Tabletop Memories

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#1
At MAGFest just last weekend, I played my first tabletop RPG ever in my life--Dungeons and Dragons 5e, Adventurer's League rules. To say that it was memorable would be an understatement; as such, I figured we could share our triumphs, tragedies, nat 20s, crit fails, and other such things here. The highlights of my first game:

My character was a half-elf rogue, urchin background. Also, 11 years old. I figured a character like him would be naturally good at using the whole "poor adorable orphan" thing to manipulate adults, so I gave him high Charisma and made persuasion one of his skills. Halfway through the game, I made a boss (who had just made mincemeat out of our tank) back down by "puppy dog eyes"-ing him. Cute is a powerful thing...

Anyone else want to share?
 
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#2
Awesome! You've taken your first step into a larger world. ;-)

My most memorable early experience was from the AD&D days. I had a ninja(rogue) whose wakizashi had been enchanted to smite the big bad of our campaign. I made the necessary move silently, hide, run, and jump checks to vault from cover onto her caravan; quoted Master Splinter from the TMNT movie before he drops Shredder into the garbage truck; and then rolled a 1 to attack.
 

Dav Slinker

Oh, and hey, by the way
Joined
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Up from the 36 chambers
#3
I love tabletop RPGs. I've met some of the best, longest friends of my life sitting at the game table.

At MAGFest just last weekend, I played my first tabletop RPG ever in my life--Dungeons and Dragons 5e, Adventurer's Guild rules. To say that it was memorable would be an understatement; as such, I figured we could share our triumphs, tragedies, nat 20s, crit fails, and other such things here. The highlights of my first game:

My character was a half-elf rogue, urchin background. Also, 11 years old. I figured a character like him would be naturally good at using the whole "poor adorable orphan" thing to manipulate adults, so I gave him high Charisma and made persuasion one of his skills. Halfway through the game, I made a boss (who had just made mincemeat out of our tank) back down by "puppy dog eyes"-ing him. Cute is a powerful thing...

Anyone else want to share?
Oh, man. Did you stab him once his back was turned? Straight shot to the kidneys.


Awesome! You've taken your first step into a larger world. ;-)

My most memorable early experience was from the AD&D days. I had a ninja(rogue) whose wakizashi had been enchanted to smite the big bad of our campaign. I made the necessary move silently, hide, run, and jump checks to vault from cover onto her caravan; quoted Master Splinter from the TMNT movie before he drops Shredder into the garbage truck; and then rolled a 1 to attack.
I'm picturing something like the crack suicide squad from Life of Brian. It fills me with joy.

Myself, I've definitely had some fun around the table. There are a couple stories I've posted on r/gametales, lemme dig those up.

Spoilered for length.

Korvis, the Idiotic sorcerer, and the virtue of caution

I had the pleasure, years ago, of playing D&D with a group of mostly good people. And there was also Korvis.

Korvis wasn't poorly designed. He had a selection of standard spells, some utility and some damage ones. He wasn't especially poorly written. He had a raven familiar and wore a hood with raven-feathers on it. Hell, that's just good branding. No, the main problem with Korvis was that he was as dumb as a sack of hammers dunked in a pot of boiling soup.

In the beginning of the campaign, he was a complete prick. He would never choose diplomacy, and constantly threaten NPCs. Not very smart for a level 1 sorcerer. Not a great idea to talk shit when you have 4HP and a party who's not supporting your actions. I can recall on TWO separate occasions when he used colour spray on an enemy who was in close combat with the party's fighter. The fighter was an agility-based dual wielder, so obviously he didn't have a lot of constitution. The first time it happened, it was a gamble, and an honest mistake. The second time, he was having tussle with several wights.

That was when the party remembered that undead are immune to mind-affecting spells.

