Arthur couldn’t sleep that night. For some reason, fatigue eluded him. He laid awake for hours deliberating the events that had transpired earlier. Bob, the blade, the manor, the things that had been said. And especially the feeling he had had when he had picked up the sword. He could still sense it buzzing faintly in his stomach, as if it had never truly left.
Or had it been his imagination? Swords didn’t talk, did they? And, while his intuition had always been strong, any words that it may have uttered would have merely been his own thoughts.
Not being able to help himself any longer, he got out of bed. He had not yet found a good hiding place for the sword, so for now, it laid obscured by nothing more than his cloak, on top of his nightstand, for if the wrong person were to see it, it would certainly mean death or imprisonment for him.
He pulled away his cloak to reveal the blade’s scabbard and handle, and inspected them in what light shone in through his single, small bedroom window. They were no less ordinary than they had been before.
With one smooth motion, he pulled the blade from its sheath, and he felt its energy surge through him once again, though not as potently as he remembered. The churning of feeling in his gut almost made him nauseous, but it made him feel alive, before it started to fade again.
Its gentle energy ushered him into a slumber, a dream, he thought, and the dream was of a distant land, he could see a sword, not the same one he had held seconds ago, but one much greater.
‘Come to me,’ it said, not with words exactly, but like… a push.

The next Morning, he could still feel the sensation it had left. Though it now felt natural, as if it had always been there.
He had breakfast at the same place he usually had lunch, and often dinner, the street soup stand on the corner of the street, no more than fifty meters from his house, where he ran into someone he knew all too well.
He looked down the street to see Dareth, his main job contact, walking towards him.
“Hay Artie, I was just looking for you!” Dareth shouted in his direction, but Arthur didn’t want to see him right now, so he ignored him, continuing to eat his soup, which was made of walnuts, a variety of herbs, and some miscellaneous meats, all ingredients that could be sourced for cheap or for free by going just beyond city limits and getting them yourself.
The meat might be pigeon, rat, or dog, whatever the cook could get his hands on at the time. He didn’t get all the ingredients himself, but he had children who got them for him.
“Hey Artur, fancy seeing you here, how’s the soup today?” Dareth asked. Of course, it was his fancy to see him, for it was the only reason Dareth ever came this way, he had his own soup guy in his own part of town. That guy always used chicken. He also charged double, though, which was only half the reason Arthur didn’t go there.
“Same as always.” He said, shrugging.
Dareth took a stool and sat down facing Arthur, and lowered his voice so none other than he could hear him.
“Word on the street is Cusac manor got his yesterday…” He said, smiling widely.
“Why do I care?” Arthur asked through a mouthful of soup.
“You care, because it means that every guardsman is going to be in the southern or adjacent districts today, trying to hunt down the blasted fool who would do such an idiotic thing, and more importantly, it means that they won't be in the eastern or western districts, leaving them open for plunder.”
Dareth didn’t mention that they wouldn’t be in the southern districts either, but since there wasn’t much worth stealing in those, who must not have felt the need.
“They won't just abandon vital positions, if that's what you’re getting at.” Arthur said, downing a particularly tough piece of meat. Definitely dog today then.
“Enough of them will be gone to leave is plenty of opportunities,” Dareth said shortly, starting to sound annoyed. “So, what do you say, Artie? It’ll pay well for sure!”
“No I’m good thanks,” Arthur said, not looking up from his bowl. Dareth started to turn a little red now.
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you haven’t blown through your cut of the last job yet, and besides, more money is always better than less!”
Dareth was wrong, not about the cut part, had had indeed spent all of it, but he had also ripped of a con artist earlier this week, and he was doing perfectly fine, all things considered.
“Why do you care about my financial situation? What are you? My accountant?” He asked sarcastically. In reality, Dareth needed him to do this job, or he would be forced to go in heavy-handed, which would be much messier.
“Come on, I need my in-guy!” Dareth said, forgetting to keep his voice extra quiet now. What he meant was that he needed Arthur to sneak in quietly, and open the back door to whatever place Dareth had chosen to rob, making the job significantly easier. But not today, because today, Arthur had other things on his mind.

‘The day you decide you decide you want to express your desire for change with anything other than common thievery’

That had stung, not because Arthur took offense at being called a common thief, but because he knew, in his heart, that the stranger had had a point.
“Oh, fine then,” Dareth said, getting up from his stool, “Your loss, Arthur!”
Yeah, yeah, sure, my loss. Arthur thought as Dareth stormed off.
He had always known he was little more than a tool to the man, it had been the arrangement, after all. Dareth provided him with plenty of jobs to keep the money flowing, and Arthur made those jobs easier. Dareth had many contacts and was good at planning jobs, which was why Arthur had so far stuck around the guy.
There were many more trustworthy people in the business, but in general, Arthur preferred his own company, the one person who wouldn’t sell him out for a few silvers, besides maybe Rory.

