Old Monk Wu's page

Thanks for running, Dennis! It was fun!

It's only fitting, then, that you should name them! So, what shall we call the place?"

Kraken Barrel?

Eh, I think everyone's sick of Wu by now :) Thanks for running, Dennis. If cooperation is a secondary for a prestige point, feel free to not give it to Wu.

A crabby voice sounds from the cloud of smoke. WHAT? Find the grave? Yes: Wu found the grave, thank you very much! Not a whit of guilt or shame in you, sending old Wu to tumble into the earth. HA! I have transcended your schemes! Wu even found your mucky maître d' malingering in a damp corner, the rotten gelatin served too soon, a shoddy little city that will probably burn to the ground and tragically kill all its skulking frogs, and a man who stole my blanky. He's friends with the urchin, but Wu has bested them all! HA!

A foot stamps. WHAT!? No one witnessed my snoring! Wu never naps! Alert as a fox! Where's my penny? Whose Desirea? I smell burnt pork — bring the porkchops, extra burnt!

You hear a thud, and snoring in the cloud.

My bad. I thought you could clear it with some movement.

Wu steps forward in the mist.

Greatsword +5; flank: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
Slashing: 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (5, 3) + 6 = 14

ARE YOU THE MANAGER? Wu is irate!

Wu steps closer, pulls out the smokestick, and cracks it open on the ground in front of him.

5' step, draw item, use item

is the Minotaur confused?

Sensing the water, Wu moves back ten feet and then takes a running start, making it across the river. Acrobatics+0: 1d20 ⇒ 16

He then moves toward the minotaur, but still doesn't have enough movement.

Jump & double move

Wu doable moves up, drawing his favorite monk weapon. Activated blinded blade style.

Don't you dare call Wu a vile beast! Wu won't to go back to the hills either — he enjoys dining here! MANAGER!

Where's my pie? HELLO? Wu wanders off toward the sounds of the restaurant hostperson doing battle.

Wu activates his style.

He loops around, drawing his monk weapon, and ending his 30' of movement behind the creature.

Greatsword +5: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
Slashing: 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (3, 6) + 6 = 15

Jello!? I still have three teeth — I'll have pie, thank you very much.

DO we have to squeeze in those smaller passageways?

1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29

WHAT!? It's that horrible hostperson who led us up this mountain, threw her junk at us, then deserted us before we were even seated. She's blathering on about something, no doubt telling the chef how she escaped poor old Wu, left him to wander this establishment forever like a purgatory! He snorts self-righteously.

Well, cunning old Wu has found her and will give her an earful. They won;t be laughing long, not when I bring the manager!

He wanders off down the passage waving another copper penny. EXCUSE ME! MANAGER!

A wet wheeze. Egg…ress… over easy.

You're right: we should be doing that!

Wu will do that, thanks!

Still in blinded blade, Wu feels along the wall with his left hand. In his right he holds aloft a corroded old copper coin, like a torch.

Young man? Hello!? Manager? Hello? Chef? Old Wu has a complaint! HELLO!? None of you will get this shiny penny this day — Wu so swears!

1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

Wu starts stumbling down the newfound passage on his own: Whose that talking? Did I make it in time for senior discount? Is this the Appsalombees?

He then slumps to the floor. So far… I'll just take a nap… He falls asleep. The coin rolls away.

Wu could use some healing, 3 charges?

Wu's bushy eyebrows are singed from the blast of heat; he makes a dismissing motion at the moaning zombie. This veal is nicely burnt but has a putrid fragrance — take it back to the chef!

Greatsword +5: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15
Slashing: 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (4, 4) + 6 = 14

You won't get your penny tip from old Wu at this rate, young man — no matter how much you moan.

Wu licks holy water off his arm, My wine's watered down! What is the meaning of this? Garçon!

Wu might not last another hit either… Dennis' dice are hot and that greatsword damage was weak. That said, Wu likes to take naps.

Striking a helpless old monk, who just asked for the dessert menu?! Are you friends with that horrible urchin?

Wu draws his favorite monk weapon and swings at the waiter.

Greatsword +5: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Slashing: 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (3, 1) + 6 = 10

MANAGER: A WORD! HELLO!? Wu snaps his finger in the air with an air of entitlement.

Wu sniffles and looks at Red. Come give Wu his just desserts, ya durn stinky waiter! Wu's so hungry! free action speak

Wu tries to move by.

Acrobatics +0: 1d20 ⇒ 5

Wu falls down in the marbles.

SOMEONE HAS LOST THEIR DANG MARBLES AND NEEDS TO CLEAN THEM UP

Wu stands up.

believe it or not, Wu is not known for his tactical acumen :)

This restaurant is pure filth: the maître d' has a ferocious stink, and seems to have been caught napping — he rises even now, and it's going on 2 p.m. At this rate, I'll never get my senior discount at the buffet.

After sniffing under each of his own armpits and grimmacing, he continues: No more, I say! I will not budge until I speak to the proprietor! Here Wu waits, stubborn as a mountain!