After they managed to cobble together the fighter's various squishy bits into a rough semblance of order (resulting in a lot of empty potion bottles and an exhausted cleric), the party decided that Korvis was no longer allowed to use Colour spray at any point during the game. Korvis plead that he had a limited spell selection as a sorcerer and that was his only non-lethal option to date. The party was largely unsympathetic. So Korvis went full-lethal.

In retrospect, this is maybe where things really started to go bad. Ever have a stupid magic user with no non-lethal spells? It ain't pretty.

Korvis was a gambler. He shot through friendlies, noncombatants, rolled fireballs through flammable structures, and generally ran around the battlefield hooting and slapping his ass between acid and lightning bolts. He single-handedly lampooned several diplomatic discussions by filling his hand prematurely and “intimidating†the opposing diplomat by just maiming him a little. In his defense, it was hilarious the first couple of times. But he never crossed the line of seriously damaging a party member again. And the only other arcane caster was an entirely pacifistic wizard. He was a pain in the ass, but he was the heaviest puncher in the group, so the group dealt with it. Besides, they were making good progress in the campaign, so spirits were high.

It was when Korvis died the first time that we transitioned from being a prick to being a living legend.

The party had been trying to locate a certain person of interest for their employer ('employer' in this instance meaning the deranged evil wizard named Nicodemus who had bound them to his will and magically tattooed them to monitor them and inflict pain) for some time. The target is a legendary assassin. The party decides to split up for the day and gather some information – no combat, no aggression, just ask some questions. They were around level 4 or so right now, so even the squishiest of them should be able to run from a gang of thugs. The party was an odd number, so Korvis volunteered to be the group of one. Now, at this point, Korvis looked pretty scary. He had more raven feathers all over his outfit, and various trinkets and totems of a vaguely intimidating magical nature. He didn't look like the first target of a mugging. So the group agreed he would probably be fine alone.

Everybody took different districts, and Korvis ended up walking in the industrial part of the city, looking around, asking some pointed questions, paying those who wouldn't talk without gold, and ominously waving his superfluous staff at those who needed a little intimidation. Eventually, he sits down to have a hot dog from a vendor cart, and a man sitting behind him says he's heard that Korvis is looking for someone. He invites Korvis to meet that someone that night, 8PM, at The Gilded Whore (The DM was bad at making up pub names). Korvis nods, and the nondescript man goes on his way. Korvis goes back to the Inn with the rest of the party for dinner… and doesn't mention the encounter to the party. Not a word.

Korvis tells the DM he's gonna go alone to the meeting. He thinks the party's not taking him seriously enough, and he wants to handle this alone to show them he's not just some asshole who can only fling a fireball. The DM asks:

“Are you sure?â€

“Yes.†Said Korvis.

“That might not be a good idea...â€
\
“I'm doing it.â€

“I mean, the guy's a renowned assassin who doesn't want to be found… and you might have found him.â€

“I'm not scared of some coward who stabs people in the dark.â€

“...Are you sure?â€

“Yes, goddammit! I go there alone, and I tell nobody.â€

So Korvis goes alone. The whole party is astounded by the singularly chowderheaded decision. Korvis gets to the bar, which is down a series of dark streets. Korvis doesn't give a shit, because “Ravens have no fear of the night.†Our eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. The rest of the party sits back and gets the popcorn ready, because now they know he's fucked. Korvis goes to the bar, and sees the nondescript man from the hot dog stand. He informs Korvis that the assassin couldn't be here, but politely requests Korvis stop looking for him. Korvis does not agree to this, and indignantly leaves, walking out the front door. He takes no defensive measures of any sort. Mage armour? No. Shield? No. Remember, he ONLY has lethal spells. So he just turns his back on a room full of pissed off hired killers and walks away, arms-a-pumping. I guess it didn't matter that he turned his back to them, because he got shot in the chest. By four arrows. Simultaneously.

Ever heard of the spell Arrow split? Turns one arrow into d4 arrows, if I remember correctly. Does standard arrow damage, but they can all hit.

