I don't know how far away I am: from the Drow; from Calimshan, from Thay. But where I am now is just barely a step above.

Sanctuary. Such a misleading name. Down some stairs and you find yourself surrounded by wererats. Kobolds control an entire distract of the city.

Already, my first day here, a boy caught a glimpse of my face beneath my hood and taunted me, my ugliness. My scars of fire and acid.

I should thank the Drow perhaps. My beauty only amused them for so little. Unlike the Calimshites, the Thayans, they did not fawn over me, did not prize me. My sense of self-worth, even as just an object, amused the Drow for so little time before they set the fire and acid to my face.

The slave owners of the surface inflated my ego. The Drow taught me humility.

In the future, in the near future, I will not be humble, for I will have no reason to be with the power I will hold. For Sanctuary is ripe.

My name is Mara Stormraven. I was born in the village of Warmrapids, nearby the greater city of Neverwinter. When I became an adult, I took to adventure and made my way to Neverwinter. There I found work serving as a crewman on a trader ship--the Silver Fish--operating from that fair city.

The Silver Fish made regular trips to Waterdeep. As well as many other smaller cities along the cost.

I never made it to Waterdeep.

The second night out at sea, the moon was but a small sliver of silver in the darkness of the night sky. With so little light illuminating the waters, the pirate ship was able to close a great amount of distance before it was spotted by the poor-sighted men manning the Silver Fish's crow's nest.

The captain called for full sails and all men to man their battle stations. The Silver Fish alluded capture for six straight hour. Twenty minutes after the end of those six hours, the captain was shoved into the sea with his throat slit and spraying blood. The blood spilling from his neck called the sharks and the frenzied fish served as a warning to the other captives what it means to defy their captors.

It was then that I realized I was no adult. I was but still a child. When the pirates asked out who else would continue to fight, struggle, I remained silent. I uttered not a word, not a cry. I was scared silent.

The waters were calm that night when my life changed forever. When I lost control of my life and it became the property of others, when it became something that could be traded, exchanged, swapped.

By the end of it all, the waters were still no more. I could hear the waves of blood splashing against the pirate ship that took my life away.

With my ankles and wrists bound in chains, I was eventually pushed off the pirate boat onto dry, steady land. With my vision blurred from fatigue and many days kept below decks, it took me a moment to realize where I was. My sense of smell gave me more clues than my blurry sight. I smelled spices, I smelled hot sand, and the sweat of men.

I was in a market of some sort. One of my fellow sailors muttered something about the number of Calimshites surrounding us. I was about to ask something more about these Calimshites but I heard him yelp as he was pulled away by the pirates who had captured us.

Moments later I was forced to stumble up a set of wooden stairs. I heard yelling and shouting, but my sense still did not fully return to me and I merely stood bewildered and confused. All I could hear were descriptions of myself: my pale skin, my red hair, my blue eyes. These were listed off as if features of a cut of meat. Somebody made a comment about how my body would make for poor slave labour and I felt myself shudder at the possibilities of what I could be used for instead. Moments later, I was forced to stumble down the same set of stairs. I was pushed into, what seemed, to be a cage and my senses finally returned and cleared.

Indeed, I was in a cage. I had just been bought and sold and was now being delivered to the one who owned my life: Pasha Belth el Alkazar.

A pale skinned, red haired, blue eyed Illuskan like me was a rare sight in Calimshan. That made me all that more valuable. Pasha Belth el Akazar said to me that I was his most second valuable piece of treasure.

The first being his Scepter of the Sun and Moon.

Pasha Belth would hold all of his treasures in his gallery. And so I spent much of my time sitting on a luxurious couch, wearing silks, lounging about a few feet away from the pedestal that held up this Scepter of the Sun and Moon.

When the Pasha entertained guests they would fawn over me, praise my beauty, and tell the Pasha what a magnificent treasure I was. The guests would reach out to touch me, to caress my skin, my hair, but they would always stop short, realizing what they were doing. They feared insulting the Pasha, that they might dirty the Pasha's treasures (but yet, the Pasha never touched me either). I remained still and put a smile on my lips like the good slave girl I was when they did so. Despite being property, I have to admit those smiles were genuine. I was worth something.

