The desperate helplessness in that man’s voice during that call never fails to make me laugh.

It’s been several years since I read it, so I’m fuzzy on the exact characterizations, but the notion the author seems to lean into is that most bassists are (as you say) nerds who aren’t interested in the spotlight, but they provide a fundamental bridge between melody and rhythm that enhances the other performers without necessarily standing out on its own. Meanwhile, the “drummer” character in this book is less Ringo Star and much more Jon Bonham or Neil Peart. He’s got, if not an active desire, at least no aversion to the spotlight.

Of course exceptions to every stereotype exist, and there’s a very valid argument to be made that a rock drummer ought to be the archetypical support class, but the division of stereotypes made sense to me while reading.

Oooo! Reading recommendation for you, if you’re not aware of the title: Kings of the Wyld by Nicholas Eames. The author said that he envisioned the various roles musicians tend to take in a band, and he mapped those stereotypes onto an adventuring party. So, the hot-headed character wielding an enchanted axe is the lead guitarist, the sword and board tank is a bassist, the rogue dual-wielding daggers is a drummer, the mage is a keyboard/synth player, and so on. The conceit is moreso for flavor and world-building than actual plot motivation, so these analogies aren’t necessarily explicit, but it’s still a fun set of character dynamics to hang an adventure story on.

You would take this frozen juice concentrate, mix this with copious amounts of whiskey, and then set it in the freezer. Because of the high alcohol content, it would not freeze like regular liquid. This was in anticipation of a family get-together around the 4th of July. Without judicious monitoring, the adult men would drink all of the punch before it was ready to be served.

Clear as mud?

If anyone is wondering why picking up nuts would be a feat of endurance, chestnut husks are quite unpleasant to handle.

Idk man, could be I’m just projecting on you conversations I’ve had with myself, but fondly remembering the sense of discovery you had with the Infinity Engine games while being sour on BG3 because it was “spoiled” for you seems like it has a lot more to do with your sense of nostalgia than any rational critique. Don’t get me wrong, I’m the sorta person who will break out my soapbox to yell about Morrowind’s virtues vs Oblivion or Skyrim, and I’ve also attempted to cajole several friends into giving BG1 a shot in the lead up to and wake of BG3’s release, so I’m sympathetic to your broader point. I just think, unless you’ve been out here reading reviews, watching Let’s Plays, opening discussion threads, and sucking down all in-house marketing Larian did, you vastly overestimate how much of the game is spoiled for you. And, frankly, if you’ve been doing all of those things, then the real culprit is how you spend your time online, not being online in and of itself.

Besides, the game is massive. Even watching multiple Let’s Plays of Act 1 would still leave room for discovery, simply because there are so many paths to pursue, many of them mutually exclusive. Hell, my big critique of the game is that I find the plethora of choices to be overwhelming, as I’m the sort that likes to consume all content in a single playthrough, and that’s literally impossible.

Are you really so arrogant as to believe that perception of socio-economic class is exclusively an American consideration when it comes to dating?

…expand on that?

There’s practically no chance this knowledge will ever benefit me, but I’m happy to learn something new regardless. Thanks for sharing!

That’s a wild take. Quibble over exact war contributions scores all you like, but to say the US didn’t have an impact in Europe is blatantly false.

Another suggestion for an in-universe way to tip the scales in your players’ favor would be to invent circumstances where your players’ “quick thinking” (read as: heavily signposted narrative elements) could lead to their enemies fighting with some form of disadvantage, without necessarily requiring a good roll.

As an example, say the party have found the bad guys’ base in an industrial area of town. They’re at the Moston Molasses Market, and it’s an unseasonably warm day in the middle of winter (I don’t know, let’s call it January 15th or equivalent). When the players arrive, they immediately notice that there are these enormous liquid storage silos lining the courtyard, where several mooks are milling. Additionally, without rolling because it’s obvious, one tank is literally bursting at the seams, with these long, dark brown streaks oozing out of the rivet joints. Maybe they need to make a skill check to determine this for sure, but it’s a reasonable assumption that striking that tank will cause it to burst. Given the size of the object and the foregone conclusion that this thing is gonna burst at some point with or without getting whacked, I would not ask the players for an attack roll if they chose to utilize my signposting. Instead, auto-success, the tank bursts, a wave of molasses escapes, and now the baddies that aren’t engulfed in a semi-solid wave of sticky goop at a minimum find themselves fighting in difficult terrain.

