I'm A Banana
Potassium-Rich
I have to have a DM gloating moment.
You are a player IMC. You have irked an Evil Empire in a drive to get a member of your party on a throne that they control. "Return of the King" style, you have spread the rumor of the return of the ancient lineage. The Empire is technologically advanced. You have fled out of their lands, into the wilderness to avoid their clerics. The Empire is nearly a theocracy, with a diversity of clerics worshipping a diversity of evil gods. Their clerics are *everywhere*, and they are control freaks.
But you have fled them, for now. You've jumped over their wall, and you have run into wild lands, inhabited by giants and savages that the empire hadn't been able to control. You find a town run by an ogre mage who doesn't instantly want to kill you. In fact, he offers hospitality -- he hates the empire, and the enemy of his enemy his is friend. You go to the tavern in town, drinking with some of the more-civil of the giant folk, in their big tavern room, well-lit and warm in the winter, fire sparkling in the windows. You pull up a stool. Your bard goes to perform. You lean back in your chair, warm and content. Smiling, nearly sleepy, facing the stage.
The DM asks you for a Fortitude save. Of course, you happen to be the party's spellcaster. The DM describes your failure:
"As you set your immense mug of gigas ale down on the table, smiling at the dulcet tones of the bard on stage, you smile to yourself, letting the alcohol warm you. Then, the back of your head explodes. Blood spatters the floor as your body goes limp, and fragments of skull, glistening with what was once inside your head, rain on those sitting around you. Painlessly, you sink to the ground.
Others hear the screams, feel the hot blood, as they see your face crumple with the force of impact, and watch as bone and innards fly out your front with the force of the blow. Looking around the room, they see the window, shattered without a sound, laying in sparkling fragments on the ground."
They rush outside -- seeing nothing. They look around: no tracks in the snow, only a thin trace of gunpowder on the other side of the window, dusting black the snow. Your party member has been shot. By an assassin. Under a Silence spell.
Note to all Rat Bastard DM's: Cleric/Assassins. Trickery + Travel domains.
That is bad enough. Combine it with a few of my house rules: firearms. Hide + MS as one skill. Metamagic feats that are 3/dy uses (Silent Spell!).
I've got another scenario in my head using Ghost Sound to lead them down blind alleys, and being shot from behind again. It's a good thing they're 10th level and can get their paws on some Resurrection magic. But they're gonna HATE me....so much....![Devious :] :]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png)
You are a player IMC. You have irked an Evil Empire in a drive to get a member of your party on a throne that they control. "Return of the King" style, you have spread the rumor of the return of the ancient lineage. The Empire is technologically advanced. You have fled out of their lands, into the wilderness to avoid their clerics. The Empire is nearly a theocracy, with a diversity of clerics worshipping a diversity of evil gods. Their clerics are *everywhere*, and they are control freaks.
But you have fled them, for now. You've jumped over their wall, and you have run into wild lands, inhabited by giants and savages that the empire hadn't been able to control. You find a town run by an ogre mage who doesn't instantly want to kill you. In fact, he offers hospitality -- he hates the empire, and the enemy of his enemy his is friend. You go to the tavern in town, drinking with some of the more-civil of the giant folk, in their big tavern room, well-lit and warm in the winter, fire sparkling in the windows. You pull up a stool. Your bard goes to perform. You lean back in your chair, warm and content. Smiling, nearly sleepy, facing the stage.
The DM asks you for a Fortitude save. Of course, you happen to be the party's spellcaster. The DM describes your failure:
"As you set your immense mug of gigas ale down on the table, smiling at the dulcet tones of the bard on stage, you smile to yourself, letting the alcohol warm you. Then, the back of your head explodes. Blood spatters the floor as your body goes limp, and fragments of skull, glistening with what was once inside your head, rain on those sitting around you. Painlessly, you sink to the ground.
Others hear the screams, feel the hot blood, as they see your face crumple with the force of impact, and watch as bone and innards fly out your front with the force of the blow. Looking around the room, they see the window, shattered without a sound, laying in sparkling fragments on the ground."
They rush outside -- seeing nothing. They look around: no tracks in the snow, only a thin trace of gunpowder on the other side of the window, dusting black the snow. Your party member has been shot. By an assassin. Under a Silence spell.
Note to all Rat Bastard DM's: Cleric/Assassins. Trickery + Travel domains.
That is bad enough. Combine it with a few of my house rules: firearms. Hide + MS as one skill. Metamagic feats that are 3/dy uses (Silent Spell!).
I've got another scenario in my head using Ghost Sound to lead them down blind alleys, and being shot from behind again. It's a good thing they're 10th level and can get their paws on some Resurrection magic. But they're gonna HATE me....so much....
![Devious :] :]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png)