Mruf's page

Locked and reloaded, Mruf followed the others toward the barn, his whiskers twitching and ears swiveling about to catch the smallest noise.

Mruf doesn't hesitate either - Rowl roars for him as he blasts at one of the ghouls, careful to aim away from the hapless prisoners.

Rowl + PBS (touch within first 2 range increments, counts as magic): 1d20 + 10 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 10 + 1 = 17
dmg + PBS + silver: 2d8 + 1 ⇒ (5, 4) + 1 = 10

I still don't see the map, but to not hold things up:

Mruf yowled in startlement and blasted the closest scarecrow he could see with Rowl. "Are there more?" he yelled at his companions as he ratcheted back another cartridge into the chamber, as though they could see through the corn.

Rowl (ranged touch within first two range increments): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28 +1 PBS?
dmg (silver): 2d8 ⇒ (3, 3) = 6 +1 PBS?

If you're willing to cast it (wand it? Whatever), I wouldn't mind Shield for Mruf!

Convinced by Bruin that there was no need for a barrel of holy water and a cup to throw it with, Mruf approached the farm with caution nonetheless.

Oh, okay. Man, Bruin is loaded for bear, haha!

Creeped out by the morbid nursery rhyme, not to mention the tale that Grump told, Mruf hadn't said much during the questioning. Afterwards, he excused himself to go and fetch some supplies.

I think we should load up with holy water and bazookas. OK, maybe just Rowl. And alchemist's fire.

It's not much, but you can add Mruf's extra MW thieves' tools to the sold pile for a few extra coins.

Mruf shook his head; there was nothing in particular that he wanted for himself. "Serolt, you and Beromar should get those healing potions, too."

"Some rope will do for the likes of him. Just make sure to bind his fingers. We can use his bedsheets, if we have to."

Mruf went poking around, looking for anything else of interest down here.

Perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (3) + 11 = 14 Sigh.

Mruf grinned a nasty grin. "Okay, start talking. Tell us all about what's been going on here, and what you know about the murders in town."

Mruf jabbed the man with Rowl again. "The next shot's going in your hand, turkey. Let's see how much you can magic without it."

Intimidate: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

He's a cool cat! *walks away with sunglasses on as the Sanatorium explodes in a fireball*

Sense motive DC18: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7

But a good judge of character, he is not. *sigh*

"That seems... hard to believe..." Mruf shook his head, amazed. "What kind of business requires you to animate dead bodies? Where'd you even get those bodies?"

He thought for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed.

"Hey! And who are you calling a monster, necromancer?"

Mruf put a foot on the necromancer's back, and cocked Rowl, pressing the barrel behind Caizarlu's head.

"Not feeling so cocky now, huh, turkey? Maybe we'll let you live if you tell us what in Lamashtu's dirty drawers is going on here. ...And a bribe won't hurt your chances, either."

Mruf yowled in pain and anger as the necromancer touched him, but spun Rowl around to poke him in the stomach with its barrel.

Rowl (ranged touch attack)+ PBS + inspire courage: 1d20 + 9 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 9 + 1 + 1 = 16
dmg: 1d12 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 + 1 = 13

1 chance in 2, high is good: 1d2 ⇒ 1
displacement, high is good: 1d100 ⇒ 90

Undeterred by the necromancer's tricks, Mruf spun Rowl's chamber and fired at the two images remaining.

[Assuming his touch AC isn't too high:]
The last of the man's doubles vanished as Mruf's bullet plunged through it.

"Well, looky what we have here," Mruf grinned at the last necromancer remaining. It wasn't a friendly expression.

"It's like I said: Evil is dumb. Who else would want to get everyone mad at them like this?"

With a final sneeze that drove the last of the stink from his nose, Mruf stepped in front of the door, blocking the necromancer's egress.

"Hold on there, turkey," he snarled, firing Rowl into the crowd of multiple men at point-blank range. "That's not how we play!"

Rowl (touch attack) + PBS + inspire courage: 1d20 + 9 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 9 + 1 + 1 = 26
dmg + inspire courage: 1d12 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 + 1 = 8

1 in 3 to hit: 1d3 ⇒ 1
50% miss: 1d100 ⇒ 41

He growled as one of the men vanished, leaving two unscathed. "I hate carnival games," he complained, though Amaya knew that wasn't true. "Let's whack this mole and be done with it!"

Thanks, WR! :)

Unable to focus clearly with his eyes watering from the evil stink he had inhaled, Mruf tried to push farther into the room, Rowl's muzzle swinging dangerously as its owner staggered about. *Blurgh,* Mruf said, perhaps in the hope that this witty repartee would cow the necromancer.

