Bard

"Dreams are oft the seed of deeds" – Someone intelligent said that, possibly you.
Not deep enough? Ok, you got this one from a sophont you met in an opium house, or, OK, they were probably just a junkie really;
"What is real, the thing, or the sensation of the thing?"
Point being, the wise, in which you include yourself, know there is no separation, the two are one, indivisible, each meaningless without the other.
What we are talking about here is a presentation.

"What do you do?"
A frustrating question. One which almost always betrays a lack of imaginative power and intellectual capacity in the questioner, and, you find, comes often in an accusative tone.
After all, what does anybody do? Are we to be reduced to the dull minutiae of narrow minds? Mere expressions of the bureaucrat’s pen? Machines or tools are made to do only one thing, are you a machine? Are you a tool?
You have been called a maven, a musician, an entertainer, a writer, translator troubadour, a performer, an activist, poet, duellist, lover, not that you would claim that title, social worker, a celebrity, perhaps, muckraker, minstrel, matchmaker, investigator, a radical, a general cultural firebrand, and now also an actor.
Is that enough?
In addition, an extremely noble aspect of your calling is that you are one of the very few kinds of adventurers who can actually pay their way while en route to. . . wherever you are going.
And you have a sound reason for moving about too.
In many respects, you are the most interesting person you have ever met, and you have met a LOT of people.
Martial Expertise? Certainly. You can hold a weapon, any weapon, in the correct manner. You've read the first chapter of almost every major martial manual in print and skimmed most of the illustrations.
Admittedly you are not exactly a master of high-intensity combat but those people already exist. “Do we really need another guy with a sword?” – You hear the audience whisper.
The Magical Arts? - You had a really interesting conversation with a wizard in a burning wine cellar, or at least, with someone dressed as a wizard, and you’re pretty sure you know a spell. You’re not sure exactly what it does, or even if you remember it properly. People like to dress these things up in a lot of flummery-mummery, not that you necessarily object to that, the costumes are amazing, but you doubt it’s that complicated in the end. It can't be harder than music, and you mastered that.
You have won countless. . . Ok, you at least didn’t die, in countless incidents, almost none of which were triggered by you.
And why not? The coruscating honesty, after all, is what it’s all about if they want you to bear your soul, and an artist always should.
You do what others cannot, usually because they are busy, injured, or dead.
You facilitate.
You are twine, tying things together.
Truly though, it’s the simplest thing in the world; you just can't do anything else.
More precisely, you have failed catastrophically at nearly everything else, call them learning experiences. You may also be in a substantial amount of debt. (Possibly not legal debt.) You have never claimed to be any kind of financial expert - more of a 'big picture' type.
And yes, you dress well. Is that a crime?
Art adds meaning to life. It is no luxury, but an absolute necessity. It is the shape into which the time and slow-dying of our existence is poured.
Without it; there is nothing but entropy. Existence oozes through the fingers like mud.
To create art is to cup our hands, to give that painful process shape, form, and stillness, but also life - for when the water quietens in our concentrating hands, the foulness sinks and settles, as if must, to reveal the clear draught of life.
That is art.
So yes, you care about your shoes, and the cut of your jacket, and whatever your hair is up to currently.
Is it any wonder that everyone else is so miserable? They are drinking muddy water.
Shallow? You like to be liked, what's wrong with that? Adventure is one thing, but equally great is to be known as an adventurer - to be seen as an adventurer.
How else can you lighten peoples hearts and minds?

Anyway, carefully managed narcissism can be a great boon to others. Few take as much interest in others as you do. And you are interested.
You've always had friends. "So-and-so knows everyone" is what they always said of you. And if, one by one, they start disappearing, or getting hurt, who else would notice but you? And who would care more than you?
Few pay as much attention to networks of people, to villages, cities, queendoms, to the great construction of hopes and dreams spread out across Blackwater, into the mountains. Like a great fluid system, shifting endlessly against itself.
And in your own way you are a shield, as great a protector as any paladin.
You can make water flow uphill.
Power, like rain, flows down - the strong, even when they do not oppress the weak, ignore them. Force, violence, indifference, judgment, and contempt all flow down from the rich to the poor, from the strong to the weak.
But, with a little wit, a little charisma, and manipulation, bribery, deception, and control of a printing press, gravity can be reversed. The village harassed by tax collectors and suffering from dream raids in the night can become, what? heroes?
"Our people"
No. . .
"Simple Ordinary Working Citizens"
"A Bastion of Homely Freedoms"
"The Brave Resisters"
"First line in our war against annihilation! Sadly, ignored and oppressed by witless bureaucrats!"
See, it’s not un-true, is it? Opinion can shift, just like that. And when opinion shifts beneath its feet, power must at least try to keep up.
There's more. A renaissance. A renewal and refreshing of human culture.
"Stand but a second and a story I'll sing"
Isn't that what it is, a great network of stories? How else can a culture come to know itself, to dream there could be anything better than this? If people see real heroism. If they see it. If they see the monsters defeated, if they see the powers, or at least hear about it so vividly that they feel as if they have seen it, if they really believe that the world can be different, then couldn’t it be?
And often dreams are seeds of deeds.
See, it was you!