until the last drow is eradicated from this world. I have begged forgiveness and tried to make amends. The last thing I would ever want is to have to bring violence against children of the Seldarine. I question why only I received these letters and not others who were guilty of the same, and more. I question why this person doesn't want me to duel Alejandro. However, these questions are secondary to maintaining peace among the Tel'Quessir in this blighted town.

Once again I have fallen because people with healing hoard it for themselves instead of helping others with it. Is it really so much to expect that people understand that the one holding back the enemy, and getting struck, should be healed during combat?

I can honestly say that the majority of my healing wands were used up healing others in this fashion.

Maybe they wanted me to die so they have the priveledge of looting my corpse, as happened in the Chosen invasion.

From now on, I'm going to become a great deal more greedy. I can't afford to keep losing supplies like this, not to mention falling in battle defending cretins who don't make the merest effort to help me.

I can't do anything to help the town if I'm constantly weak and too poor to afford potions.

Sanctuary is no more. Absolute power has been seized by the spellguard by using a long campaign of trickery and murdur. It makes me ill to think that a so - called "elf" was in the midst of consorting with illithid.

At least here in Mur, I know that those I walk among are slavers and murdurers. They are exactly the same as the Spellguard but bear the virtue at least, of Honesty.

Seems Keel dislikes me for using Mur. Too bad. I don't want my supplies uselessly eroded by Chosen like theirs are. It will not be the spellguard that ultimately dooms them, but the slow erosion of beating back Chosen again and again.

A female watchmember tried to arrest me today for an unspecified reason. Maybe it is because I went to the seeker hall to hear the speech of Bresley. Keel said that if it was Catalina, she probalby simply wanted a victim to torture and rob while helpless in a cell. Either way, it is intolerable.

The watch can do whatever they wish, to whomever they wish it to. There is no more Council for trials. There is no one to appeal to or ensure that punishment is suitable for the crime. It is truly a time of Tyranny.

And a so-called "Tel-Quessir" helped bring Sanctuary to this. I am pleased that she is dead.

Maybe someday a council will exist again, maybe someday the Chosen will be driven back to the underworld they emerged from.

I believe that only Etorix could bring those things about, if he chose.

The Crone has fallen. The place where I sheltered and played so many hands with Shelkin. They say the appetite is awakening. They say the way has been found. They say Simms is an agent of the Appetite.

One thing I do know for sure. The spellguard lie. The rebels are not thralls. If they have lied about this, they lie about everything.

The escaped slaves have been a fleeting presence in Sanctuary. For a little over 150 years - little time indeed, a fleeting season - they settled upon the surface of a realm of undead and machines.

This realm has now turned its attention toward those insignificant settlers pocking its surface, likely due to Spellguard meddling.

I believe that other places can be found in which people can survive in the Underdark. Places not haunted by undead or appetites or machines. I believe that a party with strength and cunning and the blessing of the Seldarine, and perhaps the protection of Etorix, can found and defend such a place - if they first gather wealth and power to hire mercenaries and buy magic and potions and fine weapons.

I believe that such a place could be the refuge Sanctuary has failed to be. A settlement in the Underdark that thrives on the ways of the Elves, not the dark and twisted cruelties that mark the other races down here. A settlement that will shine as an example of how life can be, even in the darkness.

Corellon was the first warrior, and we elves were born of blood and war. We must rediscover this heritage of violence and carve a place in this Underdark that Sanctuary has failed to be.

I have already begun to search for help in this.

I never got to tell Bobbus about that strange knight and how alike Bobbus was to him. An orc assassin, probably one of the spellguards, has cut the gold thread of his life. A person of rare honor and courage is passed.

In a place where many of both Upper and Lower gather to wait out the war, I was told a tale of a place within Dunwarren. A place of gardens, clean water and defensable walls. The way - past a waterfall and arena - was not remembered. But it and those like it exist somewhere in the ruins.

Whether or not the Chosen are fought off by this secret weapon - if the spellguard remain in power, living in Sanctuary is no better than under any other slaving masters.

Bristin the Almost-Harpy-Slayer is dead, I found her lifeless body being devoured by a deep hound. No more shall her light spirit and glib comments lighten this darkness for all around her.

Kedrick agrees with me that a new Sanctuary must be found.

Things become ever grimmer. I still can't quite believe Etorix has been enthralled, but he is missing and no longer guards the lands about Sanctuary. Drow patrols roam freely, and the shadow tribe is splintered into various weaker factions without purpose.

Supposedly the Illithid will soon make a move to cease the civil war and secure their food supply - the town - whose citizens they had clandestinely experimented, enthralled, and fed upon with the aid of the spellguard for a long time.

I hope Symbaern burns in the abyss for her part in that indefensible and black evil.

Mur betrayed us, and had intended to take as slaves at least some of those with us. They will pay. If ever their destruction is within my means, they will pay and I will turn their fortress into a true Inn, a haven for travellers.

The Host now resides in the Canal ward, allies of the Black Fang tribe. This means we cannot accept gnome members, but the kobolds are very good at killing Chosen and will allow us to vacate people through their territory onto ships when the end comes.

Our main lack is gems to gift the kobolds with, they love those.

Alejandro attacked the wrong person and is dead. I still cannot believe he sought my head for killing a drow that had bested him. Arrogance is not word enough for that.

Through the vastness of the Machine we have come, battling chosen and mechs at every turn, and now find ourselves settled in a ruin of the drow. My main worry is that those Spellguard wretches will betray us yet again to Ysinode. It is what they do. Like the Netherese mages of our lore, they believe themselves superior, entitled, and worthy of whatever power they can scrabble by betraying and destroying others. The Way to the surface is near, but I'm not sure I want to go there. The Underdark is a place for the violent, a place for bloodspillers, a place for me.

I believe I will help Kedrick kill the guardians - if that is even possible - and then return. we'll see.