In the town of Celia, Kingdom of Saretia, southernmost province of the Eskaren Empire.

“I’m telling you Armen, these bloody nobles are never going to be satisfied. I’m not sure how much taxes you pay now, but it’s only going to get worse!” Arthur said, downing his mug of beer.
“You are right, my friend,” Armen, the barkeep, said, while refilling his mug. “Just make sure no one hears you say that, especially not in here, ‘cus I’m not too eager to get shut down.” The barkeep said, a placating smile on his face.
Arthur shook his head, but still, he looked over his shoulder looking for guards or anyone looking too fancy to tolerate dissidence. Not that anyone fancy ever made it to this part of town.
“Shut down?” Arthur asked, “Burned down more like, don’t you remember what they did during the war?”
“Oh, I remember mighty fine what happened. I also remember that my business relies on not getting robbed every other day in order to stay in business, so the right to have anyone who looks at my money pouch too greedily hanged, is enough right for me!”
Armen really seemed to mean those last few words, and while he had nothing to fear from Arthur or any other lowlife in the neighborhood, on account of the bar being protected, there had been robbers from other parts of town here on several occasions. So Arthur really couldn’t blame the man. But after all that had happened? The sacking of Celia, the city, and all around it?
But he would show them, even if he couldn’t change the world, even if he couldn’t send armies to change the world for him, he could still give the middle finger to those responsible. The fat and happy nobles running Celia like their own personal pig pen.
“I’m gonna call it a night, Armen.” He sighed, dropping what he owed on the bar.
“Are you sure you don’t want another?” Armen asked.
“I’m Good, it's getting late.” He said, not that it was. Not at all in fact, something Armen also seemed to think, judging by his raised eyebrows, but Arthur was leaving, and that was really all the man needed to know.
“All right Artie, just don’t get any strange, idealistic foolishness into your head, that sort of thing will only serve to get you killed. Just stick to what you’re good at.” Armen said.
What I’m good at huh? He thought, yeah, thats what everyone told him. Just steal more of those silks, Arthur, roll more pockets, Arthur, you’re just so good at that, Arthur.
No.
This night he would show the, even if only figuratively, for if all went well, no one would ever know, what ‘good at’ really meant.
He would go to that fancy mansion on the hill, get in, rob those bloody Cusacs blind, and piss all over their satin furniture while doing so!