“Good afternoon, Arthur,” Rory said as Arthur walked through the door. Rory was an elderly gentleman, and more importantly, a valuable informant. As a front, he owned a pawnshop, one for which Rory had carefully created a reputation for offering terrible prices, regardless of whether you wanted to buy or sell something. This ensured that nearly everyone who entered Rory’s store, if they could even locate its door, which was hidden at the far end of a dark and narrow alley, was there for information, and not for ‘old garbage’ as Rory called it.
“How’s business Rory?” Arthur asked, and the older man looked up from the pile of papers he had been studying with the aid of a small eyeglass.
“It’s been fine. I had Dareth in here earlier. I expected you to have gone with him, actually. Based on what he was asking about.” Rory said cautiously.
“Not this time. What was he asking about anyway?”
Rory, putting the eyeglass back to his eye and continuing to study his papers, chuckled slightly.
“I’m afraid that, if you’re not involved with him on this particular job, client confidentiality applies, my boy. But I’m glad to hear you decided to sit this one out. He is a devious and dishonest man if I’ve ever known one, and you’re better off without him.”
Arthur shrugged and started admiring an obviously broken grandfather clock, one that had been here in Rory’s shop, for at least as long as he had known the man, that being for nearly ten years already, and by now, it was covered in a thick layer of dust.
“Whatever,” he started, trying to sound casual, “Have you ever heard about talking magical artifacts?” he asked.
Rory looked up, surprise and a certain amount of confusion marking his wrinkled face.
“I have, actually, what do you want to know?”
“Just curious, what can you tell me?” Arthur said, shrugging.
Rory sighed, putting his eyeglass down, and righting himself in his seat.
“Due to the nature of this information as something unrelated to any potential criminal activity, I don’t mind indulging you, but I will only answer you three questions for free, and that's because I like you. After that, questions will be costing five silvers.”
Arthur smiled and hopped onto a stool at Rory’s counter, opposite him.
“Alright, deal.” He said, and Rory started explaining.
“Magical artifacts are created upon the death of one being of magical power, their souls have become entwined with Emina’s energy, and this magical connection sometimes leaves an imprint of their power and consciousness on items of great personal value, that they were carrying with them when they died. Most commonly a weapon or piece of jewelry, the stronger the mage, stronger the imprint, and the resulting artifact, but only the strongest are said to occasionally speak to their bearers, nonsense and gibberish mostly,” Rory explained, and now he was finished, he seemed to peer into Arthur’s eyes, as if looking for something. But Arthur paid it no mind, and continued on with his next question.
“Do you know of any such magical items existing in Eskar?” He asked. If Rory’s face could look more surprised, it did now.
“Yes, there are three known to speak to their bearers, all of them are owned by a northern royalty, and serve as blades for their kings, though some believe that his majesty the emperor's own blade is such a magical artifact, for some, when they attempted to pull it from the rock, reported hearing the blade reject them.”
Arthur nodded, frowning slightly. So, unless he was holding a royal heirloom, it couldn’t have been a talking sword, unless it was one with which Rory was unfamiliar, which was not likely. The Cusacs were not northern, nor were they kings, while they were powerful, their title was that of Margrave, which was, as far as he knew, nothing like a king.
“May I ask, why the sudden interest in magical artifacts, Arthur? You haven’t been chosen by a spirit, have you?”
Arthur snorted, he had most certainly not.
“If I had, that information would cost five silvers,” he said, winking to the older man.
Rory smiled and nodded.
“That would be something indeed, you a mage, people would pay gold to know about that.” He murmured, seemingly to himself.
But no.
Arthur had not, in fact, been chosen by any spirit, for he had, he surely would have known about it by now. Besides, that was an honor reserved for warriors, not common thieves.
Though now, something told him his destiny would not keep him one of those for much longer. Not because the life wasn’t working out for him, but because he could feel it in his bones.
“Hey, I get one more question right?” He asked, and Rory chuckled softly.
“One might say that counts as a question, but sure, why not?”
“Do you know of any large men, going grey, looking like giant beefcakes, old, not as old as you, bearded, quite possible part of some kind of secret organization, not from around here, but definitely currently here? Any of that ring a bell?”
Rory went from surprise to full-on perplexed.
“Is this bearded gentleman related to the talking sword by any chance? I have to say none of the large brutes around here are quite old enough to be going grey.” Rory said.
“Not a brute, a stealthy guy, breaking into places and stealing stuff, perhaps a revolutionary of some kind.”
“Hmm” Rory hummed, “If anyone matching that description entered this town, I’m sure I would eventually get wind of it, but I have not yet heard anything, which would mean that he either didn’t stay long enough to be noticed, or that he just arrived, and my sources haven’t been able to get to me yet, but I’ll tell you what, if I do hear something, you’ll be the first to know.”
Arthur felt somewhat disappointed, but he knew Rory to be a man of truth and honesty, so he did his best to put up a smile.
“Thanks, Rory.” He said, getting down from his stool, “Well, I guess I'd better get going then, I’ll see you around.”
“Alright, good afternoon, kid,” Rory said, giving him a slight wave as he walked out the door.
Arthur didn’t know anyone else who might be able to shed light on the matter, so, he went and got himself some dinner. There was a barbecue place not far from where he lived, where they sold pheasant, one of the cheapest types of protein available in the city, and he came there regularly. There were better places to eat, but he had long ago developed the habit of preserving his big spending budget for Ale.
Today, however, he didn’t feel like Ale, he felt strange, the events of yesterday still dwelling on his mind, now accompanied by today's musings and his conversation with Rory. He was hoping Rory could shed light on the identity of the strange man he had met, but the fact that he hadn’t even heard of him only made matters more concerning.
All these feelings combined urged him to simply go home after finishing his dinner.

