Once upon a time, there was a bard. A bard just like any other, with high aspirations and moderate talent. But moderate talent gets you nowhere, and so hours and hours the bard spent practicing and learning new tricks and talents to perform for the people. Songs and stories, juggling and puppets; all in service to the dream of fortunes and renown.
The true talent of the bard was not in the telling of the tales though. It was not in song, or story, or anything that could be seen upon the stage. The true talent of this bard was in the countless long and late nights spent awake toiling by candle light sewing. You see the bard was poor, and born of common blood.
And so, night after night, she worked and fretted sewing fantastic clothing, to hide where she came from. Doublets, breaches and shirts of jet black, glimmering gold, woad blue and scarlet red so lovely that even on occasion princes had experienced momentary flickers of jealousy at the beautiful garments made of old curtains, bed s