So, he arrived in Firthengart, and the first thing he did was get into a fight with a dragon. He stopped, considering the implications of that. This time last year, he was sitting in an office, scanning memorandums and worrying about what sauce he was going to put on his microwaved potatoes later that evening to make them taste less like burnt ass. Now he was a medieval knight worried about such petty little things as fighting dragons, becoming a blood sucking abomination, getting on the wrong side of colourful pony princesses who told the bodies cosmic to shut up and sit down and he was sought after by some extremely powerful sorceress who, according to Crimson, considered him as her personal property.