| Most of this section is written from an in-character stand point, but I think I'm going to step out of character for a moment. Every once in awhile, I get an email from rules lawyers who insist that "Well, you see here on page 24, paragraph 5, subsection 2.1a it clearly states that with these modifications, my character can easily leap from this twig to balance precariously on the dragon's nose without him noticing. Now, from there I do 290D10 points of damage with my Battleaxe +20 vs. Dragon Snout, etc. etc. etc." You know what? You rules lawyers need to relax. All of the rules which are presented in any game system are completely (dare I say it!) arbitrary. They were created by some guy who just decided that, hey, a gobin should have about 8 hit points. And this guy nodded sagely over his pizza slice and wrote down this information simply to make things consistant within the system. You know what else? Since these rules are arbitrary, they can be ignored! (Shock and alarm!) If I want a kobold to be the biggest, baddest kick-ass monster in my campaign, then I can. In fact, personally, I would encourage you to throw out the rules every once in awhile. If your players know what's going to happen every single time they run across a monster which looks vaguley like a kobold, then there is never anything new and exciting for them. It all becomes rote. Besides, the mechanics of the game do not matter so much as the development of your character and the fun. That's right! It's supposed to be fun! So, if you need to bend or break a rule somewhere to make things a little more reasonable for your players, then do it! Hyperactivity and the Adventurer, July 30, 1999 One of my more, ummmm, exuberant guests prompted me to go to the local tavern and request that Ilia please stop serving black bean tea in the afternoon. One gentleman came in here with little else on his mind than death and destruction, and was quite outspoken about it. I found he had to be removed. You know, hyperactive adventurers are just a menace to themselves and everyone else. The last thing our realm needs is a giant hummingbird with a sword and an attitude problem. Sitting on the Throne, November 21, 1998 Whatever you do, if you happen to run across a throne in some old ruins, don't sit in it. Never in all of my adventuring have I run across an abandoned throne that wasn't either A) A worthless piece of furniture or B) A hideous, nasty, magical trap. I have a friend who sat on an abandoned throne once. He's now quite insane, living in the forests of the Dales as the Great and Omnipotent Ruler of the Gerbil People. I have another friend who lost the ability to cast half of his spells . . permanently. Worse, the loss powered a trap which fried most of the party farther down the hall. Again, just don't sit on the throne. On Long, Drawn-Out, Epic Elven Prose, October 21, 1998 We elves have some of the most horrifically long epics. We have several hundred years to write and read them, so we forget that other races might find them a tad, ummmmm, lengthy. Even I have to admit that they get out of hand. I draw the line at passages which go something like this: "And lo! That night before the party set out to slay the Horrible Unbeing, the great elf lord Ilvarius did make lentil soup for his men, for it was good. And lo! These were the ingredients that the great elf lord did use, for they were plentiful and healthy, making elves strong and alert: lentils, carrots, etc." Okay guys, I can sum up the story in 5 sentences: A big nasty thing pissed them off. They chased it. They caught it. They killed it. They went home. The End.
Playing Hide and Seek With Dwarves,
October 1, 1998
On the Drow,
August 19, 1998
On Good Fences,
July 23, 1998
On Healing as a Torture Device,
July 12, 1998
On Priests of Illmater,
June 29, 1998
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