Zahig rubbed the side of his head where his ear was throbbing but kept resolutely looking down and avoiding looking back at Grundy, the owner of inn. Pushing the broom about he reflected on the circumstances that got him here.
He had had such high hopes when he left his home village for a life of adventure and sorcery, treasure and fame, but the reality hit him as hard as Grundy's boot. A boy out in the wilderness alone is just food for the lowest in the chain of dogs eating dogs.
He had found himself in Highmarsh, torn and battered and with no possessions but vowed not to work as a street entertainer again. He was, he realised, extremely lucky to have a place working in a warm inn with a good bed in the stables. Grundy's wife had even persuaded the old goat to pay me something for my almost slave like duties.
Moreover, the place was a hot-bed of activity. Case-in-point that ugly dragonborn and his little "fight" with the proud man. Finally there was somebody willing to stand up to these monsters who seemed to rule our world. When they had come back in from their dick-swinging Zahig vowed he'd approach the man and ask if he could come with him on his adventures. He could serve as a runner, a decoy, a spy anything. Anything to get out of here.
Zahig found himself walking up to Vogir.
"Sir, I offer my services. I am a most useful purveyor of the arcane arts. Should you need another hand to follow you and assist your great countenance I would be humbled and grateful. I like you great sir have no fear of them (looking sideways to the dragonborn) and their kind, and wish to make the world safe for humans again."
Vogir laughed, but was pleased to be distracted for the moment from the Ghanash.
"Well, you are indeed brave I can say that much. Maybe you should show us what you can do ..."