*written in a small black book with 'Shadow Light Enigma' and random poetic phrases on the cover in strange spidery writing and silver ink*

*many of the pages contain songs and details of her daydreaming and pondering, others tell her story*

The lightest of Shadows The Darkest of flames My dreams rise before me And I am ashamed You ask what I am And my tongue is tied For all that I am I cannot reply All things and nothing swirl into one A dark light enigma is what ive become

I do not know where to begin my thoughts. Most of the things I think we all long for we shudder to think about it in too great of detail lest we miss it more than we can take. I have these memories of the past and I express them when I sing but no other time seems appropriate and without the music the subject only saddens me. But still I start to wonder if thats really all I want any more. I fear I might have trouble readapting if we ever did reach the surface. Just because we may not notice how much we have changed, doesnt mean we havent become something else entirely. I just hope once we do get away we dont end up missing what we once had. Would that even be possible?...

*a new few pieces of parchment have been added to the back of the little journal, covered top to bottom in some of her words and inspirations*

Angel and Sin “Like a cold star shimmering far off in the sky, The color of dove’s wing flying swiftly by” “The paragon of innocence, a maiden dressed in white, Beloved of the just and bathed in radiant light” “Wandering the mortal lands she delved one day below, Confronted now with darkness whose like shed never known” “With caution she explored the depths of darkened deep, Through her pale white skin the shadows seemed to creep” “He watched her from the darkness, a smirk upon his face, His eyes kept on his mark, an angel full of grace” “Who carried on unknowing she was being stalked, That danger stepped behind her in her footsteps as she walked” “The demon crept on closer with desire in his eyes, He wrapped his arms around her and before she realized” “She was trapped in his embrace and she felt a horrid fear, She wished her god would come and take her far away from here” “But it wasn’t long until the angel changed her tone, He touched her and he kissed her and the angel writhed and moaned” “He smiled as he watched her admiration in his eyes, A strong imposing figure he was cunning dark and wise” “There was a power in him which she could not deny, He watched the tainted angel and saw pieces of her die” “At the apex of her torment where pain and pleasure mix, He reached out a hand to her; put a finger to his lips” “He whispered in her ear in a voice of warmth and sin…” “..“My dear you’ve waited all your life for this love to begin”..”

Screams “It’s loud when I scream, In my dreams, And it seems” “That we will never, End up together” “I try and I try” “Cause I want you so bad, But it seems you were only, Some dream that I had” “You left me behind, When I look back I find, I found you the day that I lost my mind” “You were only a ghost, Of what I wanted most” “-And I wish you would haunt me forever-“ “But I see we will never, End up together” “No matter how hard I tried, It wasn’t enough” “But I can’t let you go…” “Ill never give up”

Undead “Their hearts stopped beating long ago, by force of will they go on still, though why only they know”

Dreaming “Once again im dreaming, im somewhere far away, not even I can find myself, its just another day” “Like water through my fingers, my thoughts slip from my brain, where once I had an ocean now im lucky if it rains” “I know once I was something, cant remember what it was, im searching as im dreaming, of music myself and love” “Once I find that part of me, ill be something new, an eclectic sort of someone, who still cant get over you”

Music “It fills me up, it gets me through, its helping me get over you” “With every fall, it numbs the pain, so I can be myself again” “I will tear my heart out, and sing t you its steady beat, because its only music, that beings out what’s real in me” “it builds me up, it breaks me down, that powerful melodic sound, with every breath, every tear shed, there’s music running through my head”

Tempest “Pitter patter-try to count the raindrops” “Cold wind blowing-through me into my heart” “I wake up when the sky is dark, eager for the day to start” “With thunder crashing overhead, I wrench my body from my bed” “This is MY storm, from tempest eyes” “A stormy heart where passion lies” “I wake up when the sky is dark, the moment that the tempest starts”

The Mark “I pick and scratch and rub and claw my skin off every day” “My efforts fail, the spot prevails, this mark wont go away” “There is no thing no one no way no place that I can find” “Where I can hide with broken pride I think I’ve lost my mind” “I cant I don’t I wont believe I did this to myself, I am ashamed but I cant blame this shit on someone else”

