Limit Wrath of God number to 6. People with 9 or 12 of this miracle are wankers, simple as

Mokks wrote:WoG isn,t OP, its just really good. Its also the only thing that makes faith builds worth using. Limiting its effectiveness and making faith weapons as powerful as other weapons only takes away from the uniqueness of the build. Balancing games this way is a dumb idea. Good competitive games have a wide variety of mechanics available to players, all of which have different effects but are capable of dealing with one another. Experimenting with these different mechanics and using their unique effects to deal with other mechanics is what makes competitive games so interesting.

ps, watch out for the bannhammer.

You've just said WOG is the only thing that makes faith builds worth using (therefore nothing else is viable, which is in part true)

and then go on to say that this is actually a good thing because it's interesting? Hahaha, oh wow My word. So you think giving every other build option a selection of powerful scalable weapons but excluding Faith is good game design do you?

He knew the man only by reputation, to be sure ... but the reputation was fearsome. When he was no more than sixteen, Prince Oberyn had been found abed with the paramour of old Lord Yronwood, a huge man of fierce repute and short temper. A duel ensued, though in view of the prince’s youth and high birth, it was only to first blood. Both men took cuts, and honor was satisfied. Yet Prince Oberyn soon recovered, while Lord Yronwood’s wounds festered and killed him. Afterward men whispered that Oberyn had fought with a poisoned sword, and ever thereafter friends and foes alike called him the Red Viper.

That was many years ago, to be sure. The boy of sixteen was a man past forty now, and his legend had grown a deal darker. He had traveled in the Free Cities, learning the poisoner’s trade and perhaps arts darker still, if rumors could be believed. He had studied at the Citadel, going so far as to forge six links of a maester’s chain before he grew bored. He had soldiered in the Disputed Lands across the narrow sea, riding with the Second Sons for a time before forming his own company. His tourneys, his battles, his duels, his horses, his carnality ... it was said that he bedded men and women both, and had begotten bastard girls all over Dome. The sand snakes, men called his daughters.

“We are fond of spears in Dome. Besides, it is the only way to counter his reach. Have a look, Lord Imp, but see you do not touch.” The spear was turned ash eight feet long, the shaft smooth, thick, and heavy. The last two feet of that was steel: a slender leaf-shaped spearhead narrowing to a wicked spike. The edges looked sharp enough to shave with. When Oberyn spun the haft between the palms of his hand, they glistened black. Oil? Or poison? Tyrion decided that he would sooner not know.
[...]
My helm, Dagos.” Manwoody handed it to him; a high golden helm with a copper disk mounted on the brow, the sun of Dome. Prince Oberyn pulled on soft red leather gloves, and took up his spear again.
[...]
His round steel shield was brightly polished, and showed the sun-and-spear in red gold, yellow gold, white gold, and copper.