Obviously, that’s a hyper specific example born out of reading a certain Wikipedia article earlier today, but I hope it illustrates my point. As the architect of the world, the only limit is your creativity when it comes to what challenges your party face. Maybe, before their terrible stealth roll reveals them to the trio of trolls hunting them in the woods, the party overheard two of the trolls discussing how their companion isn’t allowed to cook their meals anymore, cause they’ve both got indigestion. Uh-oh, party gets found, but two of the three enemies have a level of exhaustion (or whatever other nerf you want to slap on that simulates having bubble guts) and their heart isn’t really in this fight, so they’ll bail at the first sign of resistance. Or, if a player is attentive to your narration, they might describe how their character aims a blow right in the belly of the troll that mentioned their stomach issues. If it hits (and, honestly, if it were me, I’d grant auto-success for the player’s listening skills), the troll’s eyes go wide, and he flees on his next turn. Depending on the tone of your story, more scatological narration may be included in that action.

In short, if you’re concerned the experience of your players prevents you from just tweaking numbers from behind the screen, all you have to do is bend the world to justify your tweaks. Hell, you don’t even have to have this ready to go ahead of time. Maybe you planned to have a super easy encounter with a couple of feral wolves on the way to the next village. Nothing challenging, just a reminder that the players are in with wilderness. But, uh-oh, the dice are turning Lassie and friends into Hellhounds with a taste for PC spleen. Rather than letting the campaign end with a whimper, as the heroes of Wherever wind up as puppy chow on a random stretch of dirt track, all of a sudden, the animals cease their attack and perk up their ears. In the distance, between their ragged breaths and the sound of their heartbeat pulsing in their ears, the party hear a howl. The wolves respond in kind and melt into the woods. Maybe with a roll, maybe without, your call, the players realize that the direction of the first howl just so happened to be exactly in the direction of the village they were travelling to. DUN DUN DUNNNNN!

From the your perspective, it was a random encounter gone sideways due to poor luck, and you had to invent a deus ex machina on the fly to prevent an anti-climax. However, from the player’s perspective, you have seeded a new narrative hook without relying on dry exposition, and it’s one that they might have some personal investment in. You’re under no obligation to dissuade them of the error in their assumption. Heck, in spit-balling what could have caused the situation, they may even give you ideas for how you’re going to incorporate this new dynamic into whatever you originally had planned for them at the new village.

Idk if any of that is of any use to you, but I hope it at least gives you some ideas for levers you can pull which affect difficulty that are a little more nuanced then, “oh shit, uhhhh I guess this monster’s AC is going to be 12 for the rest of this fight”.

That flame effect looks great! What was your process for that? Wet blending?

Honestly makes sense. I work with a population that is often hard hard of hearing, and therefore they’ve got their speakerphones on full tilt. Sometimes, I’ll call and hear myself through their phone with a minor delay. The effect is not unlike having my brain temporarily scrambled.

Definite improvement! It has so much more dimension, not to mention character. Great job!

Oh buddy. You’re one of today’s (un)lucky 10,000.

Content warning: child abuse. This is Lisa, one of the most abhorrent, warped, and borderline psychotic examples of fundamentalist evangelism I’ve ever come across. All of Chick’s work is to greater or lesser degrees reprehensible, but at least when the subject matter is a gross misrepresentation of something like DnD, there is comedy to be mined. Not so, here.

Good eye, sniper! I suppose it’s possible the artist was just painting off the cuff, but your photo is a very compelling argument for their inspiration.

That’s a very pretty landscape!

I checked out their FAQ, and it seems like the HoMM3 version of the fheroes2 project (or maybe vice versa, I’m not sure which came first).

I noticed that one of the features of VCMI was a totally reworked AI. Do you have insight into how that feels vs base game AI? A minor concern I have about these sort of fan projects is that the contributors tend to be among the most passionate and knowledgeable fans of the base game around, and their tweaks are balanced around that level of game knowledge.

I agree. That’s why I felt compelled to write this post. The gameplay is far better than its wrapper makes it appear.