He did stand out in terms of game stats. His abilities scores were embarrassingly high, his red dragon armor and magic shield propelled his armor class far into the twenties, his saving throws were incomparable among his peers and he carried a solid selection of magic items. His latest acquisition was a Holy Avenger: the penultimate offensive and defensive tool for any Paladin. Also, standing at a solid 105 hit points he was my first character to go above one hundred.

When it was time for the next adventure I filled out a brand new character sheet with his stats displayed in crisp and careful pencil strokes. I brimmed with confidence: I felt ready for anything. My DM said that he had a special challenge, his personal adaptation of an old classic module he had played before: the Tomb of Horrors.

The initial encounter involved a rope bridge over a ravine with flying monsters and NPC spellcasters and fighters. It proved threatening to the other heroes in our party, but Taron managed to weather it with barely a scratch to show for it, and those were easily healed by his ring of regenerations. He easily outmatched the best the enemy could throw at him. I played him with confidence, perhaps arrogance even. Not because I wanted to play him that way, but because I really felt that way.

Then we entered the infamous Tomb of Horrors, and encountered a dead end corridor with a green devil face with a deep black hole in its mouth plus some vague hints that our destination might warrant a leap into its mouth. The rest of the party was scared of some trap, but not Taron. Boldly he announced he would risk the leap and went in, Holy Avenger leading.

When you reach the middle levels in Dungeon & Dragons, death becomes more of an inconvenience and minor setback rather than the end of the story. Many ways to bring back dead heroes to life are available at that point. Not so with the Sphere of Annihilation. It was really, really permanent.

I felt shell-shocked. The impossible had happened. The perfect Paladin was gone, never to return. I never played a full Paladin again after that. He two brothers remained character sheets collecting dust and no one remembers their names.

However, to this day, I still remember that moment fondly. By his actions Taron had cemented himself into the memories of other heroes. This encounter defined his character, prideful, fearless, overconfident and unlucky. This is how I will always remember him. His annihilation defined him more than any other event.

Gulia the wizard I remember as being reincarnated into a Boggle and using her greasy and slippery body to escape from the Hill Giants that tried to catch and grapple her time and again. Phantom’s career was shaped by reading a Vacuous Grimoire than nuked his mental capacity and made him leave his profession as Illusionist and instead gain levels in Fighter and Rogue. Nexa’s character was cemented by being false accused of theft by Martin, the party’s Paladin on account of his detect evil ability (she was Lawful Evil, but loyal), which turned into a feud that finally ended when he used a Wish spell he found to make her forget him.

I wonder if this is true of real life as well. I see some evidence that having a good and easy life doesn’t really build character. The easy life tends to turn people into bland, self-centered and often boorish people. Just a collection of stats and backstories really. But our struggles in life, even though difficult and perhaps impossible, they teach us who we really are and can become. They give us color, they are part of our story more so than those easy years.

Also, I’m thinking of bringing Taron back as a Oathbreaker Paladin / Warlock in 5th edition as the stipulation that nothing can be brought back from destruction by a Sphere of Annihilation has been removed from the rules. The idea being that a pact with a dark otherworldly being has allowed him to return. However, perhaps his memory is better left as is.