The Adventurous McGurn

You rummage in your bag for your emergency vodka and, gingerly holding it out, you bow your head.

The bullywug tilts his head, tongue flicking out, and scuttles over.
It grasps the bottle with a burp and you step back, allowing it some space.

It sniffs the bottle and opens it, watching you with bulbous eyes. You remain still.
Assured you are not going to make a sneak attack, it drinks from the bottle.

This is a bottle of Ol' Mother Debbie's potent homebrewed vodka, capable of knocking a sailor off his feet from fifty paces.
The bullywug downs the entire bottle and then looks at you with glazed eyes.
Standing still, you wait.

During your previous adventures, you had read the works of famed cleric Twick of Verdusk and remembered that the strange physiology of the bullywug meant that they would slip into a coma after ingesting ale or alcohol.
Old Mother Debbie's potent homebrewed vodka gave the creature no chance and, flicking its tongue one last time at an errant fly, it topples to the ground.

You consider killing the stupid, fat, frog-faced idiot.

You have 2 choices:

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