Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Really, It Isn't My Fault When You Get Right Down to It.



The first Ogre I ever killed was called Smorgoth the Destroyer and he was a named non-player character that ran a dive in the bad section of town. He was seven feet tall, wore a boar's tusk in his left ear for an earring, and liked to insult all of the low level players that had come into his bar since there was no way we should be able to harm him. 

I had come in to the game late and was nursing a Sam Adams while the Dungeon Master did his best to insult each of us at the table. From what I could tell he had spent most of the week trying to come up with clever insults that used bastardized versions of our characters' names. Nothing too insulting was really being said as his goal was to establish a semi-adversarial relationship with us that would develop into something more substantial over time. Most everyone exchanged a little barb with him as their turn came up, and then he got to me. "And you call yourself a fighter, Nancy?"

I leapt over the bar and gouged the big bastard's right eye out to the dismay of both my Dungeon Master and fellow players. "Are you crazy," the Dungeon Master practically whispered in disbelief. "That Ogre's a seventh level challenge rating."

I replied by shoving my dagger into his other eye and being flung across the room for my troubles. The other players started to join me but I waved them off. 

"He charges you," the Dungeon Master said.

How? Did he suddenly grow a new set of eyes?

"Um," he said as he groped for an answer that wouldn't easily come, "Well, he's charging towards where he threw you."

I tumbled out of his reach and made my way around him, easily avoiding his wild swings, and taking my time slicing up the flailing bastard. It took me four rounds to finally drop the son of a bitch and another to cut off his head while everyone looked at me with these silly grins on their faces.

"Why did you," the Dungeon Master began and trailed off as he shook his head.

I like killing Ogres; it pleases me.

15 comments:

  1. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Of course, a Troll on the door and a no weapons policy would have saved that ill-fated ogre. It's his children I feel sorry for.

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    Replies
    1. If I had my way his whole line would have been hunted down to the man - but no! We had to go kill a dragon and rescue a princess that turned out to be a succubus.

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  2. Take advantage of the weaknesses of the opponent, act quickly and unpredictably, use your speed to counter his size, and most importantly ... entrusted to the Lady Luck!

    But you know the satisfaction when all go well?

    Who knows how long in that tavern will speak of you and then by the time your bravado will continue to acquire more details and exaggeration by creating an aura of invincibility around your character! ;)

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    Replies
    1. I like to imagine that they forgot about me the next day when the purple worm riding death knight came to town. ;)

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  3. Replies
    1. Thank you sir! It was a lot of fun to play.

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  4. He probably had a family... kids.. a loving 'wife'... maybe even a dog, who was faithfully waiting for him to return home... you bastard.

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    Replies
    1. If the DM has been a real bastard (i.e. - me), he would have had you arrested and tried for murdering an upstanding, tax paying business owner in the city.

      :)

      There must be justice!

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    2. Oh they tried, I just killed them too. ;P

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  5. You spared the world a gang of half-ogre bastards.

    --Dither

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    Replies
    1. Which is why I was playing lawful good! :P

      Nah, I'm just fucking with you. I don't play lawful good.

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    2. As a child, I couldn't imagine a woman who would find Buford Tannen (a la Back to the Future 3) appealing -- let alone marry him -- to establish a line of descendants to harass the McFlys for the next exty generations.

      Ah, the innocence of youth...

      --Dither

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  6. It is never your fault when you kill an NPC who exists solely to belittle the player characters.

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