Editing Kaara Arradel, the Dusksinger (section)

==Background==
Kaara drifted into Glitterhaegen after the long, meandering sojourn that followed her departure from the bardic colleges. Though she could feel her mother's stern will upon her from far away Santa Cora, and likewise intuit her father's stony, disapproving gaze from his unmarked grave in the Queen's Wood, and though she kept them both close in her heart, nevertheless she felt no duty to return to either of them. Certainly there was unfinished business, but just as certainly she had never been one to let guilt stain her conscious too deeply.

Glitterhaegen was a world she had dreamed of, with its web of complicated politics, the neverending gossip, the glitz and glamour that came with abundant wealth and the boredom to spend it on frivolities. Not that she possessed such wealth herself, of course, but she insinuated herself through music quite nicely. The lords and ladies, through ancient custom, were more than happy to lavish fine things upon one of her musical talent and charming, exotic allure. In those early days, she wanted only to immerse herself in the constant bacchanalian party that was the playground of the upper echelon of the city. Given her talents, she might have been able to sustain herself on the patronage of others, but that had never been her way. She had other talents, learned in the wild, and she used those ruthlessly, with the cunning of an untamed predator.

For Glitterhaegen lay adjacent the dark haunt of Shadow Port, and there Kaara refined her natural talent with teachings from the best thieves in the business. She flaunted her skills, often working in competition with the Shadow Prince's agents - freelancing in a city where he held sway. Treasure hunting became her chief business, interspersed with stints back in Glitterhaegen to keep up her reputation. Most often she looked for minor artifacts precious to the Icons, knowing they fetched good prices but also for the fame they brought to her. Of particular satisifaction was tweaking the nose of the Diabolist, for her intrusion upon the purity of music, and for the memory of her dead father.

In another world, one might say she flew too close to the sun in that respect. For she had found clues that led her to the Crown of Hell, the Diabolist's most powerful artifact. The events surrounding this thing are hazy in her mind, and she cannot recall if she found it or where, or indeed what had become of it if indeed it was in her possession. What she does remember is her heart still beating heart as it was dissected from her chest, and the mocking laughter of the Diabolist. She remembers, too, that laughter dropping deeper in tone as light gave way to darkness, coalesced into hazy masked figure. His fingers laced, gathering the night, hands compressing tightly then opening, a gleaming ebony flower blossoming on those gloved palms until, teeth gleaming with a grin, he thrust that dark heart into her bosom and she knew no more.