Etienne Dreaux was born in the outskirts of New Orleans in 1907. Born the sixth son in a moderatly wealthy family he soon realised his futures would lie elsewhere. Bored of being overlooked in the family run company, He left to find his fortunes in the city. Dazzled by the bright lights, yet with no fortune to call his own, Etienne moved into a series of squats around the city's more shadier districts. It was there that he fell in with a crowd introducing him to the growing New Orleans jazz scene. He found a natural aptitude for a number of instruments including the guitar and piano and started to start a career as a fledgling musician. As time went by, Etienne began to make a name for himself, playing in many of the less legitimate estiblishments around the citys red light district, reveling in the bohemian nature of the scene. In an age where many struggled to find work, Etienne had a steady income, yet he squandered his earnings on excess and would often find himself sleeping rough in one of the many unemployment camps that dotted the city. It was here he learned to steal, often taking what little money the unfortunate souls of the camp had to fund his nights of debauchery, he soon found he had made many enemies in the city. This life style could only last so long and one night Etienne collapsed while on stage. Disgusted at his state, the bouncers left him beat up in an alley, slumped against a cold wet drain. This was the last thing Etienne remembered of his old life.
Etienne woke up in a world devoid of light and sound. It was as if only his concious remained, floating in the void. This world without sense and stimulation was as aneathema to former hedonist. He rebeled at first, desperate to scream out, yet without a physical body there was little he could do. Over time his mind slowly numbed as he accepted his fate, slipping in and out of conciousness without any way of telling the passage of time. He lingered there for what felt like centuries.
And so when the sound came there was nothing he could do to resist it. Torrents of emotion rushed into his adled mind, twisting him as if but a puppet as the rapturous cacophony shock him to the soul. And then it was gone, leaving him in the darkness once again.
This cycle would repeat, years of emptyness followed by intence burst of euphoric ectacy or the darkest of torments. The emotions weren't his, for this he was sure the sound was contorting him to its will. However after each time, the sound would leave him stronger and he began to long for the music to come. What at first appeared to be simply riotous noise began to fall into place and he began to understand the complex patterns that wove together. During his times of solitude he would go over the molodies each one invigorating him further until one day he simply screamed out. The sound, although pale in comparison broke the darkness and he felt a part of himself return, a hazy after image of his former self. It was as if his body was composed of swirling smoke, constantly trying to condence itself into its former shape. Although as faint as mist, he now at least had form and Etienne felt him self fall through the darkness and tangle in the hedge. In a mad panic he tore at the vines and eventually found his way through to the mortal realm.
Reinventing himself as Sonata there are few people alive who remember his former life. Yet old archives and records of his footage can be found and continue to taunt Sinatre of the life that he lost. Although he has found some normalacy he still feels that he left most of himself back in the fey darkness and life feels like a numb shadow of his former self. Though he still tries, the drink and drugs no longer affect him like they used to, and he finds music is the only thing which seems to keeps his soul condenced. Perhaps if he can better understand the music that gave him back his form he might be able to become whole again and take revenge on his hidden captor.