Performance Reviews Part 3
The Dungeon: #14
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You Have No Power Here!
When it comes to tabletop wizards, the ability (or inability) to cast fireball is more or less the demarcation between a real wizard and someone who just thinks a robe is everyday wear. When you create a level 1 wizard, it its usually with the excited anticipation of the day you reach level 5 and unlock the ability to conjure liquid magma and lob it like a yolked shot putter.
It’s interesting how completely fireball cornered the market on ‘essential and awesome offensive spells.’ All the elements are in play in D&D. You can throw lightning and manufacture thunder (from your hands; doing it from your… other places doesn’t impart damage, alas), shape rock, command the wind, go Mr. Freeze on ‘em. And yet, everybody wants to burn the world.
I guess deep down, every neophyte wizard has a secret arsonist living inside of them. It makes one wonder—are certain players drawn to play wizards because they like to set things on fire? Or is fireball seductive like the Dark Side, burning away their morality from the inside out? Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and all that.
I don’t play wizards because they are mechanically complex and even in pretend elf games, I am inherently lazy. I prefer something straightforward like a dwarven warrior or a human conman. Something I don’t need to consult the rules for. See: lazy.
We recently started up a new campaign with our 2-3 times a year crew. I elected to play wizard for the first time in literal decades because, frankly, we needed someone who knew the difference between Fireball and Fire Bolt without looking it up. But because I can be contrarian for no good reason, I created a pacifist hippie wizard who smokes dope and wants everyone to chill out, man. He casts non-damage causing magic and is basically the personification of the guy from the Freedom Rock commercials.
I’m not suggesting I’ve created a new wizard archetype—we’ll leave that to the historians to sort out—just that I get the most enjoyment out of being creative in D&D. A fireball solves problems only one way. And it sometimes creates other problems—there’s a reason it’s called friendly fire, and not friendly nap or friendly slippery floor. The latter two aren’t even problems; they’re opportunities.
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