Korvis fails 4 reflex checks.

Korvis wears cloth armour.

Korvis is a level 4 sorcerer.

Korvis took CON as a dump stat.

That amounts to four “fucks†and one dead damn bird mage. He's taken to negative fourteen HP. This means he is dead. No save.

Korvis asks the DM if he can say something as he dies. The DM decides to show mercy, and says “You can have one word.†Korvis knows what it is.

“NICODEMUS!â€

Remember those magic tattoos that I mentioned? They're like two-way radios. Nicodemus would hear it, especially if asked for by name. So, pop quiz, hotshot. You're a big, evil wizard man who has to bind cronies to your will constantly to get any work done, and they've resisted you every step of the way. Then, suddenly? The bloodthirsty idiotic sorcerer asks you for a deathbed favour. What's your play? Because Nicodemus' was to cast a teleportation spell, cast time stop, do a little jig, grab the stupid raven-bedecked moron, and pull him into his own private pocket dimension for a little meatball surgery.

Now, as Korvis is deader than disco, he can't just heal him. Reanimate dead won't work, because Korvis' heart looks a bit like a meaty spaghetti strainer. But you know what necromantic spell Nicodemus has access to? Trap Soul. So he sucks Korvis into a geode or something and preserves the body. The party has to do without Korvis for a little while until the “repairs†are complete (the party noted the use of language, here).

So, the party tracks down the assassin and finally takes him down, because now they have an amount of people that about equals the challenge rating of the fight. A week passes, and Korvis is returned to them. Most of him, anyways.

The solution that Nicodemus went for was to cram a soul-gem into Korvis' old body, after patching it up a bit and outfitting it with some magical veins. Essentially, Korvis is a shittier, magical Iron-man, who smells vaguely of rot. He's like an undead who can still be affected by colour spray and has to always wear a hood lest villagers try to burn him to death just a little. And moves slower. All in all a series of nasty debuffs, but hey. He was at least immune to pain. Not in any way immune to Nicodemus' thrall, though.

The campaign continues, and Korvis mostly avoids talking to NPCs. It was probably best. Eventually, the group's fighting their way through a colony of giant , sapient ants. One of them chops off Korvis' gangrenous head, which funnily enough doesn't kill him at this point. Why would it? His mind is in his soul gem, in his chest. It does blind him, though, as his gem's not wired to any eyes. During the combat, Korvis feels around until he finds something head-shaped and puts it on his shoulders. A few seconds pass, the magic wires in his body find the optic nerve, and the lights come back on. Several hundred of them. At different angles. Korvis' vision seems oddly segmented. He goes to say something, and makes an odd chittering noise. Finally Korvis realizes what the rest of the group has been watching in horror. He's put on the head of one of the ant-men. What's worse, he likes it. Says it looks badass.

So now he's a shitty, rotting magical Iron man with a giant ant head. Who later rode a giant crocodile like it was Falcor from The Neverending story. For a moment.

The campaign continued to progress, and Korvis, never one to be kept down, managed to continually irritate the party right until the final confrontation. The party's shaken his thrall and seeks to destroy him… or die trying. That old chestnut.

When finally they get to Nicodemus, they realize that he's a full-blown Lich. And they've searched every inch of this pocket dimension, and his Phylactery isn't here. Nicodemus cackled.

“You fools… I put it in the safest place in the world. You safeguarded it this whole time, for me.â€

The party turns as one to gape at Korvis' chest-bulb. Nicodemus had made Korvis' soul gem his phylactery, tying his life to Korvis'. It was like a shitty Dragonheart kinda deal.

“Now you are faced with a choice… you can either let me live and depart, or take the life of one of your own com--†The last word was probably going to be “companions,†but we'll never know, because the Wizard shot a disintegration spell at the soul gem, mid-monologue. He had learned exactly ONE offensive spell.

Know what kind of damage disintegration does to objects? Fucking massive, that's what kind.

