You're tougher than most mages (and tougher than you look)

You've spent so long on the road now that you're a lot sturdier than most people would give a man wearing flowing robes and carrying no weapon more than a knife credit for. You've had to learn how to use that knife, in your years of traveling - yes, and a sword as well, though you don't carry one. And occasionally a polearm. And, most importantly, how to take a blow. The point is, you're pretty strong and sturdy, though most people think of mages as weedy.

You came to Torwin originally to study a spring up in the hills near here that was reputed to have magical healing properties. You spent nearly all of your saved coin getting here - and then, of course, the rumor turned out to be utter bunk. You're tired and exasperated; and, worse, you have no way out of this gratingly mundane town and back to parts of the world that actually have interesting things (and people) in them. You've tried to sell your services as a hedge mage, but no one around here can afford the cost of magic - and many of them are distrustful of it anyway, you know.

Gorto interrupts your downtrodden reflections by thunking two foamy mugs of ale onto the bar in front of you. "Here yeh go, Gavilard," he says respectfully. "Enjoy 'em!" You nod your thanks and slide a couple of small coins across the bar to the man in payment.