Metagaming
We’re a sick lot, our gaming group, and a merry one. I knew last’s night’s game would offer several good examples when, before the game even started, I walked in B. saying “–thought I said ‘hot buttered nymphs.’”
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Huron the Gnome: (Hands Anja the Warrior a good, stiff drink.) Here—drink this. You’ll feel better.
DM: Make a constitution check.
S. the Player: Did you say “prostitution check?”
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S. the Player: I’m just drinking my tea. I didn’t say anything about high-velocity protein.
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Medrin the Wizard: For every in you need an out.
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E. the Player: What’s your INT?
Me: Twelve.
M. the Player: I always thought you were kinda dim.
Me: (Checking Michael’s character sheet ) Hey, your INT’s a twelve.
E. the Player: He’s a half-orc. That makes him a f*ckin’ genius. You’re an elf.
(Later, we returned to the same topic)
Me: Did you say she thinks like a stone?
Anja the Warrior: I’m just as smart as you are, cupcake!
***
DM: The DM is trying to move the plot along so we can get to the killing things part. Work with the DM!
I’m afraid that I must report that it was an uphill battle for the DM last night.
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