However, just before he reached his front door, he felt ‘It’ pushing him, alertness reaching into his mind.
He spun around, just in time to see a figure disappearing behind a corner. He felt another push. He wasn’t sure whether it meant go or leave, but curiosity got the better of him, and he went.
When he made it to the corner, there was nothing out of the ordinary, just people going about their business, and he kept going down the alleyway.
At one point, he ran into a whole group of guards, the push seeming to panic. He had no time to discern what it meant, because for one such as him, guards were never a good sign.
He ducked into an alley. This alley turned out to be a dead end, but he hid until the coast was clear, and kept going.
He walked and he walked for a long time, in what felt like a large circle through the south of Celia, avoiding certain neighborhoods, and taking a most strange route, eventually leading him in a wide arc to the east of town.
For a moment, he thought the push was leading him back towards the mansion, in others, he thought he was following the figure he had seen, the one that must have been Bob, who would give him answers. But if he was, he was not able to catch up with him, and his route, eventually, after several hours, led him back south, towards his house.
He half expected Bob to be waiting for him there, but when he got to his home, there was nobody there.
Still, the push seemed anxious, or was it his own anxiety? Regardless, he pulled free the floorboards under his bed, and recovered his sword, just in time to hear a ruckus at his front door.
What was that? Guards!
What in the name of Emina did they want from him? Had they somehow found out that he had been behind the theft of the sword? It couldn’t be, for there were but two people in the world who knew of his involvement, and one of those was himself, and the other had no reason to betray him whatsoever, since he could have done so much more easily, much sooner.
He jumped for the single small window in his house, opened it, and threw the sword through before jumping himself.
He waited not for the guards to catch up with him, and made a run for it, at first aimlessly, but then, to the only friend he had in town.
“Good evening, Arthur,” the voice of Rory sounded to his right. He looked, and there was the older man standing, cloaked, in an alley. “Come with me, this way,” Rory said when Arthur looked behind him, to see him clad in a cloak, with the hood pulled deep over his face. “Quickly now, before they catch up with you.”
Rory? He thought to himself, what was he?… never mind, he had probably weaseled a bunch of things out.
“What’s going on, Rory?” He asked in a hushed tone.
“Not here, my boy, I’ll tell you all I know as soon as we get back to my shop.”
Arthur nodded, not feeling the need to argue, and they hurried to Rory’s pawnshop, which was not far away.

“It was our mutual acquaintance, Dareth, I’m afraid.” Rory started, as soon as he closed the store door behind them and placed the closed sign in front of it. “Word is he attempted to brute force himself into a guild stash, and got himself and most of his companions captured,” Rory said, a solemn look on his face.
“And he decided to ray me out to save his own skin,” Arthur said, the pieces falling into their places.
“Exactly, I came looking for you as soon as I got word from my acquaintance in the constables office, but I missed you.”
“That bloody…” Arthur scoffed, “I’ll get him for that.”
“That won't be necessary, I’m afraid, he has already been dealt with by some of his other associates, probably to make sure their names wouldn’t get dropped next,” Rory said, a gloomy look on his face.
“Well, no one likes a rat, I guess.” Arthur shrugged.
“I suppose not, but it doesn't help you much either way. You have been compromised, and apparently, the head constable has chosen to make a name for himself, so you will still have to leave Celia.”
“Leave?” Arthur exclaimed, “And go where? My grandma’s?”
“Wherever you go, it’ll be safer than here,” Rory said. Arthur sighed. If only he had a grandmother to run to, as things were, he would probably have to make it on his own, not that that was a new thing for him.
It was at that moment that Arthur recognized Rory’s cloak, or at least, the color. It seems he had just missed him earlier in the day, for his cloak was the exact color as the one he thought he had seen fleeing around a corner.
But then, who had he been chasing around town? If anyone? Bob?
Not likely.
“Alright then,” he sighed, “I best get going then,” he said, dreading the thought of having to travel at night.
“Noo, no, no.” Rory said, waving his hand, “I have a spare bed in the back, you can sleep there and be off in the morning.”
Arthur nodded in relief.
“Thank you, Rory.” He said, forcing a smile to his lips, for today, smiles were really not coming naturally to him.