Last Sunday, our party faced devastation. All but two of us were wiped out—cleanly, brutally, with the kind of finality that leaves the table silent for a breath or two. It was the sort of moment that could have stalled momentum, but instead it opened a door. With so many characters gone, we were handed something rare in a long-running campaign: a chance to begin again.
A reset. A rebirth.
And maybe, the freedom to finally play something we’ve been too hesitant to try.
For me, that means stepping away from my wild magic sorcerer—brilliant, chaotic, and absolutely allergic to meaningful social interaction—and venturing into territory that feels both exciting and uncomfortable: a Circle of Wildfire druid.
This new character is, in many ways, the opposite of what I usually play. Where the sorcerer bristled at companionship, this druid actually likes people. She interacts. She engages. She… pounces. Literally. Her wild shape is a large cat, and she has taken it upon herself to leap out at party members without warning because she thinks it’s funny.
And honestly, stepping into someone playful, warm, and socially present is the biggest challenge I’ve taken on in D&D so far.
Role-playing has never come naturally to me. Speaking openly, expressing emotion, leaning into character voice—these things feel foreign. But this druid is my way of easing into that world. She lets me experiment with being “nice,” with choosing connection over distance, with letting myself be seen a little more around the table.
And if I can do all that while pretending to be an overgrown, chaos-gremlin cat who tackles her friends for fun, that feels like a pretty good place to start.