I have a question and an illustrative example.
QUESTION: What was your worst ever magical blunder?
ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLE: Originally posted with an accompanying comic. Here be my tale. Ahem:
So no shit there we were down in the dungeon. It was early days in the megadungeon known as Dragon’s Delve, and the party was only sitting on 3 HD worth of hit points. So naturally, when they ran into their first truly frightening incorporeal opponent, shit got real in a hurry.
“Did you say ‘drain?’ Are you sure you don’t mean ‘ability damage?'”
“What do you mean it takes a five foot step into the floor? This is bullshit!”
“How many more magic arrows do we have left?”
That last question was especially relevant. As every good Pathfinder knows, incorporeal critters are immune to nonmagical weapons. And when you’re only level 3, you’re lucky if you’ve got a glowing butter knife.
Happily, this was a well-prepared party. The bladebound magus and his sentient scimitar were chipping away. The alchemist’s bombs were getting in there too. The bard had a handful of +1 arrows, and between some lucky shots and the standard inspire courage, she was doing work. Constitution scores were getting dangerously low however, and Mr. Wraith was just one lucky roll from delivering the campaign’s first permadeath.
“Relax,” says our oracle. “I’ve got this.”
They were three or four rounds into the fight, so the wraith was also near death. And when you’re a Dark Tapestry oracle specialized in delivering bad touches, nearly-dead opponents are your bread and butter.
“Inflict light wounds!” she shouts. “That’s a 19 to hit! Come on big money… Max damage!”
The rest of the party looks on in horror. Yours truly sits behind the GM screen, head in hands. And if you’re somehow not familiar with the inflict light wounds spell, then suffice it to say that the only important line for this little anecdote is the last one: “Since undead are powered by negative energy, this spell cures such a creature… rather than harming it.”
When realization finally set in, it was hard to know whether the anguished cries of, “I’m sorry!” came from the player or her oracle. In the cold recesses of my evil GM heart, I like to think it was a little bit of both.
Rest of the party debates whether to pull the lever. My gnome wizard uses mage hand and decides the issue with it. A zombie appears and rushs towards us. I regret nothing.