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Status: Resident of Triskellian,
can often be found at Badger's Burrow
There is a reason why this character has so peculiar statistics. He is one of
the many unfortunte labourers of Triskellian, and currently he is completely
and utterly drunk. Muttering to himself most of the time, he doesn't disturb
the rest of the guests at the Badger's Burrow very much, although he
occasionally raises his hoarse voice, obviously attempting some unknown form
of communication. The bartender is one of the few who actually understands
the meaning of these consonantless utterings, and will accordingly bring Mewer
more ale when it happens.
Every night, it is always the same. The feline hates life, work and everything
even remotely connected with either of them. His only friend is the fluent
medium in which he can drown his hatred, losing himself deep in the merciful
Ale of Oblivion. You can either feel sorrow or contempt for this character,
but if you try to break his habits, he will probably turn violent on you; one
of the irrational consequences that the intoxicating drink has; when consumed
in such amounts, it destroys both the liver and the brain.
If anything out of the ordinary happens in the inn, and it doesn't disturb his
current view of the world, Mewer will probably participate in some loud,
swaying, directionless way, either if it's singing or a drinking contest. If
there is any hope of a brawl, he will heartily join in, ready to bring down
his Powerful Mug O'Ale on top of the head of any character that might
previously have engaged in such activities as breathing or perhaps being born.
Rendering this cat unconscious should be no problem even for the most
inexperienced pacifist.
Mewer lets out a troubled cough every now and then, and some guttural sounds
as he feels the dull pain of his bowels protesting against the cruel treatment
he is giving them. A doctor looking at him would probably shake his head and
mutter something about maximum one more year...
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