I forgot I only had one move action available last round - that would have placed him in Bruin's square, so I think he was actually in the cloud. :(

"Well done, Bruin! ...*hurp*" Mruf managed, Rowl wavering as the catfolk tried to keep his gorge from rising. Raising his voice, he called to the others, "Come quick! We've got him cornered now!"

He was alarmed at not finding Amaya (or even Beromar) in the room - he'd been certain that she would have made it there before him. Between the necromancer and his own nausea, though, the alarm occupied only a corner of his brain.

With the necromancer down, he brought Rowl to bear, no mercy in him for such an evil man...

Relieved, Mruf took as deep a breath as he was able and plunged into the cloud again, Rowl held ready. There had to be a far side to this stink!

Double move through the cloud.

Mruf dithered at the edge of the cloud, still feeling sick. "Amaya! Amaya, where are you?" he called, worried now.

If Amaya doesn't call back where she is, Mruf will head into the soup, holding his breath, and try to get through to the other room.

Whoops! Thought I'd already replied. Must have been dreaming. We can't see the wizard through the cloud, and vice versa, right?

Eyes watering, Mruf sneezed sharply a few times, trying to clear his lungs and nose. "Amaya... *hork* Amaya? Blast, she's still down there!"

Turning, he slunk back down the stairs, pausing now and then to dry heave.

I think I only get a move when I'm nauseated, and can't attack. Mruf will go back down to the edge of the cloud.

Hacking and choking, Mruf emerged from the cloud of noxious gas with his ears flat and his tail bristling.

"Here's an idea. Let's wait him out. Unless he eats those zombies, he has to come out sooner or later," he growled, then bent over to make more horking noises.

Retreat up the stairs for Mruf too, assuming the cloud fills the whole cellar where the zombies are.

Figures that the dicebot would love a necromancer! Where is its sense of righteous good, the kind which should overcome evil?! T_T

Now Mruf sounds like he's coughing up a hairball. :P

"If at first you don't succeed..." Mruf dug another thunderstone out of his pocket, bounced it in his palm for a moment, then lobbed it at Presumably-Caizarlu's forehead with every bit of force he could muster. "Try again!"

thunderstone + PBS: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 6 + 1 = 25

Thinking better of using Rowl as the others pass him, Mruf draws a thunderstone as he pads down the stairs, preparing to lob it at the feet of anyone suspicious-looking who wasn't a zombie.

readied thunderstone attack w PBS: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 6 + 1 = 12 Ouch. Good thing the floor is AC5.

Mruf's hair stood on end. He hated the undead. They were so... unnatural.

Mruf took aim with Rowl, but not at the walking dead. Instead, he waited for whoever had made them to come into view, reasoning that such a madman would be more dangerous than his minions.

At least a sanatorium was the right place for such a person, but apparently Habe hadn't been keeping him locked up...

Got to get to work, will post rolls when I get home again.

Mruf hesitated, but finally, didn't put away Rowl. "If there are more wererats, I'll be ready. If there are any patients running around, you guys can..." He thought of Beromar braining Grayst, and Amaya whacking the wererat.

"Uh... maybe Serolt and Bruin can calm them down before they attack us."

"Way to go, Amaya!" Mruf cheered, but was sobered quickly. "Well, THAT isn't suspicious," he commented on the tieflings. "Maybe they're the ones who hid that crazy ratfolk here. That's why they wouldn't help Habe."

Then he realized the "ratfolk" was turning into a man. "What the what?!" he hissed.

Haha, turning into a giant rodent? Mruf would die of shame. When he calms down, he'll go look at what's behind all the doors.

Diplomacy: 1d20 ⇒ 3 Welp...

"Ratman!" Mruf exclaimed, stuffing his mace back into his belt and drawing Rowl. "If that's Caizarlu, I bet that wasn't the kind of help Habe was looking for!"

"You!" he yelled at the tieflings. "Grab that thing and pull it off Habe! You don't get paid if he dies!"

Mruf, equally astonished, kept an eye on the tieflings. If Habe was this crazy and in charge of them, there was no telling what they'd do.

He casually slipped his mace off his belt again, just in case.

*What reputation, you rude old git,* Mruf thought, but thankfully had the restraint to avoid saying.

Instead, he pushed the tieflings aside when they were done restraining the crazy man, and aided Bruin with what little skill he had to help keep Grayst alive, and hopefully wake him again.

"That was quite a crack you put in his egg, Beromar! But it took Bruin's help to put him down," he couldn't resist teasing.

More seriously, he asked Bruin, "Will he recover fast enough from being clocked for us to ask him some questions?"

He blinked as a thought occurred to him. "You... Dr. Habe. Why hasn't this man been treated at the cathedral? Bruin says he's dying from a disease!"

