It's not up to you

Before you could decide your next course of action, the rogue starts rooting through her bag again, muttering under her breathe,

"Stupid goat... wasting my potions, I'll show it."

You've been through a tortuous life, one that had destroyed all hope in you, and steeled you against all the world could offer. Or so you thought.
There was something real annoying about being blamed for her stupidity.

Your annoyance would have to wait though, as she produced a puke green vial, that while corked, still managed to smell foul.

It was time to take advantage of you new agility and the move speed that came with it. You turned around and... trotted off.

It was kind of anti-climactic. You were pumping your legs as hard as you could and all it yielded was an incredibly light jog. Well, it kind of makes sense, five times one isn't too great of a yield, but to you, who had but a single point in movement speed for all your abhorrent existence, it was nothing short of exhilarating.

Your elation was about to be cut short though, as a pained grunt behind you signaled the rogue was winding up, unused to any athleticism apparently. At your speed, even if it was boosted, it was painfully apparent you weren't going to get away.

Your mind began to race, there had to be a way out of this. You just gained a level, got a skill and after all of that you were just going to up and– Of course.

Charge The word flashed across your mind. It took affect instantly. You dashed forward, increasing in speed rapidly, you heard a sharp crack behind you followed by a caustic hiss, but you weren't stopping and–no wait, you pretty much just stopped. Your skill only had a three second duration.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw a pool of puke green liquid, it seemed like an impossible amount for what was in the vial, but heroes have lots of stuff like that. Above the pool rose a nasty green cloud. A shift in wind sent some of cloud over to a nearby sheep, grazing, stupidly unaware of its surroundings. In less than a second the sheep had turned into pile of goo. It would've been comical if it wasn't so terrifying.

Looking past the pool you could see the rogue stomping about, pulling at her hair, and swearing up a storm. It was clear your best chance required that you lure her into the farm house. Though you've never been inside thanks to it's doorknob and your lack of hands. It was still your best chance and with this rogue's temperament you had a plan.

You quickly bleated out a cocky tune while giving a saucy shake of you rear, taunting the rogue. Her rage filled scream told you it had worked, and lucky for you your skills only penalties were its reliance on your pitiful stats and it's requirements of space, neither were a problem at the moment, so you spammed it all the way to the farm house, and on the door, it gave way surprisingly easily when you rushed it, splintering on the first try.

While you've never seen the inside before, you had far more pressing matters to distract you. With a quick look over you shoulder you saw the rogue approaching, very slowly. You might have even been able to out run her without using your skill. That wasn't a normal slow walk speed though, she had heavy, deliberate steps. She was over-encumbered. From what you could recall that only happened when you over stuffed your inventory. While there were infinite slots there was a weight limit to every bag, the solution was simply more bags, or bigger bags, sometimes both, but she only had the one and it was tiny.

This gave you time to explore the house and plan, but not much, even at her speed she wasn't far.