Mobled Muletender's page

Mobled stands up as Mukluk closes the door. "Fin'ly! Felt like I'd been trapped 'ere's long 's tha' hussy. So, home? I've a princess t' pledge my troth."

Mobled blanches at the idea of leaving Gambli behind. "But 'e's our cookie. Ye want Petal 'ere t' cook fer us?"

Mobled groans, sits heavily on her bum and gets ready to snore.

"I've a silver dorn dergar. Happy t' give 'er a swing." Mobled begins to unfurl the weapon's chain.

As mentioned, Mobled performs a friendly bull rush on Doruk pushing him out of the room. If necessary, she'll try to actually lift him up and carry him out. "Coz, what ye be wantin' t' learn? Le's leave off'n move along."

Mobled begins to push Doruk out of the room. Once that's accomplished, she also drags out Martigen. Coz, le's 'ave done wi' this. Kinna ye do yer magicks sniffin' richyul 'n be done wi' it?"

Mobled maintains her guard over Doruk, unimpressed by the woman's flirtations. "I like a sensible lass like Rinalda. Nay lithesome strumpet's t' enjoy my attentions on 'er nethers.

If we're just looting and not doing anything, suggest we handwave and move on. Snore.:-p What say you, coz?

Mobled, forcibly if necessary, continues trying to interject herself between Idalla and Doruk. Ye want t' dance, we'll dance.

"'E's not fer ye, strumpet."

"Ye can keep yer lips t' yerself, strumpet." Mobled steps between the woman and Doruk.

Mobled observes the woman carefully, an even measure of ogling and murder in her expression.

Sense motive 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

Or maybe it's one'a them Irene-ees. Heard they're frightful ##$%#s.

Mobled sidles her way into the room. "Ye're's pretty t'day 's ye were yestereve. Fer a human or somethin' looks human. Where ye goin' if we let ye go? Back t' yer papa Orcus?"

Diplomacy 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (14) - 2 = 12

"Aye, I'll stand by ye, coz. Nay witchy woman c'n pull one o'er on us Muletenders."

Mobled remembers that time when the harpy on the big statue tried to lure her up into its heights, and she kindly tore the filthy dretch's wings off. She did, however, lose herself in its song for a few moments. Fond memories, indeed.

Mobled drinks and eats heartily, and has a dream in which she presents the party's treasure to Rinalda, after which the dwarvess pledges her everlasting love.

In the morning, Mobled hefts the dwarven waraxe. "Coz, ye plan t' end th' harpy's life, or let 'er go? Sounds like she's trouble, 'n there's 'n axe for that."

Ech! Serves me right for joining halfway through...

"We've a demonspawn wench t' free, kill or let be. Then ye're free t' lead us t' safety 'n Safeton."

Diplomacy 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (9) - 2 = 7. Poor Mobled indeed...

Once she's hauled her bit of the treasure back to camp, Mobled rather shyly approaches Rinalda after taking a few swigs of whiskey to fortify her courage. "Milady, I've a gift fer ye. My heart's been turned t' gold by yer beauty. 'Sonly fair I give ye gold 'n jewels in return 's a token o' my love. Will ye take my hand, fair Rinalda?"

"If ye think she be true a demon, 've got a nice sharp axe fer 'er 'ead now."

Mobled isn't really an axe person — the dorn dergar is her thing. But she's happy to hold onto the axe for now, given that it's magical and an exotic weapon.

"A daft, useless lass? Might be we brick the door up?" Mobled begins awkwardly swimming loot over to the entrance area of the large cavern, having strapped the war axe to her back.

Eventually Mobled sits down with the dwarven waraxe in one hand, her skin of whiskey in the other. "Time t' go'n declare love'n fealty t' th' Rinalda. Pile o' gold's dowry oughta make 'er love e'en a Muletender like me."

Mobled does indeed dive into the pile of coin. She ducks and weaves as Mukluk throws silver at her. "Wha', 'm not deservin' o' gold, coz? Keepin' it to yerself, are ye?" She goes in to grapple, and yanks playfully at his beard before she remembers how much he hates that. Then, as he sets to examining auras, she starts looking for spirits in the pile of lesser treasures. "Nay wonder th' uglay crayture was so full o' wroth. Nothin' t' take 'is edge off."

Once Martigan finishes with his ministrations, Mobled captures him in a hearty bear hug. "Thank ye fer yer prayers, Father. Ye're a miracle." Unfortunately, some of her own not yet dried blood gets onto Martigan's clothes. "Er, sorry 'bout that..."

Mobled proceeds into the cave, swimming easily over to the island and getting a better look at its dark corners. "There's a side cavern o'er there 'n o'ver there." She waits for some of the party to catch up before moving onward toward the larger sub-cavern.

Once Mobled has been healed a bit, she wades into the water, seeking the dragon's dying body. She attempts to drag it back to land, wrenching its long neck as she goes.

Swim checks as needed
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Coup de Grace 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (6, 6) + 6 = 18

"Coz, yer men an' ye're true comrades. Tis 'n honor t' dragon slay wit' ye."

"Wuh? Where'd it go. Lemme adit.. Hey, did ye kill it?" Mobled staggers to her feet, still near death and sickened from drink. "Father Marty, 'ave ye some more o' Pelor's sweet light?"