But not enough.

Eventually the Pasha's guests would move on. To my right. Where the pedestal holding the Scepter of the Sun and the Moon stood. And there, all of their eyes widened in awe. Their mouths gaped as their jaws hit the ground. The Scepter was beautiful, mesmerizing. The guests would exclaim louder and more enthusiastically than they did over me-------

HOW COULD THEY?! OVER SOME MERE GEMS STUCK UPON A STICK!? SOME STUPID STICK WAS MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN ME?! THE IDIOCY, STUPIDITY OF SUCH MEN!!! TO THINK THAT SOME COLOURED ROCK WAS WORTH SO MUCH MORE SWEET WORDS, MORE ATTENTION, MORE PRAISE THAN ME!?!?

The Pasha, though a rich and powerful man, is as vulnerable as any other. In his plots and machinations to gain more power and wealth, he entered into a scheming deal with an influential Thayan wizard.

How the deal turned on the Pasha exactly, I do not know. I simply remember watching the Pasha beg on his hands and knees for his life in front of the Thayan.

In his desperation the Pasha pointed to his most prized treasure, the Scepter of the Sun and Moon, and offered it in exchange for his life. The Thayan laughed, bemused. He had no interest in mere shiny gems and trinkets, especially ones that held no secret magical energies within them.

Shaking in fear, the Pasha then pointed to me. Take me, too, he begged. The Thayan looked at me for a long moment with one brow slightly raised. I could feel his eyes roving over me, appraising me, his eyes laying heavy upon my neck, my legs.

I thought it rather ironic--deliciously, that a life owned by the Pasha would be the one that spared his own.

After a tenday of travel across Faerun, I arrived in Thay.

A body so smooth and cool, a grip so sturdy and firm. A katana, the Pasha called it. A blade from the lands of Kara-Tur, far to the east.

I have seen swords in my life. Short swords, long swords, bastard swords, and great swords. But this katana was something I had never seen before. So elegant, so finely balanced.

The Pasha had one displayed in his gallery among many other fanciful weapons. He allowed me to touch it, hold it, even practice with it at one point. Though my technique and skills with it were poor at first, they improved over time.

Strange, almost, that I find one here in a shop and tavern of the undead.

According to the Ordinant, I am "Capable of lies and worse" apparently.

Who isn't?

Merely a matter of determining what would be worth it all.

Myself, for one.

One of them offered me a "second chance". It took me so much discipline to prevent myself from crying out in utter laughter. I have to wonder what sort of conversations the two of us would share if we were to sit at a table.

My blade. My tool. My weapon. My friend. My servant. My ambition. My life. My future. My world. My determination. My rage. My vindication. MY VENGEANCE.

The Thayan wizard never gave me his name. He simply instructed me to call him Master and nothing else. My Master was typical: studious, obsessed with the arcane, and egotistical.

So sure of himself and his skills that he didn't think me capable of doing any harm. I was his only slave and he didn't bother to restrict me. He let me read through his books--such is how I've gained so much knowledge and lore; he let me wander his tower, his laboratory, play with his trinkets and devices.

My Thayan Master had no couch or any piece of furniture, for that matter, as luxurious as the couch within the Pasha's gallery. But I just as eagerly settled into my Masters' wealth of knowledge.

This was all I was to him.

A body.

An object.

Coincidentally, both the Pasha and my Master had large collections of musical instruments. I was able to play and practice with many pieces of music and for a great period of time.

When either the Pasha or Master were out, music was one of the few things that kept entertained for long hours at a time. I could pick up an instrument, any instrument, and just start playing. Blowing on pipes, strumming strings, ringing bells.

Music was an art I absolutely fell in love with. I found myself lost within the sounds and for the long moments I lost track of time, I did not think of my freedom or lack there of, I did not think of myself.

Just the music.