The half-ogre sneered as a dwarf dressed in a simple tunic entered the tavern, taking a seat in a darkened corner, swallowed in the flickering shadows cast by the fire in the fireplace.
"Look at that one," he said to his gathering of cronies--four human thugs and a half-orc who fancied himself a bard. The half-ogre nodded towards the dwarf. "Come in a place like this and not a blade or bludgeon to be seen. He trying to prove something?"
One of the human thugs, brave in the armed company of his friends, boasted, "I ought might make a lesson of him, aye?"
The half-ogre guffawed. "You, Rixson? You couldn't beat him if he had both hands tied behind his back with his beard, I wager!"
Rixson's face reddened as the half-ogres laugh was echoed by his friends. "I can beat Grawles here, arm-wrestling! Sure enough I can beat a dwarf, arms or no, long as he's no shield to cower behind nor axe to bite with!"
The half-ogre laughed even harder, the ale he was trying to swallow coming fast out his nostrils. "Grawles? Even your thrice-dead great granny could bend his twigs to the table on a three-count, no offense, sorcerer!"
"None taken," Grawles said, "these arms are meant for plucking the harp and stroking the hair of a fair maiden, not for knocking on wood. But I'll remind ol' Rix that the victory he won over me was a ruse, one he paid for in coin I still have with me." Grawles clinked a small coinpurse on the table for effect and continued, "And one that alas backfired, or perhaps Rix does not recall the lady he was trying to impress, the one that gushed tears into my lap as she recalled my 'grievous maiming by that wretched brute'--that'd be you, Rixy."
The red in Rixson's face had reached his ears, and he downed a huge swig of ale and scowled in the direction of the dwarf, ignoring the leering half-orc and chortling half-ogre, not to mention the snickers coming from his other fellows.
"He's staring at me," Rixson declared. "I'll not have this!" He stood upright, almost upturning the table at which the group sat. Tholton, the half-ogre, grabbed his arm in restraint.
"Hold now, Rix," Tholton said, "let's see if we can make this fun for ya."
The half-ogre rose, gesturing for Rix and the rest to follow. He strolled over to the dwarf, who sat with a half-finished tankard of ale, staring absently at the flicker of light cast by the fire onto the ceiling. One hand rested against the tankard, the other on the table proper. In the occasional reflection of the firelight, Tholton thought he could make out tattooes on the back of one or both of the dwarf's hands--hammers, perhaps, one on each hand?
"Friend dwarf," the half-ogre said, trying to get the dwarf's attention.
The dwarf made no movement and gave no response.
"Friend dwarf!" Tholton repeated, leaning in over the dwarf's face and making sure the dwarf got a good whiff of the alcohol on the half-ogre's breath.
"I am not your friend," the dwarf intoned matter-of-factly. "My advice to you is to return to your table and your cups, forget your silly little wager, ignore me, and get on with whatever wretched plans you are concocting to strongarm yet another merchant out of his hard-won earnings."
"Wha--?" one of the humans sputtered, as indeed that had been the night's agenda before the dwarf's arrival.
"Look you," Tholton retorted. "My man Rix here says you've offended him, and now you've offended me, so we're going to get you tied up like I promised, and let Rix try and win our little wager!"
The dwarf stood upright, sending Tholton teetering back in the process. His arms were not visible--in fact, they were already tied behind the dwarf's back, with his beard no less.
"Very well," the dwarf said, "but not here--this may not be the most reputable of establishments, but I would not wish the tavernkeeper the bill of damages you goons are bound to wrack up." The dwarf began strolling briskly to a door opening to a back alley.
The thugs cast quizzical looks at each other, and Grawles spoke for all of them. "He's mad!" the bard declared, "and rich! Listen to the tune of his purse as he walks!"
The fast pace of the dwarf and obvious jingle of his purse caught the notice of a few of the more unsavory patrons of the place, but when they observed the fearsome figure of Tholton and his cronies beginning to follow, they returned back to their drinks and other pursuits.
As the dwarf reached the door, he turned his back to it, fumbling with the latch using his beard-bound hands. He smiled at Tholton and his crew, but there was no merriment to his face, only more of the same matter-of-factness that was really starting to get to Tholton.
"Oh, and I've a new wager for you," the dwarf said. "If you live, you'll rest this night in irons." At that, the latch turned and the dwarf backed out of the tavern, into the night.
The thugs piled into the alleyway soon after, followed by a few of the tavern's patrons, interest renewed upon hearing the last words of the dwarf.
The dwarf stood near the dead end of the alley, facing them. Tholton nudged Rixson, who was fiddling with the straps securing his handaxe in its sheath.
