PO'ed

So much for a pleasant conversation over a decent meal. Grumbleshanks stared in dismay at the food maliciously knocked on the floor. Farewell sweet mead. Adieu sparkling juices. Poor, poor hams, so wonderfully honeyed and cured. His anger rose as he remembered the succulent flavors of each dish and the needless waste. Damn humans and their culture of waste. They even teach their pets their wanton attitudes.

He stared off and reminded himself, count to ten. One... two...

*****

Unable to contain himself he stood up. Curiosity wasn't the only thing that killed the cat: a hungry hobbit and a pointy stick finished it off much faster. Grumbleshanks grit his teeth and began chanting. In moments, all of the cooked greenery, stems, herbs, and veggies gathered together into several herbaceous tentacles. They snaked towards the cat and despite its feline agility, the ruthless tentacles entangled the impudent cat. with ruthless efficiency. Meanwhile, Grumbleshanks walked over to his gear, picked up his spear, sighted on the cat, and let loose.

Attack Roll(1d20)+4:
20,+4
Total:24

Critical Hit Roll (1d20)+4:
18,+4
Total:22

Damage RollRoll(1d6)+0:
(6,+0) x 3
Total:18

The halfling's anger propelled the spear with fierce velocity and deadly precision. The spear entered between its eyes and straight down its back. The angle was such that the spear shoved the cat's spine right out its rearend like a spaghetti out of a press, and effectively replaced it. Grumbleshanks, feeling better, calmly walked over to the shishkabob while chanting. A magical fire erupted upon the table, curiously contained. He picked up the feline on a stick and began roasting it while the others stared wide-eyed in disbelief.

Upon finishing the claws (The pads are my favorite), he patted his belly and asked "Anyone have dog?"

*****

... eight... nine... ten. Replaying the fantasy in his mind, he felt much better.

Grumbleshanks took a deep breath, sighed he didn't have the guts to gut the cat (that human is rather and large). When he opened his eye he saw the cat jump out the window, the fair elf maiden beckon to the other elf, the other elf with the sword drawn?, and the gnome finishing his meal and inspecting the building.

Perception: 13+8=21

Under the table, he noticed a leg of roast chicken sandwiched between a baked yam and a vine of grapes. Crawling under, he stuffed his face and glared at the cat prancing about the room. Wait til you meet Squiggles you mangy muffin.

Crawling out, he offered the half of the chicken leg he hadn't been able to finish to the half-elf and asked his name, his profession, his reason for being here, and his favorite way to cook a cat. "Have you met any of the ratty folk? I suppose I'm here as an exterminator for hire. We," indicating the gnome and himself, "could use some brawn like yours against those furballs. Do you know anything about our generous host? Or that tightwire of a human? Also, we're looking for a man clad in dark leathers. You wouldn't happen to know anything about him, would you?"