Post/Author/DateTime	Post
#1 zombiegleemax Oct 24, 2003 20:26:02	I’ll never forget my first D&D experience. It took place over the summer of 2002, when four of my friends and I decided to give the game a chance. Two of my friends decided they would be co-DMs, so that they could each play their own characters while they ran the games. In retrospect, this was not a particularly good idea, but it didn’t turn out as badly as it could have. At least, it wasn’t as bad as Mike. Mike was a budding power-gamer. Though he wasn’t particularly good at it, nor was he very innovative, he made up for that with persistence. As the summer went on, his abilities blossomed, and caused us comical levels of grief. Though he made the error of putting the lowest stat of his impressive array into constitution, and then never took efforts to bring his constitution higher than 10, he was able to ignore his ranger’s relative lack of hit points by calling into question the intentions of the DMs. He brought to light the fact that his character got attacked more often than theirs (something that I never noticed, personally). Since he persisted with the argument for three hours, they ultimately made him a peace offering by allowing him to be a third co-DM. That was when the abuse really started. Whenever Mike ran an adventure, the NPCs we encountered always seemed to have known Mike’s character for a long time. I recall one session with one of the other DMs when Mike asked if he could have a griffon for a mount. They said it would be hard and that he would have to quest for it. The next adventure, however, Mike was running the game, and his adventure happened to involve a griffon rancher who was an old comrade of his character, and Mike walked away from that adventure with a free griffon. Mike later picked up Leadership. Since, at this point, he had done a thorough job of reading up on the most powerful prestige classes in the books, he decided he would like a contemplative for a cohort. When it came around to be his turn to run an adventure, our party conveniently encountered a 10th level cleric who had just had an encounter with her deity and was willing to adventure with Mike. These were the kinds of implausible things that always happened when Mike ran the game. We’d try to argue with him, but he was so persistent at it. Our sessions would last seven hours simply because our arguments would take up three. I remember telling my non-roleplaying brother about the arguments, and he asked me in response, “Why do you play these games? You’re obviously not having fun.” I laughed, because he was somewhat right. However, I was enjoying my paladin too much to let any of the rules abuses get in the way of my fun. As the summer went on, I read about other interesting things I could do with my character, and I was really intrigued by my options. Unfortunately, as the summer went on, Mike did not read the rules very well, but still argued with the passion and dedication of the most erudite rules lawyers. The first notable rules abuse involved metamagic. He had a wizard use an empowered maximized fireball against the party. Since empowering a spell brings up the slot two levels, and since maximizing brings it up three levels, he rationalized that the wizard would need to use one fifth level spell slot and one sixth level slot, instead of a seventh level slot which he wasn’t high enough level to have anyway. That was not as good as his speed weapon argument. He put us up against a character with haste v.3.0, as well as a speed weapon. Now, the extra attack from a speed weapon was not supposed to stack with an extra attack from haste. However, based on the specific wording of speed weapons in the DMG, Mike argued that if you used the extra partial action from haste for something other than an attack, the speed weapon attack would still be applicable. I really have to give him credit for this one because it was a very compelling argument. The all-time greatest argument, one that spanned weeks, was the lycanthropy argument. Having exhausted all the core books and supplementary books, Mike turned to the monster manual for extra power abilities. At the very end of the book, he decided he would like to become a lycanthrope. After all, what blatant power-gamer wouldn’t want all the free stat boosts and natural armor that comes with it? At the time, the DMs told him repeatedly that if he wanted to be a lycanthrope, he would need to take a level adjustment, or else he’d have a completely unbalanced character. However, he insisted that this was completely unfair, that the rules on becoming a lycanthrope were clear, and that he was entitled to become one. This was the final straw. The other DMs kicked him out of the group, and he packed up his things and left. Since he was a friend of all of ours, and since I didn’t want him to feel sore about the evening, the other player and I walked him to the door for some parting words. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he left. He was not sad, and he was not angry. He was smiling. I’m still not sure why he was smiling. I like to think that even though he disagreed with us, he was able to not take things as personally as the rest of us did. In a way, that campaign was the worst gaming experience I have ever had. However, I’m not bitter about it, because I’ll always remember Mike’s smiling face, and that will always remind me that it’s just a game. Yes, Mike was a terrible player, and yes, I hope to never play with him again. Still, I’ll always recall his rules abuses in somewhat of a positive light. Because of that, to me, Mike truly is a legend among power-gamers.
#2 zombiegleemax Oct 30, 2003 21:56:45	Yeah, but that doesn't hold a candle to the Rod of Chaining - Disintegrate combo. Hmm... how many formians died in one round?
#3 zombiegleemax Oct 30, 2003 22:03:19	Yeah, but that doesn't hold a candle compared to the Rod of Chaining - Disintegrate combo... how many formians died in one round?