Robes are stupid. My sorcerer dresses like Petyr Baelish.
To expand: if you are a mage, dress like a noble. Do not dress like a wizard. Pointy conical hat and sky-blue robes is medieval semaphore for “kill first and with extreme prejudice.” Tailored black silk over cloth-of-gold and studded with rubies says “Harmless, but valuable; ransom if possible or kill last.”
If you dress like a noble, they’re not going to pay attention as you take a turn or two to back away from the melee and prepare yourself. The ruse is only broken when you reveal yourself, at which point 8d6 fire damage is screaming toward them at Mach Fuck anyway, so no big.
counterpoint: if you don’t get to dress like someone ran a magical thrift shop through a rototiller and frankensteined the pieces back together what’s the god-damned point of being a wizard
The sartorial differences between wizards and sorcerers are on display, I think.
That makes perfect sense, really, since sorcerers don’t generally get a choice about gaining spellcasting abilities and might not want to advertise them 24/7 whereas wizards put a lot of effort into becoming wizards and didn’t spend years in Wizard Grad School just to be low-key about it.
If the player rolled low, they know that they’re probably not going to get anything useful, and wouldn’t trust anything you give them. But what if there were things you could tell the low-rolling player, other than something that’s obviously false?
Pick something from the following list, or roll randomly, as you see fit. And if you think of another option, use that one too. Shake things up a bit.
1. by accident, completely accurate 2. not relevant to question at hand; inaccurate 3. not relevant to question at hand; accurate 4. right emotion, but aimed at the wrong target 5. wrong emotion, but aimed at the right target 6. as far from the truth as possible while being plausible 7. hard to read; no information gained 8. good intentions towards the PCs 9. hostility towards the PCs 10. roll twice, and present both as possibilities
Notes:
1. Even a broken clock is right twice a day, after all.
2 and 3. For example, “You’re not sure if the warlord is lying when she says she’ll let you leave alive, but you’re pretty sure she desperately needs to go to the bathroom.”
4 and 5. If the priest is contemptuous of the scholar, these would give “The priest is contemptuous of the guard” or “The priest is afraid of the scholar.”
6. The key here is for it to be plausible; that’ll keep the players from rejecting it out of hand.
7. Use this if you don’t have the mental energy to come up with anything else, or if you need to move the game along quickly, or if the player just barely failed the Insight check and you don’t want to punish that.
8 and 9. These are regardless of whether it’s accurate or not. On a higher (but still not making the DC) roll, the player might not know whether they failed or succeeded, and this is the kind of information that could come from a successful Insight check.
10. If you enjoyed coming up with obviously false readings, here’s your chance to still indulge in those; give the player THREE options, of which two are plausible, and one is ridiculously fake. (”You think the prince has just had a nice meal so he’s in a good mood, or maybe he likes you guys, or maybe he’s an alien shapeshifter who hasn’t yet figured out how to work facial expressions other than ‘happy’.”)
“Just let people play whatever character classes they want!” is a fine sentiment, but some people take it so far as to talk like being concerned about party composition is strictly opposed to good roleplaying. Do y’all think bad party comp is something that wouldn’t be obvious from an in-character perspective? Like, have you never been involved in a group project, taken a look at the personalities and skill-sets involved, and gone “well, we’re doomed”?
More inadvisable magic items for your D&D campaign (healing edition):
A staff of resurrection that has seemingly unlimited charges, but will only reverse any given cause of death for a particular person once. The staff’s wielder has intuitive knowledge of whether a hypothetical demise would be sufficiently novel to qualify for reversal, and can advise her companions accordingly.
Healing potions that take the form of sugary baked goods. They’re affordable and effective, and their enchantment keeps them just as fresh as if they’d been baked that very day. Unfortunately, their supernaturally delicious aroma cannot be blocked by any barrier, serving as a constant torment to any party that carries them.
An automaton that can repair any injury, but must remove the affected
limb – or what remains of it – for cleaning and servicing, a process
that takes 1d6 hours. The patient is magically sustained throughout and
suffers no ill effects other than being deprived of the use of the limb.
Asking it to repair a head or torso wound is not recommended.
An un-sword that, when correctly wielded, can un-wound a target, restoring health and bodily integrity – although no conventional character class is proficient in the un-sword, and so most attempts to make use of it fail. It can also be difficult to locate if misplaced, being an object that can only be described in terms of what it isn’t.
A charm that removes curses and diseases by manifesting them as
unusually large frogs, which must be fought and killed in order to
effect the cure. The common cold produces an angry toad about the size
of a sofa cushion; the death-curse of an ancient lich would yield a very
big frog indeed.
The Mariner’s Skull: an old, bleached skull that long ago belonged to a sailor. Once per short rest, it will tell you a cool fact about boats.
The Helm of Verax: an ancient silver helmet from a time long past. Upon attuning to this item, the wearer immediately gains Truesight and advantage on all insight checks. However, you also cannot lie, or hide from any creatures in a 30-ft radius while the helmet is worn.
A Bottle of Mud: a small glass jar full of mud. Gives off a very faint, very strange magical aura.
The Lover’s Ring: a thin silver band with a shining ruby rose. Upon donning this item, you instantly cause everyone within a 10-ft radius to fall in love with you, granting advantage on all charisma and persuasion checks against those individuals. Watch out, though—if jealous lovers decide to take a swipe at you, they have advantage on all attacks. Love can hurt.
Wilderness Survival for Dummies: from the writers of the famous series comes another installation in cross-class collaboration! Once per day, any non-ranger can use this book to cast the 1st level spell, Goodberry.
The Boots of Swift Descent: a pair of plain leather boots that doubles the speed of any downwards movement.
The Blacksmith’s Assistant: a little bronze automaton in the shape of a crab, five inches wide. Can be used to fetch very small things like screws, bolts, coins, etc.
The Jaded Necklace: a necklace made of precious green stone. Upon wearing this item, you instantly gain 1 point of exhaustion. However, you also now cannot be charmed, frightened, stunned, or attacked in a surprise round—nothing seems to faze you, anymore.
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