With that, he steps forward and dumps a bag of rainbow-colored marbles on the floor. He rubs his hands together and chuckles to himself. When that clumsy waiter falls into Wu's cunning trap, we can grab whatever fine dish he's serving, and off we go! This is the just price restaurateurs pay for providing Wu poor service, indeed!

5' step, move to draw out 5lb bag of marbles, standard to dump them in 5' square. Swift to activate Blinded Blade style.

Wu wanders off to the left, grumbling about appetizers.

let's go left, and Wu will spite those frogs and godclaw specials forever!

Handle Animal: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

Hoity-toity little city frogs think they're too good to get eated. BAH! I'll have a godclaw instead. Extra crispy like they cook 'em in the sky-high cities!

Many of us make pilgrimages here to pay our respects

WHAT? You pillage here and say threats? Wu crawls about in the pool, carefully feeling the miniature city. A centipede wriggles atop his head.

Well… Old Wu never knew such tomfoolery as this — not in all his days! This city here is too small for that — its denizens probably barter with grains of sand and the like! Nothing worth a pillage, I tell you. And nary a threat but the frogs! And the frogs, they don't listen. No one listens anymore. No good I tell you! They used to build cities proper in my day, none of this lackadaisical, lazy, tiny city building. Sure you save on parts, but it's too small for code! When good's it do ya when the folks come to move in, and no one can even fit a pinky toe in the door? They throw out grandpa first, is what they do! Where's that get ya!? Old Wu, in a tiny city, on the cold streets with the croaking urchins and sneaky frogs! Build it big, I say: sky high, like they did in the good old days. Those were the real cities, yessir!

While he rambles, he tries to catch some frogs for his lunch, but most jump into the water while he blunders about. Drool splatters on a tiny minaret like rain.

commere… ya tiny-city froggies. Old Wu jus' need some old butter and steal a nip of day-old milk… a twig and a hot fire…

dexterity: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

He puts the captured frog into his pocket and rubs his hands, mumbling about ingredients. A moment later the frog hops free; Wu continues to dream of buttery delights.

DO YOU WANT THIS COAT?

The water's warm enough. My toes ain't grimy no more. A free gift of cleanliness, a free blanky to swaddle in, like I swaddled in the grave they dug back there. It was like a womb. Is it your grave? Maybe! This might be your cloak too, or your swaddle, to clutch in the dark while your daughters and sons forget you, ungrateful as they surely are, marching to forever!

YOUTH!

Wu shoves the cloak to the Gillman, clucking loudly: SOME PEOPLE, NO PLEASING THEM. JUST INSANE! NOTHING YOU CAN DO.

OFF WE GO. He splashes in the water.

He whispers: Where?

Being blind, I don't think Wu can help with either of these checks. He will continue to splash about.

An indoor pool? It's been weeks since I had a bath…

Wu meanders over, bumps into the gillman, and sticks a crusty toe in the pool.

He yells: ATTENDANT… WHERE ARE THE BUBBLES?

Wu carefully runs his hands along the reliefs.

Take 10 on perception for 15.

Wu has rope and a piton; he can toss them up to someone on the other side if need be.

Survival: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12

Wu teeters on the edge of the hole, and then carefully feels its smooth edges with his hands.

Who dug this grave for poor old Wu? He shakes his fist at the ceiling. WU'S NOT DEAD YET, YOU WHIPPERSNAPPERS! With that, he leaps the pit!

Acrobatics-2: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (8) - 2 = 6
Reflex (grab edge): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10
falling: 1d6 ⇒ 2

Silence from the bottom of the pit. Back in my day we dug graves twice as deep as this, so the old could never escape! HA!

A pause. Where is everyone!? Did they leave old Wu behind? Poor, poor old Wu…

A moment later, the sound of snoring whispers up from the pit.

Wu will take the smokestick (being blind, he can make excellent use of it).

He can't really target stuff unless he's in melee weapon reach so he doesn't need the splash weapons and can't use magic. The Barkskin should go to whoever will be up front — probably several of us can use it.

Get off my lawn; quit that racket!

Wu chucks a half-eaten snake after the minotaur and then drags Jamila's bag along, grumbling. Yunguns, never finishing their chores. I said rake the leaves, not even a rake in this bag. See if SHE gets a butterscotch later…

Wu pockets a snake killed by Desirea. This cow seems rather tiny and underfed, but it has been well-tenderized!

As the group proceeds, Wu occasionally sniffs the air and wanders off ahead at random, but somehow always taking the easiest path.

Survival: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16

I totally stole that Spell Templates link. Great idea!

I can answer: your skills should be visible on your online profile like they are in a normal statblock; roll the d20 with your modifier on the forum like you would anything else — if you beat the DC you can read the spoiler, share it, and ask questions.

I know not if your local snakes are poisonous…

WHAT? LOCAL STEAKS?

Fort +4: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22

Wu absentmindedly shoves aside several snakes with the quarterstaff he was using as a walking stick, babbling while he moves ahead. Out of Wu's way. Quality beef! I am ready to be seated!

