It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Percival de Rolo, a human gunslinger . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, Vox Machina made the relatively grim journey back to the mountainside, finding it now brimming with volcanic rock and volcanic activity that previously lay dormant. Upon climbing the side of the mountain, you found remnants of the Pyrah tribe still alive and making their way up the mountain, as damaged as they are, in hopes of sealing this now progressively swelling tear between the prime Material Plane and the Elemental Plane of Fire.
DM: Failure. (gunshot) You see his fingers are pried off as one of his pinky fingers is actually blown off from the impact, shooting dark, deep crimson blood that seems to burn the landscape around as it drips, the trident tumbling to the ground and getting lodged in a piece of rock, almost ready to spill into part of the lava.
Player: And that does seven points of damage.
DM: Seven points of damage, all righty.
Player: Third shot's going to be a sharpshooter shot.
DM: All righty. So minus five to the attack.
Player: That's probably going to miss. 14.
DM: 14, unfortunately, misses.
Player: All right. That misses. I'm going to take a run behind and hide behind that rock outcropping.
DM: There? Okay. Got it. Scanlan, you're up.
