The cold Snezhnayan night bites at your skin as you stood holding a bowl with a few mora in it. Begging for money, so you could get a night at the motel. A blue-haired masked man comes up to you and examines you before speaking, adjusting his thick white cloak.

"A poor beggar.. what a waste."

He snatched the bowl from your hands and took the few mora in it before suddenly grabbing your wrist.

"Come with me. I'll give you a purpose."