0hp

Round 6

The dragon's attacks leave Mobled a bloody mess, bleeding out (-11hp).

Round 7, Init 25

Mobled quivers a bit but lies still. (0 hp).

Round 6, Init 25

That should have been 17 hp to Mobled - she's at 16 AC right now.

"Father, I could use some o' yer warm glow 'bout now."

Mobled continues to flurry, this time trying to land a stunning blow. She then hops back to the rock Doruk left (K8).

Flurry #1 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15 plus stunning fist DC15
1d6 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

Flurry #2 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
1d6 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11

This time the creature's splashing make her aim less true.

Don't be shy about the healin' or anything. One round of full attacks will have Mobled close to dead or dead. Not that she'd say so.

"For Brightaxe and Muletender!"

Round 2, Init 7

Readies, swigs.

Round 3 Ready & AoO goes off Round 4, Init 24+

Dorn dergar 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25
1d10 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

AoO 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18
1d10 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

Round 5, Init 24+

Trying to figure out how the readies get sequenced in this case. Is this right?

"Ye're a tasty lookin' alligator yerself. If ye stop squirmin' a minute I'm sure Cookie's gotta nice broth kin stew ye."

Mobled kicks and punches mightily at the dragon, her rage carrying her onward.

Flurry #1 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
1d6 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

Flurry #2 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
1d6 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

Flurry #1 confirm 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13
1d6 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

Round 1, Init 7 {>K9}

Reflex 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

Mobled practically bathes in the acid as it sprays her directly. "Yeargh! Ach, tha' smarts."

Judging from what I see on the map, Mobled would have had a chance to rage, dance across the rocks, and hit the dragon with reach. If so, how about:

Acrobatics 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

Darn dergar 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
1d10 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9

Round 2, Init 7

"Tha' really hurt."

Mobled takes a swig of her whiskey, maintaining the rage. She readies an action to strike at it if it surfaces. She is not keen on swimming after it.

Why didn't anyone ping me? I've been monitoring activity in the list of active campaigns under my user profile, and for some reason this campaign's activity hasn't been indicating there...

"Aye, ye're close to a woman, Briar Elf. Pretty hair'n all. Closer'n me."

Mobled trudges onward, taking the lead on Doruk's suggested route.

Sense Motive 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27

Mobled listens to the dread in Mukluk's voice, which makes its way through a lifetime of bravado and feeling that she has something to prove. She begins to back away, bumping into Doruk and his mighty glaive as she goes. "Er, why wrassle stalagMite anyhoo? We got orcs 'n duergar t' kill."

Very kind of you, GM Panic.

If Mobled had a mind for strategy she might suggest Create Pit and Obscuring Mist. Before running past it.

I think you're giving Mobled a lot more credit than I would. But yes, the Pathfinder roper is probably way more than this party can handle...

Mobled has crushed many te_tacles in her time.

Player gets tite and mite confused. Sue me.

"It's got ropes 'n their movin', ye barmy knocked-noggin. Tentacles, lad, tentacles!"

"Haela, tha's 'n ugly tentacly stalactite." Mobled throws up a hand, contemplated the joys of wrasslin' a roper.

"Ugh. Coz, ye need t' stop breathin' on me. I'm startin' t' smell like ye."

Mobled continues on into the darkness, ears alert for opportunities to 'wrassle.'

Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22

Fort 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25
Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

Ew. Smells like whiskey and Mukluk's beard!

Mobled approaches the door without much caution, but does listen for signs of life.

Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

Presumably not hearing anything but her own loud spirited musing, she tries to open the door.

Mobled, in her cloud of whiskey fumes, wonders, What 'roma?

"Bah. It's only deadly if ye die. I 'aven't done yet."

Mobled peaks at the buddle under the archway. Does it appear to come from anywhere? Is it a small puddle or does it stretch into the room?

Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

If it is just a small puddle, she attempts to jump over it.

Acrobatics 1d20 + 7 - 4 ⇒ (9) + 7 - 4 = 12

Mobled lends Doruk her hands, and almost loses her sturdy dwarven footing should the great force of his pull pop the door open.

1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10

Mobled goes to the southerly door. After listening a moment, she gives it a rough tug (assuming she doesn't hear anything).

Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
Strength check 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8

"Kinna seem t' get a good grip 'ere."

She tries the other door.

Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Strength check 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Getting lots of bad rolls out of the way...

"I guess there's m' dorn dergar." She hefts the heavy weight and chain in her hands, looking to the others for consent.

Mobled looks around for signs of life (i.e., tracks). Survival 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8 She proceeds to trample over any actual tracks, her head tipped up and back to swig on whiskey when she might've seen that huge owlbear foot print.

Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

Mobled ambles over to peek down the path to the east, dorn dergar help warily in hand.

Looking at Petrel, she reconsiders. "Oh, alright then. Mayhap some dwarven sense'll find its way inta his daft noggin."

She teeters off to peer into other shadows. "There'sa passage down this way..." She points to the arrow on the lower side of Room 23.

"Aye, DorOOk. Ye've got th' 'eart of a dwarf, fer thinkin' so. This be sacred ground fer all dwarves o' honor 'n courage."