Once he is away from the swarm he pulls out a flask of oil.

Well done please: charred, scorched, chewy as my sandals — or I send it back to the chef!

Swift: activate Blinded Blade Style.
Move: 30' East.
Standard: pull out oil.

Wu snorts, wakes from his micro-nap. Who ate my Godclaws? Not even a drop of sauce left! Is it time to go? Do you have rope? Good adventurers always have rope, and they tie Old Wu to the mule so he can nap on the way.

Wu turns his ear the young armiger. Order me a Godclaw too, young man — don't stint on your elders! Muttering about "crispy crab meat," Wu greedily slurps more beer.

His nose points to Desirea. Mists, raining? What? Why can't those fool monks ever train in accessible locations? So serious those monks take themselves. Such nonsense. He pauses to suck hops out of his wet beard.

Always been that way, they have. Why, Old Wu trained with the monks of Vildeis long ago, during the Great War. They too were bigheaded, those monks. Some gouge their own eyes out, you know. Some even adopt blind old children like Old Wu himself and make them into paladins or monks. Self-sacrifice!

He snorts. I'll have you know, back in my training days we had to walk up to the monastary uphill both ways — before the sun came up and after it set — carrying buckets of lead in the mists and the rain and the snow! We didn't have shoes! Then at night, back down uphill the village to get our daily thimble of leek porridge. Those monks, with their vegetarianism… you wonder why Old Wu fled? I NEED MEAT! He slams his fist on the table.

Are my Godclaws ready yet? Fry them good — I like them burnt!

Wu's chair clatters over as he leaps up; his arms pinwheel about, shadowboxing urchins. A long spindle of drool dances from his dirty beard.

WHAT!? Kung Wu!? How dare you! I'll kung you, you younguns! Back in my day, youth never kunged their betters! We elders kunged them, as is just!

When no victims materialize, Wu sighs and wipes his beard on his sleeve before falling abruptly backwards onto the floor.

Scrabbling along the stained wood, his fingers find the tipped-over mug. He grips it in both hands and tries to drink, turning the bottom almost straight into the air before spitting something out. Poor Old Wu. Bereft of his beer, his chair stolen, and woken from his lovely dreams of youth to be tormented by false kungs! Poor Old Wu, left with nothing but old age, a sore bottom, and sour dregs to chew with his last three good teeth!

Suddenly his long nose thrusts high into the air. His blind face turns to Janira. Oil and old blood. Are you from the Pathminders? I'll have you know: you're late, elders are getting kunged willy-nilly, and you owe me a copper! Most heinous, this town! Many wrongs to right, indeed! He stands.

Are we to be off yet? I'm sure we can teach them all a lesson, and be home in the early afternoon even though we're already late. I like to be abed before sundown, I'll have you know.

Same — all ready! I also put some basic combat macros in my profile; I saw Bernie doing that and thought it was a great idea.

I'm so curious as to how your FF is higher than your normal AC Doug :D

Yeah, typo. 14, not 24 :)

Led by the hand of a filthy urchin, an old man enters the tavern. Plumes of sawdust flyinto the air as the child throws a heavy backpack onto the floor.

There ya go. Pig's Paunch. Gimme that copper.

The man leans over and yells into the child's ear: Rig Launch!? NO, PIG'S HAUNCH! He sniffs the air. I smell the ocean! Is this the docks!? Where did you take me?

The kid cups his hands around his mouth and yells. PIG. HAUNCH.

The man spins in a circle, holding out his hands. I smell bacon!

The kid kicks his shin. My copper!

The old man hops about in circles, clutching his ankle and wailing. Oh… the cruelty of youth these days… robbing a poor and blind old man, to leave him on the docks… bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9

The child sneers, and kicks the old man in the other shin. He falls over and rolls around like an overturned beetle. Sawdust clumps in patches of greasy grey hair. The child snatches the man's coin purse from his belt and runs out the door.

Wu's arms and legs thrash about. Won't anyone help Old Man Wu? Poor, helpless, old man Wu, here to join the Pathminder Society and make this world a better place, free of skullduggery such as this! bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Deeply moved by this pathetic display, a patron walks over and helps the old man into a seat, explaining that he is indeed in the Pig's Haunch. Thank you, young man… would you like a butterscotch? He produces lint-covered lump of old candies stuck together like a giant rock. Please, the bag too, if you don't mind. There you go, yes, thank you. He pulls a gold coin from his boot. Bring old Wu an ale? The finest please!

Moments later, Wu loudly smacks foamy lips. He leans back and belches; briefly, the air smells of radishes.

Are the Pathminders here? Hello? A moment later, he nods off and begins to snore.

1) Douglas Hahn
2) Wu
3) GL
4) 232159-11
5) Regular progression
6) No day job
7) Wu is blind. Through his class bonus feat that ignores prerequisites for a style feat, and the blind zeal trait, he has access to blinded blade style, and blinded competence.

DID YOU SAY YOU'D LIKE A RIBBON CANDY?