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We had a game Saturday night.
Not online, where our virtual selves engage in potty-mouthed exchanges on the Guild channel, but an actual dice-rolling pencil and paper affair.
It is no secret among those who have played games I've run in the past.
I hate animal companions.
When a new player showed me his character sheet I was surprised to see that he had paid for a horse, since I've grown accustomed to players not even bothering to waste the starting gold.
Out of game, I'm a cat person. In fact, one of the D&D veterans explained to one of the new people on Saturday that the only work-around they had found was to use a cat as an animal companion. While I would be annoyed, I would not actively work towards engineering the death of a feline animal companion.
You see, in games I tend to look at the players at the table and adjust the adversaries accordingly. Other than the real-life calico sprawled out in the center of the table batting at dice and trying to steal corn chips, I tend to forget about animal companions.
When a player sends his pet wolf to flank the goblin army, I try (poorly) to mask my surprise.
I also try (equally poorly) to give the little fellow a fighting chance.
The fact is, animal companions (more the players responsible for them) tend to roll really badly. That sounds like a cop out, but it is the truth.
History repeated itself when the party's fighter rode his well-trained (expensive) warhorse into the very first melee and botched not one but three ride checks in a row.
The horse did not survive.
There was a lengthy discussion of salvaging the armor, but no one else would buy what became known as "The Cursed Barding of the Spectral Charger".
To his credit, the party's druid managed to keep his leopard alive for the whole game.