"You didn't say I couldn't use a weapon," Rixson explained in a conspiratorial whisper, the half-ogre leaning slightly to catch his words.
Tholton grimaced at the dwarf, standing as still as a statue at the back of the alley. "No," he agreed with a grim chuckle, "I did not."
Rixson slipped the handaxe out of his sheath, and held it up against his forearm, trying to conceal it as he advanced on the dwarf.
"Come to chop me head off, have ye?" the dwarf asked, as Rixson closed.
The thug yelled, whipping the handaxe around in a motion that sent it deep into the side of the dwarf's temple.
Except the dwarf was not there. The crowd was shouting behind Rixson, and he turned, trying to find the dwarf and catch the words of the crowd. Suddenly a padded boot crashed against the side of his head, sending blood spewing from his mouth and nose. Rixson tried to cry out, but the sound was wrong, echoing, his vision was reddening, and he seemed to be floating--
Tholton looked on with horror as the impact of the dwarf's sudden kick bent Rixson's head to the side, where it stayed at an unnatural angle as blood sprayed from his face while his body toppled to the ground.
The dwarf was standing next to Rixson, hands still bound behind him. "Well, now," he said, speaking directly to Tholton. "Looks like ye won your wager."
Suddenly the dwarf's hands were beside him, curled into fists, the hammers tattooed on each fist seeming to pulse. The dwarf's beard was still falling into place as the dwarf continued.
"Now let's settle my wager."
The alley was silent as Tholton and his cronies stared at the dwarf, mouths agape.
Recognition of the dwarf's tattooes came flooding quickly to Grawles, and the talents that had been stirring to his call quickly faded, as he backed against a wall, kneeling, his sword placed before him in surrender.
"What are you doing, Grawles?" Tholton yelled, the half-orc's actions fueling his rage. "He's just one dwarf, and unarmed!"
"He's a Hammer Fist," Grawles replied. "This is a fight you will not win!"
A few of the gathered onlookers talked excitedly amongst themselves at the bard's words, but Tholton and the remaining three human thugs seemed ignorant. Tholton turned back to the dwarf, and yelled as he entered his battle rage.
One of the humans spit at Grawles as the three humans echoed Tholton's cry, in an absurd, almost comical fashion, and charged after their leader, weapons coming out as they advanced on the dwarf.
The dwarf stood his ground, and Grawles thought he could see the hammer tattooes on his fists rippling in anticipation.
* * *
The dwarf was right. Grawles, at least, rested that night in irons.
Breakpoints: (*some values assume optional feats/skills were chosen as above)
@13: Dwarven Fighter 4/Monk 9 -> Str 19 Dex 14 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 6 > D16 L16 Lo4* P4* T16 >> AC 18 BAB 10 Fort 14 Refl 10 Will 10 HP 90-164 unarmed strike (+15/+12/+9/+6 | dmg 7-16 threat 19-20/x2 crit 14-32)
@20: Dwarven Fighter 4/Monk 16 -> Str 21 Dex 14 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 6 > D23 L23 Lo8* P7* T23 >> AC 21 BAB 16 Fort 18 Refl 14 Will 14 HP 125-248 unarmed strike (+22/+19/+16/+13/+10/+7 | dmg 8-27 threat 19-20/x2 crit 16-54) SR 26
@27: Dwarven Fighter 6/Monk 21 -> Str 23 Dex 14 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 6 > D30 L30 Lo9* P9* T30 >> AC 24 BAB 20 Fort 21 Refl 17 Will 17 HP 160-336 unarmed strike (+29/+26/+23/+20/+17/+14 | dmg 13-32 threat 19-20/x2 crit 27-70) SR 31
Fin: Dwarven Fighter 6/Monk 34 -> Str 30 Dex 14 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 6 > D43 L43 Lo16* P15* T43 >> AC 30 BAB 26 Fort 28 Refl 24 Will 24 HP 245-512 unarmed strike (+39/+36/+33/+30/+27/+24 | dmg 17-36 threat 19-20/x2 crit 35-78) SR 44
***
This build is intended to be played from level 1, and should provide a balanced experience in the OCs (NWN or SoU/HotU). It is not intended for people who faint at the thought of a STR monk. This guy dishes damage, pure and simple. He also has the HPs to take a fair amount of abuse.
He should dish enough damage to not have too much of a problem with most DR. Bludgeoning DR will of course be a problem, but that's why you can just pack a good kama or dagger or the like.
This can be used as the template for other races--you'll just have to adjust stats as necessary--hobbits and gnomes will probably have to start out with lower strength (14) and delay Overwhelming Crit and Devastating Crit--easiest thing is to just move the Great Strength feats up as necessary and take the crit feats as soon as they come available.
Remember, this build is for fun, not for perfection.