CHAPTER 2: THE BOURBY GAMBIT GUILD

THE MAGNIFICENT PIGLETS OF PIGLETSVILLE

Willie wore a faded vest, patched at the edges, and trousers that seemed a tad too short. But it was the weathered, jaunty newsboy cap perched slightly askew atop his head that had become his signature. In such unassuming attire, he was a sight to behold. Much like his demeanor, such donning seemed to embrace the stories of the past, woven into each stitch and fray. His snout, often adorned with a tiny, contented smile, was like a beacon of warmth in the cool breezes of their storied land.

Willie moved with a certain gait— every few steps marked by a distinctive little skip, a sort of dance revealing inner delight. Such peculiarities were not off-putting; they were his trademarks, endearing him to the piglets of Pigletsville. There was even the proverbial twinkle in his eyes that sparkled with wisdom beyond his years.

Willie’s interests were simple yet profound. Outside his most cherished moments basking in the glow of the Bourby Gambit Guild, whom we shall meet shortly, he found solace in the pages of old books, their weathered covers and musty scent inviting him into realms of forgotten tales. His fascination with the world around him was evident in how he’d pause to observe a lone wildflower growing amid the cobblestones, finding beauty in the most overlooked places.