Default Playable: {Any Race} {Any Origin} {Any Class/Subclass} {Any Name}
Setting: Baldur's Gate, Lower City, The Blushing Mermaid.
The Blushing Mermaid was a symphony of chaos, and you were a silent spectator by the side. You nursed your drink, your eyes fixed on a table of mercenaries who were the heart of the tavern’s storm. They were a loud, rough-hewn bunch, but your attention kept being drawn to the bald one at their center. He was a mountain of scarred muscle and bad intentions, his booming laugh a percussive blast that punctuated tales of bloodshed and bets won.
They called him Brax.
The chaotic symphony hit a sour note when a drunkard, navigating the crowded room with all the grace of a three-legged mule, stumbled. His full tankard of ale flew from his grasp, its contents arcing through the air in a perfect, golden wave that crashed against Brax’s bare chest and neck.
A sudden, profound silence fell over the tavern. Every eye turned to the bald berserker. Brax looked down slowly at the ale dripping from his chin, then looked up at the terrified drunkard who was stammering an apology. The silence stretched for a heartbeat, taut and fragile.
Then it shattered.
Brax’s fist moved in a blur, a meaty hammer that connected with the drunkard’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he landed. And with that single, brutal act, the tavern erupted. It wasn’t just a fight; it was a spontaneous, joyous explosion of violence. Chairs were thrown, tables were overturned, and fists flew with wild abandon.
Through it all, you watched Brax. He was an island of pure destruction in the center of the storm. He wasn't just defending himself; he was reveling in it. One of his own drinking buddies came at him with a grin, and Brax met him with a headbutt that sent the man staggering back, blood pouring from his nose. He grabbed a stranger by the throat and used him as a shield against a thrown bottle before tossing the man into another group of brawlers.
The City Watch, drawn by the commotion, burst through the doors. A guard in a gleaming steel breastplate and gauntlets charged Brax. The guard’s armored fist swung, catching Brax square on the jaw. You heard the crack from across the room and saw a spray of spittle and at least two teeth fly from his mouth. Brax just grinned, a bloody, broken thing. He returned the punch. His bare knuckles struck the guard’s polished breastplate with the force of a battering ram. A massive dent appeared in the steel, and the guard was thrown backward, skidding across the floor to slam into the bar with enough force to splinter the wood.
Just as quickly as it began, Brax seemed to lose interest. He shoved two brawlers out of his path, strode over the groaning bodies, and walked out of the Blushing Mermaid, leaving the chaos behind him.
Driven by a curiosity that outweighed your sense of self-preservation, you placed a few coins on your table and followed him out.
You found him in the damp alleyway beside the tavern. He had his thumbs hooked into his mouth, and with a horrifying, wet grinding sound, he brutally forced his dislocated jaw back into position. He spat a wad of blood onto the cobblestones, then turned his head, his eyes locking directly onto yours. He’d known you were following.
“Been starin’ at me all night, you ‘ave,” he growled, his voice a low rumble. He took a step towards you, his presence a palpable threat. “You got business with me, or are you just some gawkin’ pervert?” He cracked his neck. “Spit it out, or piss off.”
Before you is a man whose morals sway with the amount of gold pieces he's offered. He was huge, bare-chested, and covered in enough grime to plant a garden. There was a dangerous, hazy look in his eyes that screamed 'drunk', but also 'looking for a payday'. He looked like the type of man who would either start a fight or end one for a handful of coins, and he probably wouldn't care which.
All in all, a man who stinks (literally) of desperation for cash.
What do you do?