Bad luck seemed to follow Fink everywhere he went.
It all started when the village of Riverslye ran him out of town. They called him a “pimp”, a “monster”, and a “predator”. They hurled rocks and sticks and chased him several miles down the road.
Was it his fault that he’d found a way to make a decent bit of coin in this hard, cruel world? Was it his fault that he could look past the physical appearance, and see the true beauty within the hearts of even the homeliest females? They just didn’t understand.
He was determined to show those country bumpkins a thing or two about business! With his very last penny, Fink plopped down a hefty down payment on the abandoned way-house west of the High Moore. Just a few weeks later, The Picky Kitten opened for business. A signpost out front announced sported a pink, fluffy kitten. Within days, ungrateful milkmaids and bored housewives made their way to his open doors, and kept the Kitten rattling til the wee hours of the morning.
But it didn’t last long. As generous with appearances as Fink was, he was also a bit too generous with his contracts with the girls. In fact, he allowed them to set their own rates, and they privately accept money away from curious eyes. One girl after another figured out that she could keep most of the gold for herself, giving Fink the crumbs. And as the story went, one after another, Fink lost his temper, and sent them out into the cold. Business slowed down, the Kitten gained a reputation for incompetence, and by the first snow, Fink’s enterprise had ground to a screeching halt. Only Fraglabz, otherwise known as “Pixie Dust” was content to stick around, and whether that was out of loyalty or stupidity, Fink didn’t much care. Sadly, it looked like Fink would have to go get an honest job after all…
Then one cold, customer-less evening, things seemed to take a turn for the better! Two cloaked, scar-faced men had approached him after sunset, and struck a deal with him. He’d front the Kitten as a black-market exchange, in trade for monthly payment to keep the brothel open for when things were sure to turn around. The gold coins would appear on the third of each month on the front door, and besides that, Fink never had to lift a finger. Only one rule they asked of him: “Don’t talk about this ‘arrangement’ to anyone – including us.”
For a time, it seemed like a gift from heaven. Fink was able to keep the tavern open, Pixie Dust did manage to land the occasional traveler, and merchants would pop in for a drink from time to time. But then Fink had to go and muck it up for himself. One evening, there was a particularly loud crash followed by cursing outside behind the Picky Kitten. Fink threw on a cloak and ran outside toward the direction it had come from. As he made his way toward the crumpled stone tower, he could see four or five men struggling to get a heavy load down the broken staircase. He shouted and waved, hoping to gain some favor with his new benefactors. They men looked up, dropped what they were doing, and advanced with knives drawn.
Their message was brief and perfectly clear. If he were to ever approach them or the tower again, his death would be slow, painful, and humiliating. That evening, Fink had a difficult time getting much sleep, imagining what might happen to him if he were to stumble across those characters again.
And then, tonight, a veritable pack of adventurers descended on the Kitten like a swarm of vultures. They spread out, asking prying questions to the clientele, Pixie Dust, and even himself! Eventually one of them fell under the charms of Pixie Dust, and went up to her room. But he was back down in 3 minutes, Pixie Dust looking embarrassed, and made his way toward the bar.
Now Fink was trapped. Reveal what he knew about the goings-on at the Picky Kitten, or risk getting roughed up by this merry band of do-gooders?
This night might make a simple farmer of him, yet.
YOU GAIN XP!!!
Gnoll & Hyena pack: 825 XP (165XP Each)
YOU GAIN REPUTATION!!!
The Baldur’s Gate: Rank 2: Do-Gooder