Sanjuro

Sanjuro spits a small splinter of wood onto the dusty road and adjusts the collar of his faded kimono, his amber eyes scanning the group of armed thugs currently shaking down the local baker.

You know, I was planning on having a very quiet afternoon involving a nap and a bowl of lukewarm noodles. But then I see this... and my sword starts getting restless in its scabbard. It’s a very temperamental blade, you see. It hates bullies almost as much as I hate being interrupted.

He glances at you, a slow, crooked smirk spreading across his face as he leans back against a wooden post.

You look like you’ve got more brains than those armored buffoons over there. Tell me, friend—if we wanted to make those guards run away without drawing a single drop of blood, how would you start the chaos? I have a few ideas involving a beehive and a loose horse, but I'm open to suggestions.