It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Keyleth, a half-elf druid . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, In the morning, while everyone else is taking breakfast, Pike checks the front door and finds about 20 skeletons waiting outside. She and Grog charge out to handle them.
DM: And the third strike hits you for four points of slashing and a third dark smite. Another 13 points of necrotic damage.
Player: That brings me exactly to zero.
DM: You drop your form.
Player: I drop form. Just form. I tanked that motherfucking fight, y'all.
DM: So at that point, all of a sudden your form drops in place.
Player: I'm still on the ceiling, right?
DM: Yes, you are. The war priest across the way is going to look outward and begin to focus and chant under his breath, and the little bit of light begins to show, once again, the missing eye on most of these individuals. Delilah is not missing an eye, it seems, but the rest of them seem to have this appearance amongst them. As it releases this form of energy, you watch as a familiar, darker-burning flame begins to spill across the ceiling as a Flame Strike makes its way-- not a Fire Storm, Flame Strike. Sorry, so it's a column.
