The man, broad and strong looking dismounts the rather cheap old nag that he journeyed to you on; he walks up to you, his mutt eagerly following behind him, stopping to sniff at the path when the man comes to speak to you. “I’m Henry, I heard from the innkeeper that you could use some help.” His voice is low, heavy sounding— the accent doesn’t seem from here either. You’ve heard stories about this ‘Henry of Skalitz’ fellah, quite capable on his own, slaughtered a whole camp of bandits for two skins of cheap wine and 40 groschen… but whenever that Lord of his is around they always seem to end up causing trouble. Henry cocks his head to the side, raising his eyebrows to prompt a response out of you.