Posted on February 07, 2018
About a year ago, I introduced my three kids to tabletop RPGs. I play Herb Hairyfoot the Halfling Scholar (he’s actually a Shadowdancer, but we’re not supposed to know that). My youngest daughter is a Half-Elf male Ranger guide named Cleranger (he's is actually she, but we’re not supposed to know that, either). My oldest daughter is a punch first, ask questions later, Half-orc Fighter named NightPepper. And my son is a Summoner named Borazmuz who tends to run first, and ask questions later.
During one Sunday campaign we encountered a acid-jello-thing. My first action—hide and move to flank. Borazmuz high-tailed it right past where I was waiting. Partly on my Chaotic alignment impulse, and partly because I was tired of him running away, I asked if I could have an attack of opportunity on a party member. The DM allowed it.
So I tripped Borazmuz and down he went. Right in front of the blob… which promptly sat on him. Oops.
Now, I have to mention that Borazmuz is very paranoid, and had heard that there were beasties in this mine that could “melt your flesh with a single touch.” So before we’d entered the place, Herb had supplied him a piece of tarp with eye holes cut out. Borazmuz was wearing it like a halloween ghost costume. That tarp protected him long enough for NightPepper to bullrush the blob off our poor Summoner.
After the battle, I solemnly handed Borazmuz another tarp and said, “Next time watch where you’re running!”
A successful bluff roll later, and Borazmuz was apologizing for running Herb over and expressing his eternal gratitude for the tarp that saved his life.
After the session wrapped for the evening, my son turned to me and happily said, “Borazmuz thinks Herb is great, but that's only because he doesn't know what you and I know! Poor, poor Borazmuz.” His voice was so full of pity and despair that we all had to laugh. Real life doesn’t get much better than this.