Why PCs Shouldn't Summon Lackeys

Written for this thread.

Picture this:

You are sitting around the gaming table. Through the dim light you see Big Dean toss his d20 with one meaty hand, and growl, "My dwarf rolls a 19. I hit AC 27. Eat that goblin scum." Smoke flitters past the table fan as a puff of light shines from behind the DM screen.

Pages rustle as a raspy voice grates across your ears: "You hit. The goblin's eyes widen as the blade of your axe severs his head from his neck. The body crumples to the floor as the head rolls several feet, and the beady red eyes blink in amazement, then peer into oblivion." The DM coughs, and puts out his cigarette. He reaches out from behind the screen and places something on the battlemap.

It fills up a 3v3 area. That is huge! As his bony hand slowly creeps back, you hear a gasp from Christina. You turn your head to figure out what the commotion is, and your eyes are mesmerized by the miniature. It's a red dragon! It has fire coming out of it's mouth and little plastic grass that has even been scorched. Little bits of body parts have been strewn across the base, and you see blood. Blood everywhere.

All eyes turn to you as cast your gaze down to your crisp new character sheet. You preordered Heroes of the Forgotten Kingdoms, just so you could atone for your last three characters that have died. (Two of those times weren't your fault!) This time, yes this time, you will conquer. You will prevail. This must be overpowered, right? It's new afterall. WotC wouldn't sell new stuff that's suboptimal.

You will show Big Dean with the hairy arms that you too can read message boards and select optimum feats and items. You will show Christina that you too can roll high when the situation demands it, and when she sees the imaginary bloodied carcass on the ground, she will know that it was you that tipped the miniature over, and maybe she will draw a picture of your character in her notebook.

Finally, you will show the DM that his miniature, that he probably bought off of Ebay because he's a cheapskate, is worth less than the might of your newly printed character.

You turn the page with triumph, and as you slide your fingers down the page, you stop and read your saving grace, your redemption...

"Todd." The skeletal DM hand gestures toward the miniature. "It's your turn, dude. Go."

You look up. You see Big Dean, eating a chicken salad. You see Christina, dear Christina, who is texting (probably her boyfriend), and lastly you see the gleaming miniature, as the cigarette smoke caresses its ghastly claws.

You say, "I summon...I summon...a Spined Devil...Lackey."

Big Dean snorts, "A spined devil what?"

You deflate, "Lackey."

"Couldn't you cast something more, um...useful?"

"It is useful," you are getting pissed. You glance at Christina. Is that pity in her eyes?

The DM says, "Just let him cast it, My raid starts soon."

You place your puny miniature under the nose of the red dragon, you pick up your faded d20, and you think, "Please, please, please, let this be the time. My time. Let my lackey pwn this boss."

You roll, and the die spins, and everyone at the table leans in, and it finally stops on...

A 1. A freaking 1.

You stare in disbelief as you vaguely hear dice rolling from behind the screen, and it's as if you are underwater when the DM says, "The dragon eats your lackey. Christina, your turn."


...




That, my friends, is why Hexblades should not summon lackeys.

Not a Total Slacker

Just to show that I've been doing more things than I give myself credit for:

I've written two guides to League of Legends. If you are into that sort of thing, you can read those:

Zen Malzahar
Sun Tzu Teemo

I've also been writing random guides for Dungeons and Dragons. Things like:

Dwarf Pitfighter
Half-Elf Knight

etc...

I've been trolling random forums, stirring up the craziness in people, and periodically helping those in need of my mystical knowledge of the gaming arts.

I think that watching this video has got me thinking on how to be, if not proud of my pastimes, at least content in knowing that in the right place and time, they can be appreciated. Now the question remains, how do I get myself from where I am to where I want to be?

Well Hello!

It's been awhile since my last post (well, my second to last post). I think it's because at some point I ran out of things to say. I could have keep talking, but really, why blather on about nothing? My wife knows that I have difficulty speaking at times, and that can apply to creative endeavors as well.

They say that the only way to be good at this stuff (and by this stuff I mean the act of creation) is to keep doing it over and over again until something you make doesn't suck. (I'm paraphrasing.)

Hopefully I can find the balance between productivity and drivel, and not subject anyone (mostly myself) to thoughts and ideas that are better left unsaid.

Toddler Wisdom

Harmony (my two year old): "I love everybody!"
Justin (my four year old): "I love spoons!"
Harmony: "I love spoons, too!"
Me: "You love spoons?"
Harmony: "We love spoons today!"

How to Dissolve a Brain

My mind is pretty melty at the moment.

I mean, I spend every waking moment in the company of children, and by "children" I mean cute yet stupid little monkeys. Here are a few examples from Justin (4.5 years old) and Harmony (almost 2):

Justin: "Harmony, stop sticking your shoe in your butt."

Harmony: "Here's booger." (wipes it in my hand)

Justin: (while in the hot tub) "Dada, when I stick my penis in the bubbles it feels funny. Try it!"

Harmony: (fully nude except for sandals) "Ready to go!"

Everything I thought about in college is gone. Whenever I repeat "Eat at the table" or "Come here" or "Keep your hands to yourself" or "Look with your eyes, not with your hands" over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, I can feel my brain leaking out the edges: my skull is a glazed donut, and the filling is squishing through the cracks.

I keep thinking that when I talk with other adults that they can see my brain oozing out. I feel like rationalizing it to them, "Sorry, don't mind me, apparently you don't need that particular organ to survive. Who knew all of that grey matter was a waste of space? I thought for sure I'd have psychokinesis or telepathy by now, but instead I can barely remember what I did two days ago. See ya, I'm going to disintegrate further!"

A dormant part of me wonders if there is some evolutionary reason for children being so annoying, as if the repetition has developed over millions of years to kill the parent, one brain cell and heart attack at a time. I mean, these things I've spawned are going to replace me, by any means necessary.

Hell, at least while they're liquefying my consciousness they're cute too.

Made a New Song From Threads

Finally set up a home work station where I can make some music. Here is the first spider to emerge from the cobwebs:

thesixtyone

Or

myspace

Can I Come Out Now?

Since it's nearly June, and my nerves have kicked into full gear, I suppose it's time to write something. The stewpot has been simmering, and what were once ashes have rekindled into a roaring fire.

The little one is bigger, the big one is bigger, I've lost more hair. An almost two year old is hanging off her chair, with her sunglasses on and no pants, and she's saying over and over again, "Need flower, need flower, need flower," which I suppose is code for happiness in toddlerspeak.

I yell at her as she draws on the chair. She looks like she's about to cry, and as I turn my head, she draws on the chair again. I yell again, "Don't. Draw. On. The. Chair." She's got a pouting lower lip, and I'm the bad guy. I laugh at her. She points at me and says, "No!"

"You can't draw on the chair." I notice her paper is full of scribbles. "Do you need more paper?"

"Yes, please." I give her another sheet of paper, and everything is happy again. All it takes is a sheet of paper.