"Of course, sir. My apologies."
Fanter's simple nod is practiced and contrite, and without any further word he slips into his customary place one step behind and one step to the right of his employer.
On the road back to the Inn,
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"My apologies again, sir. I had no intention of involving violence, but a large half-ogre was charging at me meaning to run past me with your purse, and I simply couldn't allow that."
Fanter pauses for a moment, as if considering how frank to be with his master.
"Honestly, sir, he should count himself lucky he only lost a tooth when I stopped his charge. The little beggar boy cutting your purse is one thing, sir, but a massive ruffian like that shaking down children for money is entirely unacceptable."
Another brief pause.
"If you don't mind me saying, that is, sir. And there's certainly no call for you to assist in the evening meal, sir. I can manage to complete it in time despite Neverwinter's best efforts to the contrary, I imagine. How many will be joining us?"