And so it was that, in the darkness of the night, Arthur prowled the now mostly empty streets of Celia, on his way to Cusac manor, where the lord of the city and its hinterlands was surely now soundly asleep.
On his way to the northern part of Celia, where the manor was located, he encountered a number of drunks, either stumbling home, or to another, more accommodating pub.
Too did he see a number of guard patrols, though none gave him a second glance, as to the last, they were locked in loud conversation about their wives, or the latest news from the capital, but none spoke of little unknown Arthur, who was on his way to make a political statement, for that news had yet to reach them, or anyone else.
The journey to the manor was a rather straight one, leading from his home district in the south to the noble district in the north, about as far from his home as one could get without leaving town entirely.
He realized he was entering the city center by the change in smell.
He, through time and custom, had stopped noticing the stench of the south, but here in the center the streets reeked of other things. The scent of vomit and piss replaced by rotting meat and vegetables, which had been thrown into the gutter after the market had ended.
But even that smell faded as he made it further north. The houses, while still packed closely together, were now bordered by hedges and flower pots, and he could even sense the scent of roses hanging in the street in some places.
Until finally, he made it to the gate. The houses in the north were universally bigger, cleaner, and more beautiful than in the south, but the manor was another thing entirely. He could only really see the higher parts, because the whole complex was surrounded by a short wall, and on top of it, a tall spiked fence with a dense hedge on the other side.
The gate was closed and guarded by no less than four spearmen.
Arthur made sure he was not seen and turned left. He kept walking along the fence, on the far side of the road that ran by it.
He watched for the patrols that walked by the fence, each time hiding in one corner or shadow, as to avoid being seen. He had always had a sense for these kind of things, he could feel the urge to hide even before the next patrol rounded a corner, giving him enough time to find a good spot.
When the guards were an adequate distance away, Arthur came out of his hiding spot once more.
The fence was tall, but this wasn’t Arthur’s first burglary, and he quickly worked his way up, jumping over the hedge and landing on the other side.
As soon as he was down, he scanned his surroundings, which were rather dark. He found himself in what looked like the gardens. The nearest light came from a candle at the building itself, and for now, his appearance was obscured by several bushes and trees.
The maze of vegetation provided him with the cover and confidence to approach the building. He was just about to get going when he felt his intuition tingling slightly. He looked over, and he thought he could make out a vague outline.
Whoever it was, they was clearly hiding as well. And just when he was deciding what to make of the situation, the figure spoke.
“Hello there.” The figure, distinctly male, said. “I see these gardens are busy, as private noble gardens go, especially considering the time of night.”
“It certainly seems that way,” Arthur replied in a hushed tone. He couldn’t see the street through the hedge, but he was certain they could hear them, if there was anyone on the other side.
“May I ask what business brings you to the gardens of Cusac manner this night?” The figure asked.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m here to trim the ficuses?” Arthur asked, thinking of anything to say other than ‘pissing on the noblemen’s furniture.’
The figure chuckled. “Not exactly, since it is not at all the season for trimming ficuses, and there aren’t any here.” The figure replied.
“Indeed,” Arthur said, “Which leads us to another question: what are you doing here?”
“Regardless of why, we are both here now, and unless you wish to bicker over the whos and the whys, we had better come to some sort of arrangement.” The figure replied.
“I don’t suppose you had such anything in mind, do you?” Artur asked, feeling somewhat apprehensive about the whole thing, but alas, he did not feel the need to leave, in fact, he felt rather good about staying, and he was most curious what this individual had to say.
“In fact, I do,” the man said. “But first, was there any particular reason, or specific item, for which you have elected to honor lord Cusac with a visit this night?”
“I wasn’t to honor him, as much as to steal his stuff, all I could carry, and perhaps piss on his luxurious fineries while I’m at it.”
“A politically motivated thief, huh? Here to send a message of rebellion and resentment, I take it?” The man said, amusement plain in his tone.
“Something like that,” Arthur muttered.
“Well,” The figure said, “In that case, I might have an idea that interests you.” The man said, stepping out of the shadow that had obscured him almost entirely up to this point.
Arthur still couldn’t see the man very well, since he was wrapped in a dark cloak, with the hood up, but he could see a beard creeping out from under it.
“Let’s hear it then, but how about we trade names first, stranger,” Arthur said.
The man now pulled his hood back, revealing short black and grey hair.
“The name is Bob,” he said, extending his hand towards Arthur.
“Mine’s Arthur,” he replied, stepping forward and taking the man's hand. Now that he was closer to the man, he could see just how big the guy was and decided it was utterly impressive that he had managed to hide as well as he had, even considering the darkness of the garden.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Bob said, “Shall we get to business then?”
Arthur nodded, and the man continued.
“Ive heard that the Cusacs are the proud owners of a magical artifact, which should be somewhere in the manor. If you want it, I am willing to let you take it.” The man said.
“What is it worth?” Arthur asked.
Bob shrugged.
“In theory quite a lot, it is said to be a gift bestowed onto them by the emperor, after all.”
Arthur nodded. A reward from the emperor himself would certainly sting to lose, and it would certainly send a message.
“What’s the catch?” He asked. And bob looked gave him a sly look.
“While it is of great value, you might have trouble actually selling it, for an item as unique as that, will surely draw attention when sold, no matter how you sell it.”
Arthur nodded, starting to understand.
“So, your plan is to give me some unsellable sword, while you make off with all the money?”
Bob smiled faintly.
“Well, if you must know, I am not really here for their gold, though I might take some if it crosses my path, but I assure you that what I am after has no value to you, but I can offer to share any money or gold I do end up finding, if it makes you feel any better.”
Arthur’s first instinct told him to call bullshit, but somehow, he was feeling inclined to accept. Still, he hesitated.
“How do I know you won’t just throw me to the wolves and use me as your exit strategy?” Arthur asked.
“Look, kid, if you’re not up for it, I’m totally fine going in alone,” Bob said. “You’re free to leave if you don’t trust me.”
Leave? Now?
No.
He would see this plan through, and besides, his gut was positively buzzing at this point. In a good way.
“So I get the sword, and we split the cash we find?” Arthur asked, looking for reassurance.
“Its a deal.” Bob said, sticking his hand out.
“Fine then, I suppose you have a way in?” Arthur said, taking the mans hand.

