All you need to do to enter is to share an amusing roleplaying game anecdote. Simply post the funniest story from your gaming table. Leave your post as a comment on this entry. Be sure to fill in your correct e-mail address so that you can be contacted if you win.
The winner will be announced in two weeks’ time. Second place wins a set of red opaque dice, and runners-up will be posted on the site.
It happened that I was playing a monk and my friend was playing a gnome illusionist. I kept trying to stay in character and so was he. We would argue about what a monk worshipped and I would talk about the natural forces that I respected, and he would say “What about that tree? Is that one of your gods.” Ad infinitum.
“What about that wind? Was that a god?”
“It’s raining, is your god crying?”
“Wow, leather armor, did you kill a god to make that?”
It came to pass that we got involved in a brawl in a tavern and I was going for a cinematic move.
"Okay, I’m going to jump up on the table and run off it, making a leaping kick, yelling as I do."
My DM got a gleam in her eye, as she liked it when I tried complex tasks.
"OK, roll for it."
There was a silence around the table as the natural one came to standstill. That’s why the DM liked me, terrible rolls.
"Well, you leap up onto the table just as the nearest orc kicks it out from under you and you go down on the floor."
And that’s when the gnome piped up.
"Aha! You’re kissing the dust. You love the dust, that’s your god!"
The monk soon became a cleric of the dust gods as was retired not long after that.
I DM a pretty casual, beer & pretzels type D&D 4th Edition game. My players are more interested in feeling like heroes and harassing NPCs than tactical combat and political intrigue.
So, I try to appease my players by presenting them with moral quandaries that are pretty black and white. Basically, the scenario I gave them boiled down to this: an orphanage was in trouble and needed a group of adventurers to look into why their supplies were being cut off. No tricks, it’s not a zombie orphanage, just a plain ol’ orphanage.
Unconvinced that the orphanage was worth their time, the players decided that they’d only help them out if the orphanage gave them an orphan. So, one lucky D20 roll later, the PCs went on their quest … but with an orphaned dragonborn child in tow. One PC spent gold to buy food to plump up the orphan (with intent to eat it. There’s no love for dragonborn at my table, apparently).
It was definitely one of those, “I didn’t prepare for this” moments. So, at some point in the adventure, to summarize the proceedings, the orphan gets kidnapped by a goblin cult, the orphan is proclaimed the chosen one and is to be ritually sacrificed. After the PCs thwart the goblin threat, they’re left with a battered and bruised orphan. In an attempt to see if my players were decent human beings, I told them that the ritual instructions were still there, and that they could free the orphan and be renowned in their home town, or they could brutally sacrifice the orphan and receive stat bonuses to their characters (but be hated). So, of course they chose to brutally sacrifice the orphan (one character was just fattening him up to eat him, anyway).
The purpose of the anecdote is that I run a game with very, very morally challenged people.
The player was looking through a portal into a room that contained a demon. The demon entreated the player to join him in his war against humanity, offering power, treasure, etc. The player, trying to buy a little time, mumbled “I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it. How’s your dental plan?” The demon, without missing a beat, replied “Excellent. All the teeth you want.”
Years back, I played in a 2nd edition campaign with my buddies. One my friends, Chris, liked to bring various alcoholic beverages to the session. One session, Chris brought two bottles of Boone’s Farm wine and proceeded to drink them both in short order. To be clear, Chris is a guy and we were all of legal age. Why he opted for the drink most popular with underage women is beyond me. Suffice it to say, he had a good buzz going before long. There must have been some magic in those bottles. He rolled 20 after 20 after 20â€¦. It was unbelievable. Chris stood up and, dead serious, proclaims, “We’re going to Vegas!â€? Obviously, the rest of us burst out laughing, but that didn’t dissuade him. “I have a friend out there! We can crash with him! I’m serious. Someone drive me to the airport.â€?
We talked him out of it, but that session still lives in infamy amongst our group.
I was DMing an evil campaign with a group that was currently making their way through an old sorceress’ mansion. They happen to find a rather large library with several display cases of priceless artifacts (mostly all just replicas), however one of them seems to be empty but holds a plaque that reads “wand of invisibility”. It was originally going to be really empty, but I *know* my players:
The thief of the party: I rummage through the empty case.
Me: You find a cylindrical shaped object that seems to be invisible. It’s about the size of a wand. … make a will save.
He rolls high, nothing happens, the thief stuffs the wand into his pack and the party continues on.
Later on, the party finally finds the owner of the mansion, an old sorceress. A fight obviously commences, and the thief decides to take out the “wand of invisibility”:
Thief: I take out the wand of invisibility.
Me: Make a will save. [Thief rolls low] Ok, you’re invisible.
Me: …At least you think you are. You believe the wand has made you invisible but everyone else can still see you. Thanks for picking up my cursed item.
