TarionzCousin
Second Most Angelic Devil Ever
Yesterday, a fellow player in a 4E game asked the DM "What kind of roll would I need to make for my level 9 rogue to jump down and land on that flying (hostile) Wyvern?" If he missed, he would plummet 200 feet into boiling lava.* The DM consulted his DMG. The other players all speculated on the likelihood of the rogue's imminent death. The rogue player really wanted to do it, and we all agreed it would be spectacular if he succeeded. We had no ability to fly and another wyvern, complete with hostile rider, was currently harassing us with flyby attacks.
Ultimately, the DM decided the Difficulty Check and it was determined that the player would need to roll a 13 on a d20 to succeed. He seemed skeptical. He hemmed and hawed.
I pulled out my wallet.
"Who is going to contribute to the 'Rogue Epic Leap Fund'?" I asked. All of the players chipped in with hearty words of encouragement. I slammed the money down on the map on the table. Succeed or fail, that $5.35 was going to be his if only he made the attempt.
"I'll do it!" the Rogue's player yelled. He grabbed his brand-new birthday present, a one-foot diameter green foam die and tossed it across the room. It rebounded against the door, then richocheted against the side of the loveseat. The dog jumped up and scurried away. Everyone stood up to see. The big die rolled and bounced until it settled... on "12."
"Aagh," the player bent over backwards in agony. "So close!" Then he quickly grabbed his character sheet, looking for one more plus. No luck. The room fell silent. All eyes turned to the DM. He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully--cruelly? We wondered.
"It's 4E," the DM said. "Make a save to see if you grab hold of anything. Difficulty Check 15."
The player kissed his big green die, then rolled again.
"A 19!" he shouted, raising a fist triumphantly into the air.
"You're clinging to the tail, just above the stinger," the DM announced. We all cheered.
"Whew," the rogue's player wiped his brow and grabbed his cash. He collapsed onto the loveseat. His character hadn’t died. We all smiled and agreed that we had just witnessed something special.
The rogue spent the entire combat encounter trying to climb onto that wyvern's back. Eventually, he failed his skill check to gain control and ended up killing it, pining for his lost flying mount.
But for a moment--the heartbeat of a rogue suspended in the air--anything was possible.
I love D&D.
Ultimately, the DM decided the Difficulty Check and it was determined that the player would need to roll a 13 on a d20 to succeed. He seemed skeptical. He hemmed and hawed.
I pulled out my wallet.
"Who is going to contribute to the 'Rogue Epic Leap Fund'?" I asked. All of the players chipped in with hearty words of encouragement. I slammed the money down on the map on the table. Succeed or fail, that $5.35 was going to be his if only he made the attempt.
"I'll do it!" the Rogue's player yelled. He grabbed his brand-new birthday present, a one-foot diameter green foam die and tossed it across the room. It rebounded against the door, then richocheted against the side of the loveseat. The dog jumped up and scurried away. Everyone stood up to see. The big die rolled and bounced until it settled... on "12."
"Aagh," the player bent over backwards in agony. "So close!" Then he quickly grabbed his character sheet, looking for one more plus. No luck. The room fell silent. All eyes turned to the DM. He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully--cruelly? We wondered.
"It's 4E," the DM said. "Make a save to see if you grab hold of anything. Difficulty Check 15."
The player kissed his big green die, then rolled again.
"A 19!" he shouted, raising a fist triumphantly into the air.
"You're clinging to the tail, just above the stinger," the DM announced. We all cheered.
"Whew," the rogue's player wiped his brow and grabbed his cash. He collapsed onto the loveseat. His character hadn’t died. We all smiled and agreed that we had just witnessed something special.
The rogue spent the entire combat encounter trying to climb onto that wyvern's back. Eventually, he failed his skill check to gain control and ended up killing it, pining for his lost flying mount.
But for a moment--the heartbeat of a rogue suspended in the air--anything was possible.
I love D&D.
