Torm was a strange mixture of dangerous and optimistically nice. Juliette had seen both sides of him, but for now he seemed to have chosen dangerous. Like as not from their very recent encounter with Haukenbrass, but truth be told he mostly wished for peace and quiet while he discussed just exactly what he was going to do with his Cavalier career with this comely and witty minstrel he had been lucky enough to save from eldritch clutches. The God of the Flaming Fist had his ways, he supposed. The oldsters of the establishment could plainly see the symbol of Baelyr emblazoned on his shield. Whilst he was still clearly a knight, his full armor was still very well strapped to Lycurgus. If anyone were to even approach his warhorse, the entire common room would know from the struggle. 

"They won't bother us," He said softly, confidently walking past the first three tables, Juliette close behind. 

A few of the men looked bold enough to either speak or reach for a pocket, but as soon as Torm placed his hand on the hilt of his longsword, gravity reversed and people inched away as far as possible as he strode by. Juliette glared at them, sticking her tongue out at a few of the bolder, uglier ones. Torm didn't want to seem like a threat to these people. Patronless knights were not too far removed from common folk. They had to find and prove themselves to patrons, do the worst tasks for recognition or coin, or do very well in the tournament circuit. None of those were mead-easy. 

The mumblings didn't cease, but the general clamour of the room began to rekindle as they took their seats. Torm planted himself facing the door. His top was a long-sleeved, light green shirt with dark hemlines, with three buttons from his neck to the top of his chest, all unbuttoned. Even in the dim under the roof, it was clear he was well built. One could say what they wanted about Torm, but he had the build of a knight someone could write a song about. His eyes were a dark blue, but somehow they seemed silver-grey in the light. 

Immediately Torm called for mead. It wasn't one of the harder alcoholic drinks, but it was sweet and gave a fine buzz if consumed enough. In the bigger cities they might grab some proper vodka, but this was a countryside town. 

"Gods spede you" he told the tavernmaid when she delivered, the woman gave him an awkward curtsy and replied back with the same farewell before melting off into the crowd. Torm took a good sip of his drink, savoring the flavor before setting it on the table.

"So... I want to make a partnership," He admitted, all of their small talk and introductions made on the road, previously. He scratched his shock of dark hair, not entirely certain how he would go about doing this. He hadn't propositioned a woman in awhile, and he had never done it for purely business reasons. "What I'm considering is, you serve as my herald and bard. You go where I go, sing songs, vouche for me before lords or those looking for a hired sword, and after I do what needs to be done you get a cut of my coin or a section of whatever gift is granted me, if at all possible."