Demosthenes was a practical man placed unfortunately within the body of a behemoth.  He lumbered over everyone within the inn when he stood, but he did not use his size to intimidate.  In fact, it could be said that Demosthenes attracted a bit of compassion from the locals, because he rarely entered into political conversations, religious spats or started fights, and instead, smiled politely albeit stupidly.  "Yes," his eyes seemed to say, "my attention is better placed elsewhere, but I'll keep you company for now."<br/><br/>His mind was, though it had never been, on the subject of money.  Demosthenes didn't have any, and he had spent his last copper on a mug of ale.  He eyed Phineas, the bartender.  That is to say, he eyed the bartender whom he believed to be named Phineas.<br/><br/>"Say, Phineas," he said slowly in his surly way, his voice poised with the capacity to frighten but never quite managing to appeal to a person's sense of terror,  "Do you know where a foreigner might acquire a position?  I am running short on coin and I would hate to sell off my gear."