The winds of winter were howling outside the tavern, down the Kingsroad and across frozen fields. Winter was certainly coming, as the barkeep kept reminding every patron stumbling through the door on their escape from the harsh weather.

Three men sat on a table in the corner, near the large fireplace, brooding over stacked rule books. The table was scattered with dice and sheets of paper, between mugs of ale.

"Winter can come," one of them declared and put his pencil down. "I gave my cleric Flame Blade and Resurrection. Freezing to death my ass." He leaned over to peek at his friend's sheet. "The fuck, man? You seriously roll a thief? Why?" he asked once he could see what was written on it.

His friend looked up and adjusted his eye patch. "What?" He shrugged. "Clerics have shit APR, one of us has to have reasonable DPS."

The first man sighed. "With a fucking thief? You won't live long enough to do much damage. Your armor class will be a total joke."

Again, his friend shrugged. "I have my backstab multiplier, Poison Weapon and stealth. I don't need armor."

Now the third man looked up from the rule book he was reading. "Thoros has a point," he said. "The campaign will have a ton of undead enemies. They're immune to backstab and poison."

Thoros laughed triumphantly. "So much for your thief, Beric."

Beric grumbled and regarded his sheet for a moment. "I thought you said that's where the campaign ends. We still have to fight living enemies before that." He looked to Thoros. "And clerics with their shit APR don't help us through that."

Thoros furrowed his brows. "You'll be glad I picked Resurrection when you're dead after being waylaid by bandits."

Beric shook his head. "Not if I do the waylaying. We'll swim in loot."

Thoros rolled his eyes. "Seriously? You want to play a thief to waylay low level mobs? What about the bosses? We'll be royally fucked once everything is immune to your skills."

Beric dropped his pencil and huffed. "What do you suggest I play then, priest? Don't say monk, it's not going to happen!"

"If I may?" the third man spoke up again. Beric and Thoros both shrugged; who were they to dismiss the Dungeon Master that took the time to write the campaign. "Paladin. Can't waylay bandits, but you have the DPS and decent armor class from the start, and later get some divine magic. You can probably pick Lay Hands before you get to the undead."

Thoros nodded in agreement, but Beric didn't seem convinced. "Lay Hands sucks," he said. "Thoros already has Resurrection. Why would I even need some shitty minor heal if my armor class is so good?"

Thoros grabbed a book and flipped through it, then found the page he was looking for. "Here's a list of deities Paladins can pick. There's probably one with a better spell." Beric pulled the book closer and studied the page for a while. The Dungeon Master exchanged a brief glance with Thoros and gave him a quick nod, then buried his face in his own book again. Beric now seemed more amused by the Paladin idea than annoyed by the suggestion.

"You know what?" he said, still chuckling. "I'll be a Paladin of R'hllor. And take Flame Blade, too. Because fuck you."

3 weeks (and 6 sessions) later

The Dungeon Master sighed and reached for his ale. He drank, sighed again and eyed the dice on the table. "Thoros of Myr's Resurrection succeeds, Beric Dondarrion is alive. Again."

Beric quietly laughed into his ale, Thoros shot him a mildly annoyed glance from the side. "How many times have you brought me back now?" Beric asked, still amused.

"Five," Thoros sighed, then corrected himself. "No, six, with this one."

The DM put down his mug. "Seriously, what's wrong with you? I'm getting tired of rephrasing your devil may care kamikaze attacks into 'glorious deaths in honorable battle'. I told you that you can help the commoners, but without waylaying bandits!"

Beric leaned back and nodded. "Okay, okay, I stop. But Thoros really doesn't help much in battles. It's not my fault he's playing support even though we don't have a tank. I can do the damage or protect the healer, but not both at once!"

The Dungeon Master slowly nodded and looked over to the door. "I thought the same thing," he said. "I met a guy who is interested in playing. He was supposed to be here an hour ago, to play the last enemy who killed you. Guess his horse froze or something."

Thoros looked at him, a bit puzzled. "That enemy was supposed to be a tank?"

The Dungeon Master shrugged. "Not really, but he's a fighter with good armor class and weapon mastery in Long Sword. Still better than nothing, and I couldn't talk him into playing a straight up tank."

Beric groaned. "Oh, great. Some rando can play whatever he wants, but I can't be a thief!"

The Dungeon Master's acquaintance, Sandor, had finally arrived and was filling out his character sheet while the others took a break to order another round. "I respec a little," Sandor said. "I was told the campaign has a big boss fight beyond the wall. If I'm to tank a bit for you cunts, I need better cold resistance."

Beric leaned over to see what Sandor was writing. "Why the hell did you pick Premonition as talent? That doesn't work in combat."

Sandor shrugged and kept writing. "I'm a roleplayer, you cunt. It's for my back story."

Throros put down the tray with their mugs and sat back down. "Nothing wrong with that," he said. "I could only afford Resurrection by taking the Alcoholic flaw to balance it. Really enhances my back story."

Beric rolled his eye. "I had a great back story for my thief. But no, I have to be a Paladin. Had to re-write that completely." He took the mug Thoros handed him and raised it. "To still not having met any undead enemies!"