Nicodemus had failed to account for the fact that Korvis was an irritating shit and the party wouldn't be especially sad to see him go. His last words weren't an otherworldly shriek, they weren't a threat of vengeance, and they weren't “NOOOOO!†Nicodemus' last words were the same as Korvis':

“Oh.â€

Oh, and Korvis didn't know this beforehand. He got to sit and watch as everyone else escaped the now self-destructing dungeon (Nicodemus was your standard load-bearing villain), regain their freedom, and wrap up their post-campaign rewards and story elements. And when it was all said and done, the DM turned to the now-silent player of Korvis, and said:

“And THAT is why if the DM asks you 'Are you sure?' that many times, the answer is 'no.'â€

It was a good lesson for the group against wanton and flagrant stupidity.



The tale of The Night Guard OR: Why our DM made us switch to GURPS


Ever screw over the DM so bad he makes the group change game systems? It's not easy to do. Fun, though.


So our adventuring group, aside from having one of the most moronic sorcerers to ever walk the planet, a Spanish dual-wielding fighter with a suspiciously lower-class London accent, a Pacifist mage whose ability to turtle single-handedly required save-or-die monsters to appear before any tangible threat was felt, and a cleric who committed friendly fire with her crossbow so often that the front-line players took to wearing a shield on their backs because it prevented more damage if it was between their vital bits and her bow… aside from all THAT, we had good bluffing and diplomacy skills, which anybody knows is basically cheating your way through life. We were playing on the Natural 20 = critical success rule, and on several occasions, the party defused, mitigated, or entirely sidestepped massive encounters by making a lucky roll. Which is part and parcel of a tabletop RPG. But perhaps we were a bit cheeky about it.

Scenario 1: We've infiltrated the mountain keep of an order of militant religious zealots that are threatening war on the people down in the plains. We managed to find a hay cart driver who lives by the one universal truth of merchants: Money is good, and more money is more good than that. So we bounced gold coins off his forehead until he finally stopped arguing, picked up the not inconsiderable yellow pile at his feet, and loaded us into his delivery cart. Once we were dropped in the stable, we just had to wait for nightfall so we could “slink around, stealthy-like,†as our rogue so eloquently put it. The nice thing about religious zealots – they spend a lot of time wondering after their eternal well-being. Getting good with Pelor, or whatever lawful anal deity they knuckle their foreheads at. What this means is that earthly concerns, stuff like bathing, cleaning, feeding horses and such falls by the wayside. Which was handy, as we didn't feel like jumping out of a haystack suddenly and explaining why we were there while a pitchfork was stuck in our guts. So we crept out.

Thanks to the guidance and skill of our thief, we managed to move silently and unseen through the keep (he scouted ahead and when he found a patrolling guard, batted them on the head and rifled through their pockets, then told us we could move up while unfortunately forgetting to mention if and when he found anything on them). So we get to a particular hallway, and the thief says for us to wait while he scouts ahead. We were getting a bit bored at this point, and he usually took a few minutes, so we decided to poke around some nearby doors. The fighter drew the cosmic short straw and managed to open a door to a bunch of guardsmen just getting ready to bed down for the night.

Ever been eyed up by a platoon of drowsy guardsmen? It ain't fun. To your average guardsman, sleep is the only thing they care more about than their pay or their booze. Then the guardsman in the nicest nightshirt (well, the least-stained one - we assumed this meant he was the captain or somesuch) piped up.

“'Ere now… what's all this, then? You ain't s'posed to be here, this wing is for guardsmen.†He sounds like he should sound, he sounds suspicious. We're about two seconds from getting rushed by a bunch of half-naked men for whom the concept of bathing is an annual event. The fighter pipes up, probably because he was the worst liar in the group and subconsciously he wanted to fail and then to stab them a lot.

