Mornings. Often espoused as a wonderful gift, a time of peace and expectation for the day, it was neither for Farha. Quite the opposite in fact. This was discounting the horrible sentence her father had handed down the night before which had shattered her world. Just the sun searing through the window assaulting her eyes was enough to ruin her mood. Adding in the tear-stained pillow, the dreadful deadline now only a day away, oh and there was the party.

"Genuinely, and with all malice, I absolutely hate you, sun."

She slammed a fist into the blanket beside her and groaned in exaggerated agony. Kicking her legs out, she allowed their momentum to pull her upwards and off the side of the bed, landing stiffly on the cold stone. She threw back the curtain, it was doing a deplorable job anyway.

"I hope you're happy...oh wait, no I don't." She glared at the oblivious blue orb in the sky. "At least you aren't being evicted from your home and being forced to smile about it during another idiotic party. Ugh. How long has he been planning this?"

Refusing to answer, the sun mockingly hung there in bliss, mercilessly burning anything and anyone dumb enough to brave its domain. Expressionless, Farha stared out the window. A slew of emotions battled for control, but none in particular won...if only it was that simple. A deep, soul-shaking sigh, a fist launched at the wall, and she was on her way.

The morning hours were spent wandering aimlessly through the city. Every familiar alley carried a bittersweet pang, each recognizable building and its delightful roof bore a similar weight. Memories were sparked, trials relived, and yes...a few tears were shed. After one last stop, Farha slowly trudged back home. However, the closer she got, the firmer her step. She marched through the front door disregarding the concerned glances the servants were exchanging, as well as their surprise at the determination emanating from her eyes. She walked straight by, shoulders back and head held high. After all, there were only a few hours left.

Surprise and concern were also on display as the Captain returned from his midday break to find eight silver coins evenly spaced across the edge of his desk. He picked them up, feeling their weight. About to slip them into his coin pouch he paused, studied them intently, and placed them in a uniform stack on the top shelf of the bookcase.

"May that the waves lift you higher young one, and the winds travel before you."

The sun sailed on as it always did. Never caring, never wavering. Perhaps if a young girl paused to ponder its meaning, the wisdom it expressed in the only way it knew how, it would observe a very different woman years from now. But alack and huzzah, for it was not to be.

Daylight was bowing to darkness by the time Farha was ready for the inundation of unbearable nobles descending on her home. Ready being a peculiarity of language which in fact, did not describe her state in the slightest. Despite that, and with much spite, she stood ready for the battle to come. Checking her reflection in the mirror for the thirty-seventh time, she allowed herself a smirk. She looked quite good, even though she did say so herself.

She had forbade all the servants and maids entrance to her room for the past three hours. Their increasing panic brought some much needed amusement, but the hour was finally upon her. That reflection still looked back at her, pain and tension deep in the eyes. Farha was drawn into those eyes, those feelings...but she broke the trance of self pity, snapped to attention, and gave a resolute salute to the poor girl on the other side of the mirror.

Liveliness had invaded the entire house but it had not been resisted. Laughter spilled out from the banquet hall, and a few angry shouts as well. Through the side passages, servants dashed and weaved, only once ending in an absolute cacophony. Rich smells spread from each fresh dish as it was deposited on the many tables scattered around. The circular fireplace in the center of the vast room held the cooling evening at bay and gracefully illuminated each piece of finery in turn.

All of this Farha only imagined. Despite dreading the knock at her door, she was glad when it finally arrived. The waiting and luxury of anxiety were over at last.

"It's time Mistress, are you quite sure you don't require assistance?"

The soft voice was still clear above the muffled revelry. Farha unbarred the door, they had been quite persistent, and threw it open. The young maid stepped back quickly, her expression one of deference as she bowed her head in respect. As her mind caught up to her sight, her head snapped back up with great shock and horror.

"Mistress! You can't- excuse me. I uh, highly suggest you reconsider."

A devilish grin was the only response. As the aberration strode by, the panic became contagious. Gasps, exclamations, and a few words Farha was sure she wasn't supposed to hear, rang out as she passed by. She paid them no mind, after all, time had run out.

Drawing closer to the banquet hall, the quiet roar of conversation invigorated her steps. It would be miserable to be sure, but nobles always were. She would know. There was always a slight chance of an interesting guest or two. At the very least, the old familiar dance of social maneuvering and manipulation.

A servant near the entrance saw her approaching and gestured to someone inside. His eyes quickly widening, he hurried to belay his silent message but it was much too late. A high pitched clinking could be heard, cutting through the overlapping voices. They quickly petered out to be replaced by that warm yet firm voice.

"Lords, Ladies, honored guests. Thank you for gathering here tonight. Officially welcoming into her peerage. It is my pleasure to present...my daughter, Farha Elste! "

Polite applause broke out across the room as the servant nodded nervously for Farha to enter. She took a deep breath, and another before marching across the threshold. Instant silence. It was so quiet you could hear, no...she did hear, a knife clatter on the stone floor. Every single eye in the room was on her but she only sought out one face. She ignored the outrage, the poorly hidden mockery, none of it mattered. The dismay quickly replaced by embarrassed anger on that familiar face, made every second of preparation worthwhile, ten times over.

