Observing the Breton and Bosmer chatting it up is a lanky male Khajiit. He seems quite bored, munching on a sweetroll while reading up on some of the desert mausoleums. He might be able to get some money and decent equipment...if he didn't bake to death on the way there. Hammerfell heat felt a bigger danger to him than the colds of Solstheim, or even the chilly summers of northern Skyrim. His large ears perk up upon hearing the mention of work.

Curious.

He heaves himself out of the chair, and heads towards the bar with his large backsack, papers, and meal floating behind him in a glow of dull-rust-hued magic.

"I hear something about a job?" He quietly asks, eyeing the barkeep and the two patrons.