“We ARE guardsmen! We started last week. That's why you don't know us.†This was a natural 20. The DM insisted that given the nature of the situation, this wouldn't get us out of trouble entirely, but would buy us a few more seconds to think of a plan. The guardsman captain spoke again.

“Huh… s'funny… We been walking the keep every day this week, and we ain't even run into one of you yet. I would fink we'd have seen one of yas….â€

The fighter spoke again, mostly because we didn't have the time to explain what the phrase “[pressing your luck†means:

“Well, we're the NIGHT guard! We don't walk in the day. Explains the whole thing.†Oh, we laughed. The DM laughed. It was funny. Then the fighter said he was serious, he was gonna try the bluff. The DM informed him, very sternly, that with no skill in bluffing, and no charisma, he would need another twenty.

Well fuck me if he didn't roll another twenty. And we laughed again. The DM didn't laugh this time. He called a recess to get a drink. Then he came back and informed us that we were greeted as friends and comrades and we got games of dice going and drank with the guardsmen a lot, “Because why the fuck not.†I guess this encounter was supposed to be a big deal, requiring tactics, moving battles, keeping alarms form being raised… sounded really great. But not as good as the no-risk approach. So we got the guardsmen good and loaded, and only got a bit tipsy ourselves. Then we went to the Hierophant's room and decided that he wasn't such a bad chap, and wouldn't it be nice of us to let him meet his god quicker than he anticipated and to ensure he had no valuables in the room that might make it look like he didn't take hos vow of poverty seriously.

Then as the cherry on top, we had the guard captain, who was still technically conscious, walk us out the front gate and have the gatemen wave us off with friendly aplomb.

We were not gracious winners when we defeated the DM's plans.

Scenario 2: The hall of the mountain addict.

We were trekking through an underground mountain pass that wasn't QUITE the underdark, but close enough for comfort, in an effort to sidestep an army of religious zealots that were looking for us (including one very betrayed-feeling captain). We'd fought our way through a whole city of giant ant-men and were getting into some really complex tunnel systems. We hadn't seen the sun in a week or so. At one point we start to hear and feel probably the last thing you want to hear or feel in this situation – the earth moving. From the ground in front of us bursts [a giant, slug-like, slimy, brown thing.



Luckily it wasn't looking for a fight, but simply to greet us.

“Wwwwellcommmmeeee, trrravellerrrsss. Wwwwwwhhhaaaaat bussssinessssss do youuu have heeeeerre?†His voice sounded like shifting earth, crashing boulders, and dropping pebbles. Luckily our wizard spoke Terran.

“Hello! We were hoping to pass through the mountains to get to the northern foothills. Would you be able to help us?â€

“Peeeerrrhaaappsss… Thee ellldeerrrr willl wannnt to speeak with youuu… follllooowwww….â€

He rock-slug thing turned and we followed, without asking further questions, mostly because we lost about five minutes of time listening to it answer. At length, we were brought to something resembling a settlement of giant rock-slug things, and led to the one they called elder (we couldn't see that he was much older than the rest, but maybe if we had a geologist in the group he could have verified). The elder informed us that he would help us through the mountains, if we would do something for him. This perked the group up. This was familiar territory for an adventurer. You do a thing, you get a thing. It's very simple calculus, and we were very simple people.

So the story, as it went, was the rock-slug things were called “delvers†and the mostly lived lives of quiet plenty, eating rocks, marrying other rocks, and making little tiny baby rocks. But one of them, several years ago, had left the village. This Delver was named Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr'ghatttttttttttttttt (Delver names are odd and don't translate well to common, but basically it sounded like a small rock slide with one small pebble bouncing down the stilled slide at the end about twelve or thirteen times before finally coming to rest in a small pile of dirt. It took about a minute and a half to pronounce correctly, and we all agreed to just call him “Argy†for short), and while out one day digging tunnels and eating rocks, he ranged a bit far and found some very special rocks, shiny and purple. Argy decided to taste one and found that while the taste was foul, the effect was… euphoric. Argy had discovered the first Delver drug. And he did what most people who make such discoveries do, he became the first delver addict. Then the first Delver drug dealer. He was eventually exiled from the village.

