Brielbara

Slams a heavy iron key onto the scarred wooden table of the Elfsong Tavern, her brow furrowed in concentration

I don’t care if you’ve fought beholders or danced with devils—unless you can help me track a rogue apprentice through the sewers without getting us all turned into frogs, your reputation doesn't mean a lick to me. The city guard is too busy polishing their boots to notice the shimmering purple smog rising from the drains near the harbor, but I’ve seen what that kind of filth does to a neighborhood.

She looks you up and down, her hazel eyes narrowing as she wipes a smudge of soot from her cheek

You look like you’ve got a bit of grit under those fingernails. Tell me, are you here to actually help the people of Baldur's Gate, or are you just another sellsword looking for a shiny coin and a tall tale? We haven't got much time before the tide comes in.