Jestra Oh ill tell you my story If you think you’ve got the heart Don’t say I didn’t warn you So let’s see now, where to start? Many many years ago In a kingdom, with a king There dwelled a striking beauty Who could jest and dance and sing The favored of his majesty She had his trust and lust Once then twice then thrice denied The young king nursed his broken pride On a stroll one autumn day The king did spot his amore (Pay good mind, For I’m sure you’ll find, Importance in these next few lines) His would be bardic bride Lay side by side Beneath a tree So fancy free With a page from his own court (The smart and kind and friendly sort*wink*) The king let fly unearthly rage Before her eyes he killed the page Then he pinned the young elf down And had his way there on the ground When the king had had his fill He locked her up against her will In the dungeon in the dark She dwelled there, with broken heart For 50 years without a light She dwelled there in eternal night You won’t be too surprised to find The bard completely lost her mind The guards would not walk down her hall For echoing off all the walls Were cursing songs And whispered words The elf was speaking to a bird A wretched crow With just one eye Who perched upon her window high She fed him scraps and moldy bread So he would stay there overhead For if he left shed be alone Wasting away on cold stone Then one day she saw a light A strange and such a lovely sight Standing there with torch in hand Was old kings heir (a gruesome man) He looked at her with eyes of greed "what’s this I see? An elven beauty just for me?" Just as father so was son He tried to do as king had done Seemingly she did submit Then saw a dirk and reached for it To him "fare the well" she bid And slid the blade between his ribs She held her arm up with command The crow did land upon her hand She rid the young king of his purse His keys, his jewelry, and his dirk Then through the shadows she did walk Singing songs that helped her stalk With stealthy steps hidden from all The bard continued down the hall Then up the stairs and to the right She disappeared into the night She wandered round and that is how... Jestra, stands before you now.

*Sandra sits alone in the Pissing Crone, seated lounging in a chair deep in she shadows as she writes of her past*

My begining: I was born in Waterdeep, in a room above an ill reputed tavern. That section of the city alltogether 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 becomming a failure of an old man. My mother was 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 hygene surrounding us both took its tole and I cant fathom what poisons may have coursed through her. Often times men would come knock on our door and my mother would answer in her diny clothes. Men fromt he tavern would speak to her and come inside handing her gold and taking her in exchange while i pretended to sleep. I dont remember a time when my own mind didnt 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 ppor mother there alone. I needed to be there to care for her, I was all she had, and while she wasnt 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 akward looking little girl. I dressed in boys clothes always. I didnt want to think about what might happen to a little girl in a neighborhood 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 wevils and some cheap beer but it was enough for me, I didnt 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 didnt bother me much for I found skirts got int he 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 emtiness and angst that had built up inside me from my mothers 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 int he 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 throught he 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 occured 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 starin 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 eatures of his handsome face witht he exception of crinkles near his intellegent 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 childs voice. He listened with attention only scholars posess 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 knowlege 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 an 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 immediatly 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 eachother. When our first lesson was complete he gave me an entire armfull of scrolls and tole me to take them to their respective owners. I snatched the paper with the alphabet on it fromt he table and folded it up, tucking it into my tunic and took off down the streets at a run to fulfill my end of the bargain. When I got home that night despire my great fortune I found myself in great distress. I had gone from something much beter 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 insturment 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 inheart and he had given me more than any other ever could. I left both at his house every day for I knew I couldnt 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 hunting 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 posessed 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 akward child I was looking more like a miniature woman. Every day I would leave my house and don my black suit. Myy 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 beautifuly 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 alltogether. 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 comming 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 were 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 frusturation 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 didnt 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 concious on his knees beore me and I looked into his eyes. I dont 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 practicly 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 dont know if she ever listened, I turned on my heel, and made my way towards my mentors home in my beautiful black suit. I hugged him and kissed him goodbye, packing up food and my precious insturments. 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 were made of gold and he tole me "I believe in you Sandra Marie". Witht hat I was gone. I traveled 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 int he world. I was often disappointed by their balads, 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 somehwere 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 udnerdark. I watched the storm and shivered in pelasure 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.

Recently I found myself on an adventure which I believe deserves its own tale. This is how it went: They Made it for the Children SO they could laugh and play Illusionary jesters To brighten up their day

But something wasn't right The illusions came to life And those poor children died To the tricksters sharpened knife

Hearing of this tragedy We volunteered to go To slay these evil clowns And end their sinister show

We entered their dark playground Colors danced before our eyes The tricksters fell upon us In shadowy disguise

The party fought them bravely And they fell with shrieking gasps They were crazed and did not care These moments were their last

Before us was a circus tent Both colorful and grand We entered without fear Eager to make our stand

Inside were rows of mirrors And when we glanced their way Our reflections all seemed twisted Though how, I cannot say

Many fell before us As we carried ont he fight Then a fat clown barreled towards us With a large red glowing scythe

We all focused upon him And he dealt us mighty blows The fighters stabbed him with their swords The archers shot their bows

Finally he fell And thudded to the floor The day is ours for we had one We headed for the door

I hope that by our actions Those children were set free So their souls may laugh and play For all eternity

It would seem that my life may be in danger, and so here in this book I will write my will. Most likely if my death does come to pass it will be at the hands of the Dirty Nancys, and so I will leave this book every day in the chest in the Crone where it will be safe under lock and key. These are my songs, my stories, my history...I do not want them to be forgotten. Should you happen upon this little book come my demise, I beg of you one thing. Let my songs...my stories...my history be published, so that my creative works might live forever. I do not want my voice to be forgotten, and if it is then please let my words carry on. If my belongings are recovered please give them to the Crone, and give the coin to the beggars and urchins of Lower. If my...body...is recovered should I die, please build a pyre and burn it. Perhaps the smoke from my ashes will reach the surface one day. That is all that I wishfor...except of course, my life.

. . . .