In recent months, however, he had gone crazy digging more tunnels and decreasing the stability of the whole cavern system as a result. The Delvers knew they needed to take steps, but they had grown up with Argy, so they couldn't bring themselves to ace him themselves. Luckily, we had some experience acing people that lots of people liked (just ask one particularly betrayed-feeling captain on the surface) so we agreed to do the job for safe passage and a few smallish sized gemstones for our trouble. Just the size of our heads or so, nothing ostentatious. The elder agreed and we all set off to kill Argy, cheerfully debating whether or not we'd be better to use a sword, a chisel, or a shovel. The sorcerer suggested fire, because we could make puns about 'scorched earth.' We all agreed this was funny, but that the earth might be scorched, but it was still THERE. The GRASS was what was gone. We agreed to at least try the fire and see how it went from there.

So finally after wandering around a bit, we find a tunnel several hours away from the village and decide to set a little bait for our friend. It would take all of our cunning, but we knew we could do it. We had the rogue stand in the middle of the cavern, and yell:

“Look here, fellows, here's a giant, purple, shiny rock! I believe I shall lick it! ...Mind you, chaps, that makes me feel quite nice!â€

The rogue had grows up in The Bad Part Of Town, and the group trusted him when he said he knew how to lure an addict. It turned out to be a well-placed trust, because the earth began to move and we all formed a circle. When at last, a Delver dropped form the ceiling to right in front of us, the wizard quickly cast Hold Monster while we drew our weapons and got ready to end Argy's addiction, via the express route.

Argy was not pretty, even by rock-slug standards. His claws were all chipped and battered, his eyes were lined with rubble, and his coat of corrosive mucus was probably, strictly speaking, more mucus-y than it needed to be. The wizard asked to talk to Argy real quick. He HAD single-handedly paralyzed the bugger for us, and as he was a pacifist that would likely be his only contribution to the fight, so we threw him a bone and let him talk while we quietly debated what would get the first crack, the shovel or the fireball. Both sides had good merit. The wizard spoke to Argy (who couldn't talk back, being paralyzed as he was):

“Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr'ghatttttttttttttttt… we have never met, but we have been to the village. We have met with your friends, neighbours and family, and they are of one mind. They are concerned about you. They worry that your need for the purple rocks has clouded your mind. They see you hurting yourself… look at you. You're ill. You could die if you continue. And you're endangering the whole network of tunnels. Yet none of them could come here to stop you because they love you and would not see you further harmed. We want you to come back to the village with us, and to work with the villagers to get over your addiction. It's time for your pain to stop. But you need to WANT to get better.â€

We were stunned. Not only had the wizard not discussed this plan of action with us, it was also the hugest whopper of a lie we had ever heard. The wizard informed us and the DM that it wasn't a lie. Every word as such was true, and the sentiment was genuine. The wizard didn't want to kill anyone. He was a pacifist, after all. That saved him from having to make the bluff check. The DM calmly informed him that this was a pretty ludicrous plan, but he was free to try. The wizard rolled his diplomacy, which at this point he had considerable ranks in. He rolled a natural 20. The wizard freed Argy from his paralysis.

Ever seen a Delver cry? It's unsettling. They have tears, but they're all thick and greasy, and their wails of despair sound much like a pair of boulders falling onto a flock of cooing doves.

Argy began to cry like a broken child, insisting he wanted to get better and that he as tired of being hungry and scared and alone. He came back to us with the village peacefully and met with the elder and cried and begged forgiveness ad help, and every rock-slug thing told him how much they loved him and in short the wizard talked the giant rock-slug man into going to fucking rehab. We thought it was hilarious. The DM was on his third drink by the time we all got head-sized emeralds and a friendly delver dug us a personal tunnel to the northern foothills, saying we could always return to the Delver caves.


