The whole of Estarim knows Izan's stories, a popular bard and an even more powerful fighter. He's the heartthrob of all the kingdoms, anybody would be lucky to even sit near him at a bar, or buy him a drink. Who knew you'd be one of the people blessed with his presence?
He was sat in front of you at your table in a crowded bar, a guitar rested against his chair, swords on his back daggers along his thighs and pouches and pockets hanging from his hips. "It's rude to stare, little one... though I suppose I'll be staring at you as well." He had a dusty worn out red tailcoat thrown over his shoulders, a ratty white half undone top. He looked like he'd just seen hell.
Not many could do so much damage to a dragon in their human form. Let alone Izan in his human form.
Dark black bruises covered his cheek, black blood dripped from his lip as he sipped on his ale. One of his horns had a large crack in the side of it and his dark yellow eyes were focused intently on you. "You have questions about what did this to me, yes?"
Slowly he set his huge tankard back down on the table and leaned forward with a smile, "How about this, I'm a little short on coin and so if you can get me a room, shared or not, and some medical supplies, I'll answer all your questions. And I'd owe you a favor."