Where Do I Stand?

So everyone knows about the Line of Death, right?

No, I’m not talking about any geo-political boundaries or any of that nonsense. I mean that line that you do not, not even if there are a bazillion Mids charging up behind you, go past in the party. That line that the one person in your group who knows where they’re going declares at the entrance of the dungeon, “Okay, NOBODY GO PAST ME!”

But you just know you’re going to go past it at some point. You might blame it on a misunderstanding, or your cat jumping on your keyboard, or demonic possession, or even repressed anger at all those lines in four square that seemed to conspire against you to make YOUR square smaller than everyone else’s through some geometry trick… 

And once you’ve crossed that line, you know the only thing left to do is to draw every single monster in the dungeon down upon the heads of your party and then blame the entire thing on lag.

Yeah, that would be the Line of Death. You might call it something else. But in my guild, that’s what we call it. Well, no, we call it “The Line You Never Ever EVER Let Kwip (Or Pessum – ESPECIALLY Pessum) Go Near!”

I really don’t know what the danger is. I mean, look, let’s be honest here: I’m just as likely to draw a thousand screaming ogres at us from the back of the party as I am from the front of the party. In fact, I’m liable to have things breaking down walls or jumping out of holes just to attack us. Or even spawning in such ridiculous places as my back pocket. All eager for the chance to smear me (and anyone around me) on their boots. So what difference does it make where I’m at? Personally, at least if I’m in the front I can see what’s coming. And look at it this way: not only will I spot what’s coming from in front of us, but when I turn around and run screaming back to the rest of the party, I’ll see what’s behind us, too! It’s like two birds with one stone! And another thing: the person in the back is supposed to be acting as some sort of “Rear Guard.” Aside from the crude jokes that immediately leap to mind, let’s talk about how effective I just might be at this.

For starters, my reaction time. While we all know that my reaction time is somewhere roughly between that of a garden slug and moss, I’d say that even the slowest of us can react when a ten-foot behemoth of a ogre is heading for the party. The problem is how we “react.” Some of you with really quick reflexes might shout a warning. Some of you really REALLY quick goombahs might actually shout a warning and get off a spell or two.

But this is me we’re talking about.

Considering that I do any complex action with roughly the same grace as say, an epileptic hippopotamus, we can probably assume that I’m going to cast the wrong spell. That means that not only is a monster ogre heading for the party, but now it’s heading for the party with theurg buffs, thanks to my stupidity. That’s if I actually manage to get off a spell, mind you. Normally, I’ll be busy trying to scream in a oh-so-funny Three Stooges tribute.

I think the most productive use of my many talents is to send me screaming into a dungeon ahead of you. Oh, I won’t kill a single critter or land a debuff or do anything remotely productive. But hopefully my pitiful shrieking and screaming for my mother will accomplish one thing: it’ll throw the monsters into such a state of confusion that even the largest party can make it in mostly unnoticed.

Just be careful where you step. I tend to die in really messy ways.

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