Brukor was sitting at the tavern's counter, gulping down his fourth pitcher of mead that day. Or was it the fifth? The alcohol didn't help him remember, that was for certain. It had been a strange day for him, he had just arrived in this city, and he had spent all day looking for someone to help, someone that could give him a task. This isn't exactly what he had imagined when he first became an adventurer, he wished to slay foul beasts and thwart the plans of dark fiends, but alas, he got stuck in the process of finding a quest, and now he was here, drinking away his sorrow, hoping for something exciting to happen.
Maybe his hope was about to be fulfilled: a young boy was sneakily approaching him from behind, intent on stealing his gold. When Brukor noticed his satchel was missing, it was a tad bit too late, as the boy had already almost exited the tavern, but the adventurer wasn't one to give up that easily, and so he gave chase. The thief led him through crowded streets and slim alleyways, passing by merchants and commoners, who were dazzled by the sight of a huge, middle-aged man running after a young boy. The chase came to a halt in front of a temple of some god that Brukor had never heard of, not that he knew any. It was here where he had lost track of where the robber went, so he decided to enter the temple and look around, eager on retrieving his money.
