Brenna had heard the whispers in the air of some nobles summoning folks high and low to the border of Swadia and Rhodok to swear legiances and swords to their respective kingdoms. She scoffed at the idea, she would make her own way--although it couldn't hurt to go to the ordeal, she always heard how these balls where these nobles congregate is a good a time as any to make a few connectoins; maybe she could woo some old hag into courting her. But first she had to doll herself up a bit. Surely they wouldn't let a peasant into a house of lords. Sunrise above, Brenna put down her scythe and went inside to wash up as best she could; there were few adequate means of hygiene on this ragged farm--she was one of the few young hands her employed to tend to the fields in his sickly days, but he was the only one with any experience in irridation and piping; "a girl shouldn't dirty her hands like that, darlin'", [i]pfft.[/i]

	So she found the best wear she could, an olive green dress and a cheap golden neckless. She pulled her hair back and twisted it into a bun, sure to let no strang loose--she heard the upper class thought it wasn't "fitting of an upright woman" to have loose ends. To them, it meant a woman was sloppy. Idiotic lords and their arbitrary customs. But alas, she had no time to waste. She went to her father's quarters and kissed him on the cheek--he was sleeping.

"I'll be back, papa. I promise." Soft fingertips rubbed his wrinkled forehead and she turned to leave the room. Just before she did, she remembered something; the dagger her father used to carry with him in his younger years when he would visit the taverns. He always kept it in the drawer next to his bed when he slept. She quietly peeled open the drawer andd acquired the dagger which she holstered in one of her bra straps.

 Then she set out to the horse stable to acquire one of the smaller, speedier steeds. She saddled up and rode off. It took her no time--an hour at most--to reach the border where this soiree was taking place. She dismounted the horse a few paces away, they'd think her a raider or a pirate. She moved up to the gates and put on her best prim accent,

"Pardon me, sirs--" an inviting, soft smile. "--I am an attendant of one of the ladies."

"Who?" One of the brutish guards repulsed. She had half a mind to slit his throat right then.

"Lady Eskyr" a made up name to be sure, but one that sounded close enough to a relative of the high-crown that she had overheard during one of her occasional trips to the local taverns. Hopefully this made up noblewoman had [i]lots[/i] of servants.

To her suprise, the guards stepped aside. The path to glory had begun.