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Message: <blockquote data-quote="rgoodbb" data-source="post: 7474938" data-attributes="member: 6801229">When I first played D&D a long time ago, it was one of the boxes, either the red, blue, purple or black box. I don’t remember. (OK, there was no purple…..or was there….) It was not important to me. It was more important to my older brother and his buddies. I remember words like basic, expert and advanced and they meant something to others but not me. I joined very late to a campaign in a game I knew nothing about and as such, I was of course, given the fighter: BERENICE RINEHEART. I believe that was the spelling. I was the schmuck who would take the damage so that everyone else could actually play the game. I didn’t mind as I was now part of something bigger and cooler. I was playing D&D! With older people what’s more! [ATTACH]100069[/ATTACH] This was like my Mild Cheddar, my Lambrusco, and my Ford Fiesta. (Ps. I don’t really remember a white D20 but I had a blue d10 and my d6 was yellow but hey, whatever man.)  We had the warhammer lead minis from Games Workshop but they were used more for marching order. One of my brother’s buddies was the group’s mapper. I so wanted to be mapper because it looked so cool. The mapper almost had an element of Brie about him. More than just Red Leicester, less though, than a full blown Camembert. A Vauxhall Cavalier if you would. Another of the group was the Cleric. The all-rounder, the off tank at the back. This was the one that always failed to get recognised, subsumed in the background, and as such fell into the grouping of the Double Gloucester, the Astra or the Shiraz.  The one who really inspired me of course was the DM. The only one who could dramatically set the scene. The one who had the power and the answers to the entire D&D universe and everything beyond. They were the Stilton, the Port, the Rolls Royce.  This was not some cheese slice to float on top of a burger, this was not some jalopy reminiscent from a bygone era. Nor was this some cheap Chianti that was a single gene away from vinegar. This was…it. The DM. I was in awe.  The Wizard although Stilton-esk, still had some daggers to throw by the end of a battle, The Thief, desperately searching for those Grenache shadows to backstab in, was limited, the Cleric was the reliable one, giving a bit of everything to the game like a dependable Mature Cheddar or Shiraz, but also instantly forgotten.  …And then there was me. BERENICE RINEHEART. The Fighter, the Mild Cheddar, the Escort, The…..Table Wine. The PC that made all of their P.C.’s more. I may have initially been a sour taste in their mouths, but what I provided for each of them, what I enhanced, was their individualism. Their spice of life. I made their classes better, like an aerator, like a cracker, like a fuel injection.  Anyway, the times and editions have moved further on and have expanded out to sub-cheeses and different blends. The fighter used to do a job that freed everyone else to do theirs. These days the classes that make other classes better, can be more…..gifted. The Bard, and the Wizard do this exceptionally well, I feel. Other classes and subclasses are proficient in this also. The game seems more…..cooperative, more inclusive and sociable, and…well…nicer.  I don’t really know where I was going with this, except to use cheese, cars, and wines (three subjects I know so little about that I have to combine them) as my muses. I just think the game is better off now because of its fantastic and varied history. It occasionally requires a level of reinvention like cranberry infused x-mas brie or wine with a splash of lemonade or something to please the newest crowds. It is a living (aerating) breathing animal that must strive to survive, and there are so many ways to play the beautiful game, that it still amazes me that not everyone in the universe partakes.</blockquote>

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