41st of Winter, 513AV
As soon as Mortas woke up he knew he was going to have a bad day. Did he have any proof? Nothing but a gut feeling, over time however he had learned, when in doubt to follow his instincts.
As his stomach rumbled the slaver groaned and moved sluggishly towards his bag, where he clumsily unwrapped a loaf of bread and was surprised to find it stale. " Stale already?! I just bought this yesterday.." There had certainly been many strange occurrences throughout the city recently, he had even heard a wizard had arrived in town from a gal in one of the local "establishments" Sighing he put the bread down and got dressed, clipping on his armour as usual, it was heavy and was a burden at times but Mortas decided a long time ago he would rather be tired at the end of the day than dead. And of course with defence came offence he thought as he strapped his "Widowmaker" greataxe, whip and shortbow. Usually the sight of these would deter any thieves but with the things the way they were now you couldn't be certain.
As he walked out the door Mortas slung his backpack onto his shoulders and was hit by the full force of the cold. Taking a moment to compose himself he walked towards the slave market, he still needed to find a way to safely set up his business without being cut down by ruthless competition. He was so deep in thought he didn't even notice his bag being opened and a child running away with a half eaten loaf of bread. All he could do is hope a more ambitious thief didn't witness the event.