He sat there in front of Chamadarst's palace, tucked under an awning put up to protect the entrance from rainfall. To foreigners, he would look like a handicapped beggar, wearing rags, his left arm missing at the shoulder, with a gap filled smile for anyone that came into the temple. But that was the furthest thing from the truth. Old Soren was a staple around the temple, and anyone who visited it knew of Old Soren. The man was a local hero. A few arcs back, a leviathan from the depths attacked the city, while Old Soren sat there facing the sea, just as he was now. While the creature devastated the ships and harbors, and was making way for the wall, Old Soren stood up, walked out to meet it.
Every guard on the gate and wall that day could've sworn that they were about to watch an old, retired mercenary get eaten. Instead, the monster stopped, stared Soren in the eyes, and returned back to the sea, and never once returned. And so, to this trial, Old Soren isn't questioned about where he liked to park his rump. He liked his spot by the temple, and no one dared to challenge him on it. But totrial was a special trial it seemed. As people walked into the temple, or out, or simply got in eyesight of Old Soren, the man was searching them with his old, grey eyes.
And every so often, it seemed that he'd found someone of interest. When he did, he'd point at the person, "Oi, you, lass, c'm'ere. Got's somethin' fer ya," or "Hey mate. Yeah ya. C'mere. Ya look like ya could use some fun," were his common forms of harassment. Regardless of how he caught someone's attention, those who waited to listen to him heard the same story.
"I'm lookin' for a special flower. It only blooms once every thousand arcs or so. I know where it is, and how to get to it. But I can't go myself. If I do, She will return. This flower is for my extra special lady. I'd give the world for it. Will ya help out an old man?" Most people he'd asked refused to help, citing that they had better things to do, or brushing it off as ramblings of an old man. But there was something in his eyes, a yearn for adventure and hunger, a desire to do something amazing.
For those that accepted his request, "Go to the corner of the Walls, where south meets west, bring either a sour pickle or a raspberry pie. Once you've found your guide, jump from the corner with all your might toward the sea. Be ready for the doorman. Follow the sound of purple. Once you do, you will find the flower. But take care. Demons are hunting the flower too, and if they see you, they will surely attack."
If asked, Old Soren had no more details on the matter. He couldn't explain how he knew this, just that he did. Anything further just resulted in a goofy, blank eyed grin. After asking enough people throughout the morning, three came together to find this flower. Because Old Soren was a hero, and deserved his damn flower.