So there we were, hot on the trail of a chaos cult. It was a vaguely 40K themed Pathfinder game, so there were certain unsavory elements at play. Suffice it to say that the cult’s front was a house of pleasure. After our valiant heroes resisted the advances of the bordello’s chaos-tainted tarts, we decided to head into the seedy establishment’s sub-basement in search of its rumored demonic mastermind.

We ended the session there. Our GM’s parents were coming to visit, so we assumed that the game was off for a week.

“Nope,” said he. “Game on! Also, my dad is going to be a guest player.”

I’m not sure I’d want my parental unit to guest star in a Slaanesh-fueled romp through a house of ill repute, but that wasn’t my call to make. We met daddy dearest’s kobold rogue the next week. She was loitering in the whore house kitchens, and sort of glommed onto the party in the way that drug-addled kobold rogues will do. Being a long-time player, Dad-kobold (we’ll call her Dadold) took up her natural place at the front of the party. Of course she found the trap. Of course she failed her save. And of course it was a waves of ecstasy spell.

“You’re basically in a state of constant orgasm for the next 10 rounds,” says the GM to his own father. Imagine the coo of a pigeon, but higher-pitched and more sensual. This is the sound we were treated to for the next 60 seconds. I had no idea female kobolds were capable of such utterances. The memory will haunt me to my grave.

All of the above was just the first room. As we grew to know Dadold, we learned that she was a strangely literal creature.

“Better luck on the next trap,” we said. “Just keep checking for ’em.”

“OK,” she said.

My dude noticed her jump over a step and keep walking. Happily, I succeeded at my Sense Motive check.

“Dadold? Was that step trapped?”

“No,” she said. “It was very trapped.”

“Were you going to tell us?”

“You told me to check for traps. Not to tell you about them.”

We enjoyed several other interactions of this kind in the next several chambers. The door was not locked. Dadold picked it anyway because we’d told her to open all locks. There were monsters moving about beyond. How was Dadold to know that she was supposed to warn us about them?

“Look,” I said. “If we want to get out of this alive, we all need to work together. Just make sure and tell us if you spot any danger.”

We arrived at the boss chamber. It was a horrible tentacle monster, because of course it was. Dadold rolls high on her initiative.

“Look!” she cried. “A dangerous monster demon thing! Pass turn.”

My blood pressure managed to survive the evening, and Dadold retired from the campaign and flew back across the country. There were many lessons to be learned from that night around the gaming table, but I think the most important was this: If you’re obliged to deal with a literal sort of PC, make sure that you phrase instructions clearly. Sarcasm is lost on certain creatures, most especially trolls.

Question of the day: Have you ever dealt with griefing at the gaming table? Was it all in good fun? Was it frustrating? Is there a way to tell the difference? Let’s hear it in the comments!

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