Hill Dwarf Outlander Wild Magic Barbarian
AC: 16 (+1Dex + 3Con + 2Shield ) | HP: 31/31 (2d12+6+4+1) | Speed: 25 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 11, Insight 11, Investigation 10
Str: 16 (+3) | Dex: 13 (+1) | Con: 16 (+3) | Int: 10 (+0) | Wis: 12 (+1) | Cha: 8 (-1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, Dwarvish, Elvish
With the people he paid drinks for, he's all too eager to regale them with the fight against the strange dragon-like creatures, each retelling more embellished and less accurate than the less, though at least the spirit is true. In turn, he's all too good an audience laughing at bad jokes, getting caught up in stories good and bad alike.
As the "mock" battle begins, a grim look takes over his face.
"No stopping, only fightin!" If there's any question to whether the wild dwarf is joking, he follows it up with one more comment. "Someone grab my hammer."
"AT ME YOU TRICKSY MICE! HAVE A REAL FIGHT, AHARHARHAR!"
And yet there's no joy in his laugh. He can respect the cleverness, but not the motive, whatever it may be. He rushes straight for the nearest mercenaries, the nearest traitors with only his prop spear and shield in hand.