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I was playing a barbarian once who noticed that the gargoyle statues arranged around the room were real gargoyles who were just waiting to get the drop on the party. He went up to one and murmured in its ear that if it was really clever it would just keep on pretending to be a statue.
When the inevitable ambush was sprung not only did that one stay where it was, the one next to it that had made its perception check well enough to overhear also stayed still. They survived.
It’s moments like that which really make D&D.
That barbarian was one of my favourites. Xarg was a big brute of a lizard-man who believed that by eating the heart of his slain foes he could gain their strength. So he only wanted to fight foes that were strong enough to be “worth it.” The party contained some fairly bloodthirsty murder-hoboish tendencies and he wound up being the voice of restraint much of the time. He would give the “unworthy” pep talks about how they should go and become stronger in hopes that someday they’d be worth killing and then send them on their way.
He had also multiclassed into wizard, because as he would explain: “I ate a wizard once.” Strength in magic was a kind of strength like any other, after all. The fun bit was that he didn’t just eat that wizard’s heart, he got a headband of intellect from him as well, making him the smartest member of the party. He decorated the headband with teeth and leather from the creatures he’d slain and wore it like a collar.
His biggest goal in life was to eat the heart of a dragon. When he eventually got to fight one he used a potion of enlargement and then grappled it, pinning it to the ground and dragging it over to the rest of the party so they could hit it more easily. I told the DM that Xarg was pressing his ear to the dragon’s chest while doing that, listening to the dragon’s heartbeat and salivating. The dragon got rather freaked out at that point, things were not going the way it had expected.