It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Caduceus Clay, a firbolg cleric . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, Nott puts one of the jewels in bed with him as they hear someone enter the room above, and they dive under the bed. The crewman above falls through the carpet-covered hole into the room with them, waking the sleeper, who stabs him.
DM: I mean, he's not dead, but for his level of life experience, he's taken a significant amount of damage and if left it will probably eventually get infected.
Player: Okay, I'm going to give him a level two Cure Wounds to get him going. That'd ought to heal him, right?
DM: Go for it and roll.
Player: All right, let's do a level two. Let's see what that looks like. That's 2d8. Don't know why I'm being so fuddy-duddy about this. Do I get a specialty-- no, it's only when I'm healing myself. Okay, 18.
DM: That's enough to bring him back. You concentrate on him, he winces and you watch as the wounds close up. There's no mark, no scarring. He looks at the wound and goes, "Mr. Clay, thank you very much."
Player: Okay, you're going to want to sit down. Take it easy for a while. I wouldn't get up for like a good half hour. Be very gentle on yourself. Why don't we get this man a drink?
DM: "I appreciate that. You're too kind, really." Zoen goes "See? No hard feelings, right?" and Waldock decks him across the chin. Zoen falls to the ground grabbing the side of his face.
Player: Why don't you get that man a drink?
DM: "I think I'm going to do that." He gets up. While that's happening, and that's happening, and that's happening.
