The bard at our table once seduced a door. Not the guard, the door. And the wild thing about bards is the table wanted it to work; we were all leaning in while the dice decided whether charisma was a physics force. That's the class in a nutshell: the audacity to believe every problem is secretly a performance review. I was a band kid and a theater kid, so I understand the type from the inside. The icon stays small and tasteful. The bard it belongs to will not.

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