A few days later, the DM informed us that it was time to change game engines. We'd been running D&D 3.5 for a while, resisting 4E like any sane person would. We were thinking of pathfinder, but the DM told us we would be switching to GURPS 4E, because the chances of getting a crit success or pass were lower. We didn't HAVE to switch, but he was only gonna run campaigns in that engine. So we switched. Which is not to say we didn't screw up his plans any more. >We did that plenty. Just we had to be more clever about it.
 
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#4
Oh, man. Did you stab him once his back was turned? Straight shot to the kidneys.
No, my char is chaotic good. The boss did, however--according to the DM--"make a very generous involuntary donation to the feed the orphans fund" (i.e., I got a crit success on sleight of hand and picked the guy's pockets clean of everything aside from his clothes and weapons). Sadly, that was the end of my good rolls for that first session.

Korvis, the Idiotic sorcerer, and the virtue of caution

The tale of The Night Guard OR: Why our DM made us switch to GURPS
These two absolutely cracked me up. Korvis with an ant head must have had the whole table laughing.
 

Dav Slinker

Oh, and hey, by the way
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Up from the 36 chambers
#5
As I recall the ant-head took some fairly substantial charisma penalties. Oh, and he tried to take a giant alligator arm as well, but it conferred a negative to spells with a somatic component so he decided against it.
 

Ravenlock

Thx for the scarf, Sadie!
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#6
I had a kender rogue whose party came upon a bunch of dragon cultists worshipping at a giant 100ft wicker dragon statue once. He managed to nail a ranged attack roll to hit it with a torch and light it on fire, but then immediately had to get out of combat by climbing up onto it while it burned. His tumble bonus was good enough to successfully ride the flaming wreckage to the ground without injury, crushing several of the cultists beneath it.

That felt pretty good.
 

Karak

Press Start to Begin
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#7
I had a kender rogue whose party came upon a bunch of dragon cultists worshipping at a giant 100ft wicker dragon statue once. He managed to nail a ranged attack roll to hit it with a torch and light it on fire, but then immediately had to get out of combat by climbing up onto it while it burned. His tumble bonus was good enough to successfully ride the flaming wreckage to the ground without injury, crushing several of the cultists beneath it.

That felt pretty good.
that is awesome. Tasslehoff would be proud
 
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#8
My DM was running a 5e campaign that featured a dino-racing minigame; my aforementioned half-elf rogue was involved. One of the only legal moves in the minigame was to taunt the other racers and hope it distracted them or something, and since the kid had high CHA and points in persuasion/intimidation I figured why not. I said, IC'ly:

"Hey, what are you doing riding your mom?"

Nat 20, the enemy was so devastated by the insult he fell of his dino and got trampled to death. Coolest way I've ever killed an enemy, funniest too.
 
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#9
My DM was running a 5e campaign that featured a dino-racing minigame; my aforementioned half-elf rogue was involved. One of the only legal moves in the minigame was to taunt the other racers and hope it distracted them or something, and since the kid had high CHA and points in persuasion/intimidation I figured why not. I said, IC'ly:

"Hey, what are you doing riding your mom?"

Nat 20, the enemy was so devastated by the insult he fell of his dino and got trampled to death. Coolest way I've ever killed an enemy, funniest too.
Approved
 
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#12
In a recent session my char (The 11-year-old urchin) shoved a huge Aasimar pastry into his mouth and snarfed it down whole. It turned out to be the magical equivalent of a pot brownie. He spent the rest of the session thinking about how awesome clouds were when there were no clouds present... until the healer decided the party needed him and tried to bring him out of it with a Restoration spell.

The healer rolled a 1.

As a result, the clouds turned into exploding cats who know only hate, and for half the next session my char was bedridden, having crashed TERRIBLY and thus becoming even more useless than before. The lesson here is: never trust your healer.
 
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