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Farha truly did stand ready for battle. But not one of words and placation. No, she boldly stood amidst the opulence in her simple leather armor. Her scabbard brushed against the lappets hanging down to her knees as her hand rested gently on the hilt of her blade. A fine piece of craftsmanship, the quality of the blade clearly evident despite the lacking adornment. Her hair was intricately braided, running down behind one shoulder, keeping her angle of sight clear. Laced through the braids was a lengthy crimson ribbon, the only splash of color in her ensemble. The soft leather of her light shoes made no sound as she confidently strode across the room, ending up directly in front of her father. Gracefully bowing, she locked eyes with him as she rose, neither of them able to tell whose countenance was colder.

Latol was like a stone wall. Even the murmuring whispers running around the room didn't garner a reaction. After a long moment, he broke the stalemate by raising his glass and assuming a smile.

"Let the celebration, commence!"

Servants standing by hurriedly removed the covers, revealing a wide selection of steaming food. A group of musicians off in a corner began playing a lively tune and the various conversations were picked back up and dusted off as if nothing had happened. Slightly relieved, Latol turned to the source of his vexation.

"We shall speak of this later, there will be consequences."

Farha affected a confused look, tilting her head.

"But father, there simply won't be time. After all, I'm leaving first thing in the morning for training."

"Farha."

There was an edge now, enough to send a pang of concern through the troublemaker. But she flung it to the wind, gave a brilliant smile, and set course for the nearest source of the appetizing aromas. To her great demise, two figures practically leapt to ambush her.

"Why hello Farha." The nearest of the two was the chief merchant's daughter decked out in a beautifully woven dress. Farha had to do a double take, 'were those actual gold inlays?' Her glass was filled nearly to the brim with a rich red wine and, as was clear from her demeanor, it was far from the first of the evening. Her arms reached out to Farha for an inviting hug, the venom spewing from her pores, anything but.

"Welcome to peerage." As she pulled Farha close she continued in a quieter tone. "Trust me, it's not as enjoyable as you expected."

Just as the embrace touched on lasting overly long, Maeci finally pulled back. As she did, their arms bumped together causing the bright liquid to slosh over the rim, flowing down Farha's arm and side. Maeci leapt back, holding the glass as far away from her dress as possible. Rage surged to the surface but Farha bit it back, gritting her teeth.

"I am so clumsy, I nearly spilled the entire glass on myself!" Maeci paused for a moment, taking in the rivulets of wine carving paths into Farha's armor, down one leg, and forming a small crimson pool on the polished stone.

"So you're not going to address...this?" Farha gestured to her entire self, flabbergasted.

"Oh, so sorry. At least it's leather, I'm sure nobody will notice."

Farha shook out her arm, flinging the droplets across the floor. She rolled her eyes as Maeci recoiled in true fear for the well-being of the luxurious fabrics. Maeci's affectation of cordiality cracked, leaking vitriol. However, she was quick to regain her composure.

"I see you're engaged with tidying yourself up so I'll excuse myself. It looks like Belsta Solvata is here and I haven't seen him since my own banquet three years ago. Come along Wyeana."

Wyeana smirked and offered the barest hint of a curtsy before turning and following Maeci, never having broken her silence. Farha simply shook her head and tried to erase the last few moments from her memory. After all, there was a tantalizing tower of Faisell meat waiting to be vanquished just feet ahead.

To her dismay, another figure barred her way. At least this one didn't hide his disdain. He bore his own sword, purely ornamental, and a fine velvet overcoat. As he approached he offered a shallow but formal bow with a subtle air of contempt.

"Greetings Farha, I see you have already managed to run afoul of the riff raff. A pity."

"A pity indeed Palste. But there will always be those looking to impose themselves on others."

"Ah, but I hear you are running away. Not only from such delightful company but from our illustrious city as well."

Farha felt a strain in her fingers and forced them to unclench their tight grip on her hilt. Clasping both hands behind her, she assumed an air of nonchalance.

"Oh? It's true that I am soon to travel for some advanced training in arms but I don't recall mentioning that to anyone. Wherever did you hear such a rumor?"

Palste looked off to the side, an expression of puzzlement shrouding his face.

"I don't believe I can recall. It must have been simply mentioned in passing. I'm sure you know, any word that can affect one's reputation has a tendency to spread quite far."

"Is that so? I always assumed it was through bribes and deception but perhaps I thought in err."

"It sounds like you're quite knowledgeable on the matter so I will defer to your sentiment. In any case, I'm sure you will be sorely missed. How have the farewells with all your friends progressed so far?"

"Well I...I find friends to often be more trouble than they're worth."

A flicker of a sinister smile shot out from Palste but it disappeared just as quickly.

"How so?" His tone, deceptively light, induced Farha into a slight state of panic.

"I'm sure you're aware...of my...standing in the city. All those who wish to befriend me simply are looking for gain. I see no need to indulge their sycophantic ways."

Palste smiled again, this one a pleased, disgustingly smug smile.

"I'm sure that's true." He let the silence hang, oh so heavily. "However, I find those leeches delightful for they will grovel for the slightest sliver of favor. It is quite entertaining seeing them scurry about. In any case, I wish you well on your journey. May it be long and prosperous."

Taken aback, Farha reverted to her endless training on social decorum.

"Thank you Palste. I'm sure it will be an experience well beyond expectations."

"It will, I'm sure of it." Still smug, and with a speck of the sinister, he tipped his head and practically glided away. Left swirling in his wake were countless doubts, frustrations, and fears...just as he doubtlessly intended.

As his figure finally unobscured the table, Farha was loathe to discover that the monument of Faisell was now a barren tray smeared with grease. A fitting symbol for how the rest of the night would transpire. Many hours, and shockingly few conversations later, Farha collapsed on her bed. So exhausted, body and soul, she only undid a single clasp on her armor before surrendering to slumber.