My favorite thing about Dungeons & Dragons is how fucking quickly people become ride-or-die bitches with each other
no lie i had a campaign where I tried playing a really chaotic neutral “leave me alone” rouge and ended up attached at the hip to our monk who couldn’t roll higher than a natural 10 to literally save his life bc in our first encounter he called my character “a nice lass” and that was all it took
Once made a tinker type halfling and realized that it was actually a really terrible idea since 1) nobody else in the party was mechanical and 2) there weren’t really any weapons that depended on my character’s skills to use. So he was basically a tiny little short dude who was really good at fixing watches, making and throwing alchemist fires and creating warmachines (if he had the time). We also used a homebrew point system where if you crippled your character you could get more points to spend on other things - so poor little Halfling tinkerer had two leg braces, moved at half the speed of everyone else, had an addiction to smoking/chewing tobacco/alcohol and didn’t have the eyesight to use long range weapons/rifles.
He was useless in the current team comp of Elf Sorcerer/Wizard, Human Fighter and Dwarf Cleric of sorts.
Until someone joined and rolled a Warforged. They were inseparable, to the point where I put points in ride and got the DM to give us a little custom harness/saddle so my character could hitch a ride. The Warforged wanted to discover why it was created and what it meant to exist; the Halfling wanted to create something close to the deathstar.
Imagine this - you’re a shitty villain waiting for the heroes to arrive. You know three of them are generic elf/human/dwarf combo with magic, and the fourth is a shitty little halfling, when suddenly a Warforged comes charging through the goddamn wall (John Cena style) with a Halfling riding him like Mother Fucking Mad Max Master Blaster. The Warforged is a monk throwing Str 20+ punches with the fury of his machine god behind his fists while his tiny crippled buddy, who repairs him in exchange for a ride/protection, is suspended in a child’s carrying harness throwing alchemist fire with one hand and shooting off a revolver with the other.
Death comes for you, and it’s in a baby carrier on 7′ of fist.