LOL! That's the dwarven way to end an argument! XD

If there's still any fight in Grayst after being clocked, Mruf will position himself somewhere with flanking if possible. If there isn't, but he's still alive, Mruf will scrape up what's left of him and lay him near Bruin for healing.

Waiting for Beromar to be placed before Mruf knows where to be.

Mruf, who had been itching to steal Bruin's ball of yarn, was thankfully completely distracted by the entrance of the madman and his keepers. The madman set him on edge... and when Grayst attacked, Mruf sprang into action.

Unwilling to simply kill a man who had been committed and was sick (not to mention that doing so would destroy any further chance of interrogating him), Mruf didn't draw Rowl. Instead, he drew the mace at his belt as he approached the madman, intending to tap him on the head and send him drifting off to dreamland.

mace + nonlethal: 1d20 + 4 - 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 - 4 = 2
nl dmg: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

Wow. The dicebot hates a (temporary) pacifist. :P

The wildly bobbing man shifted aside at the last moment, and the tap meant for his head bounced harmlessly off his straightjacket.

ETA: Forgot the flanking bonus... not that it would have helped. :P :P :P

sense motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

Mruf is distracted by a stray ball of yarn, which he must concentrate to avoid going over to play with. :P

Instead, he drums his fingers on a table, taps his foot, and otherwise fidgets until the return of the tieflings with their madman.

Mruf squinted at Habe, wondering at his rudeness - and appearance with what appeared to be thugs to back him up. Then he presented the man with the Sheriff's letter of introduction.

"We have no time to waste," he said levelly.

"Three names, three bodies. If it wasn't for the signature, I'd say the murders weren't necessarily connected. Have you asked around town for who the men might be? Maybe they got on the wrong side of the Scarnettis, too?"

Mruf had a dark thought. "Property and gold... didn't Ameiko say she'd inherited the glassworks, and her family home? Maybe the Scarnettis have a plot to take them over... involving... undead." He trailed off, stumped by the unlikeliness of that scenario.

He swished his thick tail, dismissing the notion for now. "Anyway, were you able to interrogate the madman at all? Is he in the jail, too?"

Mruf returned, flat-eared, from where he had been quietly sick out on the dock.

"Let's talk to Ven and Ibor," he said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of rot and butchery. "And to the local high priest. No offense, Bruin. If there's an undead about, maybe he or she can tell us more."

Mruf, too, poked around the crime scene, looking for any clues as to the perpetrator.

Perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (8) + 11 = 19

"It wasn't me!" Mruf quickly assured him, hugging his shooting contraption.

Mruf stared, wide-eyed, at the Sheriff and Beromar. He leaned in to read the message over Beromar's shoulder with no particular care for the dwarf's personal space.

"'Your Lordship?' Are there any dwarf nobles in town? Maybe one caught the dead people cheating him and..." His ears flattened at Beromar's look, and he edged over to Amaya's side. "It could happen," he muttered defensively.

"Let's talk to Thorn, and see if there were any other witnesses," he suggested, tacitly accepting the Sheriff's task. "Other than the crazy bodyguard."

Mruf, too, was happy to stay for the feast. He wandered the streets in the meantime, familiarizing himself with the town - especially its taphouses and brothel.

What better place for a catfolk than a cathouse? Tadum-pssshhhhh.

The potion of protection from chaos might be useful to Bruin? And the potion of pass without trace could conceivably be useful to someone?

Yayyy, cold hard cash!

Mruf had brought the corpse down with him, and set it down before answering.

"Good thing we put it out of everyone's misery. I'll take the sword if no one else wants it, but I have a feeling it'd be of more use in your, Serolt or Beromar's hands... if Beromar is willing to give up that hammer." Mruf's jaw opened in a feline grin. "I'm partial to Rowl here, myself. Though sometimes it's nice to have a cutting edge on you."

He gestured at the body of the half-elf. "Someone's probably missing her. Figure we can give someone peace of mind and the body to bury." He cracked the leatherbound book open to see if there was some clue to who she was in it.

"That was incredible, Beromar!" Mruf was still amazed that the fire hadn't so much as singed his whiskers. "And I think I owe you a drink, Bruin."

Slinging Rowl on his back, he went over to attempt the climb to the ledge.

Assuming we can't take 10 or 20:
Climb DC5: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Satisfied that the creature was grounded, Mruf raised Rowl to his shoulder, took aim, and fired.

Rowl w cold iron bullet, touch: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28
dmg: 1d12 ⇒ 8

Woohoo! :D

So long as it's not a, "I'm not stuck in here with you, you're stuck in here with ME" scenario...

Perhaps optimistically, the first thing Mruf did was lob his tanglefoot bag at the devil's wings, to ensure that it wouldn't get away.

throw + PBS: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 6 + 1 = 26