| Your words of revolution set your listener’s hearts on fire

| + 100 Experience Points

Jamie stared at the glowing notification hovering before his eyes, his gaze widening in surprise. He hadn’t expected to receive experience so frequently, and the realization brought a broad grin to his face.

He imagined the bard card before him, causing his status page to materialize.

| James Frostwatch (Soul: James Murtagh)

| Experience: [160 / 2000]

"Maybe it's not so difficult after all," he mused, a satisfied smile lingering as he felt the weight of fatigue settling in. The long journey had taken its toll; moments later, he drifted into a deep, untroubled sleep.

But the journey was far from over.

In the weeks that followed, Jamie established a steady routine. Rising early each morning, he ventured out to immerse himself in the life of the neighborhood. He made a point to meet everyone—the ragpickers sorting through the city's trash, the weary prostitutes plying their trade in shadowed alleys, the street vendors hawking their modest wares.

Some met him with distrust. His appearance and bearing didn't quite fit the rough edges of the lower district. Yet, it couldn't be said that they didn't know him. Word had spread swiftly through the winding streets—every gang was aware of the new bard drawing crowds at The Fat Pig.

"That's exactly my intention, Jay," Jamie explained one day as they strolled through the narrow lanes. "I need to know everyone. You can't win a war on your own."

Jay, his ethereal feline companion, hovered beside him, eyes showing concern. "But what war are you expecting to wage?" Jay asked.

Jamie paused for a moment, glancing around at the maze of alleys and hidden passages. He had spent countless hours mapping every entrance and exit, every secret route and dead-end. "In my line of work," he began thoughtfully, "no one starts a new venture without displacing others. It inevitably stirs up conflict."

Jay perched on a crumbling wall, his tail swishing lazily. "We've been here for weeks now," he pointed out, "and all you've done is study. What exactly do you plan to do? And what kind of business are you after?" He tilted his head, clearly puzzled. "I still don't see what you want with that tavern."

A subtle smile played on Jamie's lips. "I'm waiting for all the pieces to fall into place," he replied. "In the meantime, we're doing our due diligence—getting to know our future territory."

They continued down the winding street, the sounds of the bustling district enveloping them—the calls of merchants, the distant clamor of dockworkers, the murmurs of clandestine deals in shadowed corners.

The cat floated alongside his protégé, pondering his words. "You speak as if conquest is inevitable," Jay remarked. "Yet, the forces here are deeply entrenched. Bones, the gangs, the corrupt guards—they won't yield easily."

Jamie nodded, his gaze steady. "I know. But that's precisely why we need to understand every facet of this place. Knowledge is power. And when the time comes, we'll be ready."

"But what are you waiting for?" Jay asked. "If you wanted to buy the tavern, wouldn't it have been easier before you started playing there?"

"Sure," Jamie replied, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But performing there was the only way to discover its true value and, in some ways, conceal my interest in the place."

Jay's whiskers twitched with curiosity. "But how will you buy it now? Ever since you began playing there every night, more and more people have been showing up."

"It's simple," Jamie said, his gaze drifting over the bustling main thoroughfare of the market district. "I just need to lower the value of the establishment to the point where no one else wants to bother with it."

Jay glanced up at him with a worried expression. "You mean like setting the tavern on fire?"

"That would be one option, not smart, but one option," Jamie conceded, "however it goes against my rules."

"Wait, a criminal with rules?" Jay asked, arching an eyebrow. His tail swayed thoughtfully behind him.

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"Any common criminal might not have principles," Jamie explained. "But when you're building an organization, it needs rules. Without them, it becomes difficult for people to trust you and for you to trust your allies."

Jay pondered this, his paws padding softly against the cobblestones as they moved through the crowded street. "So... what are your rules?"

"First, don't mess with children," Jamie stated firmly.

"How so?" Jay inquired, his ears perked with interest.

"Do not harm them, do not frighten them, and under no circumstances make them victims of our activities." Jamie's gaze softened as he watched a group of youngsters laughing and playing near a vendor’s cart. "Everyone in our organization was once a child or will have children of their own. None of us wish for them to endure the life we've chosen or to be impacted by our decisions."

