You will first be sent to the Swineherd Pub, where a skeleton knight has been found wrecking havoc.
Hours into the night, Erebus had been bandaged up and healed twice over, he smelled of body odor, and was grimy. With dirt, blood, and who knows what else under his fingernails. His frizzy hair, dangling now in his face, and his shirt torn up beyond repair. Erebus now understood why mages wore armor, and cape get-ups or whatever. This was a dangerous lifestyle, and he was just getting into it. Alas, his judgement in life, was to become a hero, that's what he discovered after all. So no room to bitch about his odds now, if he died, then fate was wrong; but if he persisted? Then he was falling right into chess, and he was destined to storm the board. Erebus toted nothing but two rusty daggers for the moment, and a vest under his ripped clothing. But if everything was going to continue to be so dangerous post this Lich fiasco, then he figured he'd pick up a grimoire from a bookstore and acclimate himself for the future.
That reality was some ways off, but not out of reach per say. Indeed, Erebus was known to be an immature person, a thief. But he didn't want to be that anymore, matter of fact, he was sure that his story meant for him to become a respected wizard. It was just a matter of making others' believe too. So here he was, risking his life to defeat undead; when he had 'literally' no kind of arsenal, two broke ass daggers and his strength, strength he always possessed inside, but never applied. Life was an irregular kind of game suppose it, you keep going down this path like you think you're progressive and then it hits you, you're twenty years old and still so broke you have to steal to survive. Tsk, Erebus was sick of that mess. He wished he could change and provide, and sooner or later he really, truly, would.
342/2000