I found myself in a tavern, or more accurately a bar. A couple guys sat at the table with me, and we had character sheets, dice, and miniatures out and already in use. Normally, when a dream starts off like this, my dream self has literally appeared out of nowhere and has no clue what's going on or it's as though I'm just turning on a show in the middle, but my dream self has all the background knowledge that my real self does not. This time was different. I had clearly been playing D&D with the group. However, I could not remember the slightest bit of what was going on.
"What do you do?" the DM asked me.
"Uh, remind me where I am on the board?" he pointed it out. Another player and I had the enemy flanked.
"Oh man, if only I was playing a rogue," I lamented, assuming that I had gone with paladin.
"You are," one of the other players reminded me.
"Really? Which one?"
"What do you mean which one?"
"Well I need to know what sort of person I'm playing, and I've rolled up a couple of different rogues in the past," I explained, scrambling for my character sheet. The others exchanged looks. "Aha! Mistress Nadia! I was hoping it was the ex-dominatrix. I sneak attack the dog with my rapier."
Playing resumed, but the perspective shifted to show the imagined fight rather than the real life game play. The party had to run for it from a buff hairless fighter and a manic little halfling. A trap wall cut me off from the others. Fortunately, it also trapped the halfling, leaving me with just the big guy. He had not yet come around the corner, so I hid in a shallow alcove. When he reached me, I sneak attacked in the surprise round, then pounced on top of him, knocking him to the ground.
"I'm going to watch you bleed!" I screamed, plunging my dagger into his shoulder.
"Good luck with that," he replied through gritted teeth. My blade sank into him time after time, but the slashes in his flesh remained dry.
"What - what are you?" I gasped. He pushed me off of him, and I scrambled to regain my footing before he did.
"I'm undead. Surprise!" At that point, the party broke through the trap wall and surrounded the still prone undead.
"Cleric," I called, "Cut the lich's heart out." He obliged, using his holy weapon to end the still smiling creature's existence.
"He's not a lich!" one of my coplayer's objected.
"Yeah, but my character doesn't know the difference, and she doesn't care."
The dream devolved into a classic D&D technicalities debate.
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