Jay nodded slowly, a sense of respect glimmering in his eyes. Somehow, his face seemed calmer upon hearing the first rule. "Are there more?"

"Second, do not bring children into the game," Jamie continued.

"The game?" Jay echoed, tilting his head in confusion.

"Yes," Jamie said, his voice taking on a steely edge. "The underworld isn't always just about making money. For many, it's a game of power, influence, and sometimes... pleasure. Do not lure children into this world. Do not use them as tools."

"Understood," Jay affirmed, his tone sober.

"Lastly, do not involve innocents in the game," Jamie concluded. "What we do is outside the law—a choice we've made. However, we must do everything we can to avoid causing harm to those not involved."

Jay sighed softly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Hmm, somehow I can't imagine you being criminals."

"Exactly," Jamie replied coolly. "That's the effect these rules have. The neutral public won't turn against us if we don't harm them. This way, we can focus solely on our opponents within the game."

"Ah! There it is," Jamie exclaimed, his eyes gleaming as they settled upon an item nestled among the merchant's eclectic wares. "How much for the mask?"

It was a pristine white mask, utterly featureless save for a singular symbol adorning the right eye—a spade, the ace of its suit. The simplicity of its design was striking, and it seemed to almost beckon to him from the display.

The merchant, a shrewd man with a weathered face, glanced up from his seat. "It offers no protection, mind you, and I'm not one for haggling," he stated flatly. "Fifteen silver coins."

"Fifteen silver coins?" Jamie raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "You just admitted it offers no protection. It's worth, at most, five silver coins."

The merchant leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Ten coins and we’ll say no more about it."

Jamie appeared to ponder this, letting a moment of silence stretch between them. Finally, he nodded. "Very well."

As they turned away from the stall, Jay cast a curious glance up at his companion. "What are you going to use the mask for?"

"For the next step," Jamie replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Jay huffed in mild exasperation. "Your evasive answers are becoming tiresome." He began sharpening his claws against a wooden post.

Jamie chuckled softly, unfazed by Jay's annoyance. He tucked the mask carefully into his satchel, ensuring it was concealed from prying eyes. The bustling marketplace around them teemed with life—merchants calling out their goods, customers haggling, the aroma of spices and freshly baked bread mingling in the afternoon air.

As the day waned, the two made their way back to The Fat Pig tavern. Inside, warm light spilled from the windows, accompanied by the murmur of voices and occasional bursts of laughter.

Another ordinary day unfolded within the tavern's walls. Jamie settled into his customary corner table, parchment and quill laid out before him. At the center, a handful of bards took turns upon the modest stage, each striving to win over the crowd with tales of heroism or ballads of lost love. His own performance was slated for later in the evening—a deliberate move by Mr. Bones to keep patrons lingering longer, their coin purses steadily lightening as the night progressed.

Jamie didn't mind the wait. It afforded him ample time to observe and to prepare. He appeared deep in thought to most, scribbling verses for his next composition. But in truth, his quill moved swiftly as he documented insights gleaned from a unique source—his ability known as "Legends of the Future."

From his vantage point, he watched as soldiers and captains frequented the tavern, their comings and goings as predictable as the tides. Above their heads hovered translucent snippets of information, visible only to Jamie's eyes. He noted ranks, affiliations, and more enigmatic secrets that could prove invaluable.

Jay lounged nearby, his keen gaze tracking the same patterns. "You seem particularly interested in the military types," he remarked.

Jamie gave a barely perceptible nod. "They hold pieces of a puzzle I'm assembling."

"Still with the cryptic answers," Jay sighed, though a hint of amusement laced his tone.

Hours slipped by, the tavern growing ever more lively as night embraced the city. The air thickened with the scent of ale and roasting meats. Jamie remained a steady presence in his corner, biding his time.

As the hour grew late, the moment he had been awaiting finally arrived. Three soldiers entered the tavern, their armor bearing the insignia of the city guard. Among them was a man Jamie hadn't seen before—an old soldier, by the looks of his worn uniform.

Above the soldier's head, delicate script shimmered into view

> A soldier stews with a fiery ire,

> His heart consumed by a burning desire.

> With prejudice sharp and a vengeful jig,

> He dreams to destroy the golden fat pig.