Bob did have a way in, or rather, he made one by cracking a window open on the ground floor. There were some guards patrolling the gardens, but once they had snook past them, there was no sign of anyone inside the house. It was so empty, in fact, that it felt abandoned. If it hadn’t been for the dim light, candles lighting the halls, he would have thought the inhabitants were out of town.
But no, there were people here, asleep most likely. Still, they were careful, lest they wake their slumbering hosts.
It was for this reason that he and Bob did not speak a word from the moment they got inside. When they reached intersecting corridors, they used hand gestures to decide which direction to go in, or rather, Bob did so, and Arthur followed.
He usually had a feeling for places such as these, but he couldn’t make sense of this place, so he just followed his large companion.
Bob led them down several corridors until they reached one of the building's staircases. There was one going up, and one going down, presumably to the basement.
Bob gestured downwards, and they descended down the staircase. It wasn’t particularly long, and after one corder, they could see a door at the bottom.
Arthur assumed it was locked, but when Bob pushed against it, it opened with a faint creaking sound. The basement appeared to be a combination of a library and storage closet, a rather large one with a wide variety of miscellaneous items stashed against every wall, and on the many shelves that were placed here.
Despite being a large room, it was very cramped. There were cobwebs and dust, the concentration of which could be used to ascertain how long any given item had been down here untouched.
There was a full suit of armor that looked to be as old as the manor itself.
There were many books, some of which looked rather new, and dust-free, indicating that they must still be in use, while others looked like they would fall apart if anyone attempted to pull them from the shelf.
Still, between all the dust and garbage, it didn’t take all that long for them to find what they were truly looking for, the blade. It had been hung on the wall, above a fancy cabinet. Arthur recognized it as an item of importance the moment he laid eyes on it, and not for its particularly remarkable appearance. In fact, in spite of its lack of ornate decorations. It was, in truth, a rather plain blade, a sword, but it irradiated… Energy.
When he touched it, to pick it up, he could feel it in his gut, nay, his whole body, it was like he had been born again. 
The feeling was one of power, like a new sense, like.. Intuition, as if it was speaking to him.
Was this magic? He thought to himself. And it felt as if his intuition replied to him.
YES

“Alright,” Bob started, “While you’re admiring your new toy, I have business upstairs. I won’t be long.”
Arthur looked up from the blade, now realizing he had been staring at it intently for a good five minutes.
“Sure,” he said, looking around. Somehow, he felt calm, as if he were in his own house with an old friend.
Bob was gone for all of around ten minutes, and then, they left together, seeing no one, no people, no patrols, naught but the birds of the night.
“Let’s get going, before the guards come around.” Bob said. And they did.

“So, what did you need from in there anyway?” Arthur asked as they walked down the main street of Celia, back towards the south.
“It’s a secret,” Bob said.
“But not secret enough to bring me along?” Arthur asked sarcastically.
“No,” Bob replied, giving him a serious look.
“Whatever then, keep your secrets,” he started, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should want to know. “Are you on some kind of secret mission then, which will come falling apart if one soul finds out about it?” Arthur laughed, but Bob did not.
“Look, kid, the day you decide you decide you want to express your desire for change with anything other than common thievery, come find me, and I’ll show you why I was here tonight.” The man said, pulling his cloak over his head.
Secret mission indeed, Arthur thought to himself. He shrugged.
“Will do mister greater purpose,” he said mockingly, but he did not feel it, and his intuition, or whatever it was, told him so too, this time, literally.
‘You don’t really believe that!’ It said.
“Did you at least end up finding any money?” Arthur asked.
“Not a penny,” Bob said, grinning, pulling the insides of his empty pockets out, as a show of proof, not that he had needed to do so, because Arthur believed him.

They parted ways, and Arthur was unsure of what to think of the events of tonight, but one thing was certain: he had completely forgotten to piss on the noblemen's furniture, and it was bothering him.
Probably for the best, though, shouldn’t make things too easy for the bloodhounds.
He clutched his new sword closely, where it was tucked under his clothes, and he returned home.
When he reentered the south, he knew he had not by the people, for there were none left wandering the streets this time of night, nor by the buildings, but by the smell, which somehow seemed to have gotten worse since last he was here.