To the PC’s credit, he still played exactly as if he really believed he was invisible.
I had just begun a D&D campaign with some friends of mine. We had a half-orc barbarian, a halfling rogue, a half-elf wizard and a human cleric…with an intelligence of 6. This cleric’s name was Ted. They were heading into a sewer to look for the BBEG. In one room, after a short fight against dire rats (clichÃ©d, I know), they saw a small iron door. Now, rather than allowing their rogue to try to pick the lock, Ted’s first instinct was to start hitting the door with his warhammer. There was a collective sigh from party and DM alike. While the rest of the party hid in various dark corners within the room, Ted hammered away. He could only actually pierce the door’s hardness with maximum damage (1d8+3=11), and so it would take about 80 rounds (eight minutes) to break through. Ted, however, made a Knowledge (Architecture and Engineering) check and rolled a natural 1. After a couple of loud hits, the door on the other side of the room opened. In came two guards, with Ted obliviously banging away on the door with vigor. In my worst cockney accent one of the guards asked “Oi! What’re you doing?â€?. To make a long story short, Ted was hauled away to a dark room in the sewers. The party continued on their trek, eventually creating enough of a ruckus that Ted was able to escapeâ€¦just in time to help with the fight against the BBEG. To this day we reference this incidentâ€¦in fact, Ted has just recently acquired a Maul of the Titans.
I was playing a homebrewed game called Nighthaven (similar to World of Darkness). My companions and I found ourselves battling some vampires on a balcony near the top of a fifty-story building. There was a catwalk from our building to the next. My vampire was locked in combat with another vampire and I backed out onto the catwalk. He followed me.
Over fifty stories in the air, one wrong move, and either of us would die instantly from the fall. The GM told me it was my turn and asked what I wanted to do. I asked the other vampire, “What season is it?” Then it was the vampires turn. The GM, stunned that I didn’t attack, tells me the vampire says, “What? The the fuck do you mean what season is it?” And he doesn’t attack still stunned from my question.
It comes around to my turn, I activate a power that allows me to jump over the vampire and back to the safety of the ledge, I do a follow-up ranged attack knocking the vampire off the catwalk. As he begins to topple over the edge, I remind him it is “FALL.” And he falls to his death.
The GM loved it. The players hated my pun. I thought it was cool, and memorable.
For all that a lot of people call it a cash grab, 4th Edition D&D is pretty much responsible for the fact that I’m back into regular roleplaying. I went out to one of the preview event things, and was pretty much instantly hooked. I’d picked up Keep on the Shadowfell for the preview rules and was running the game for a few weeks with some friends, and then when the core rules came out I read them over in the span of a weekend to brush up on anything that’d been simplified by the KotS starter rules.
This story is about what happened when I went out to play with someone who hadn’t.
I used to be able to play regularly with a group of friends I’d gone to high school with, and as we’d all grown up and gone off to school, it had become difficult to arrange a game. With 4e out, though, I couldn’t get enough of it, so I figured, why not join the RPGA and play (and run) open games at the game store my friend owns? Of course, the RPGA required at that time that you attend an RPGA sanctioned event to become a member. Great, I figured, there’s a guy already running stuff that I can go out and play with to get signed up, and he can show me the ropes for RPGA events.
So me and my buddy Red went to the store one fine Sunday morning, character sheets in hand, and sit down to play. Red had a dwarf fighter, I was playing a halfling warlock to give the class a try. Also joining us were two thirteen year olds with a tiefling wizard and a rogue of some sort—nothing memorable, but nothing too terrible.
And a twenty year old guy twice as wide as he was tall, which is okay, gibbering incoherently about how he was a tiefling paladin of the raven queen and we better not get knocked unconscious because if we did his religious beliefs meant that he would have to see to it that we didn’t wake up, which was not.
Rounding out the table was our GM, a man of middling years with several large boxes of props and costumery and old first edition art depicting women with very little clothing, which is I suppose okay or not depending on your point of view but definitely not cool when there’s kids at the table. Still, I held out hope until we began the adventure.
And he informed us we were going to be becoming students at a magical school that would someday become known as Hogwart’s, but wasn’t called that yet. And he had this Denny’s pirate mask or something that he threw on for no reason to play the chief of security for the school, known as Matey. And he had this feather boa that he threw around his shoulders, and began to -mince- as he portrayed Rowena Ravenclaw. Who was, incidentally, secretly a silver dragon.
After some inane but, I suppose, creative encounters in which we settled in to the school in our roles as students or guards, depending on how magical a class we’d picked, we took a short break. Red and I had been covertly rolling our eyes at each other, each communicating to the other that under no circumstances did we ever want to come out to play in this guy’s game again, and the sooner we got it over with the better. I got the distinct impression that our GM had written this content expecting a table of younger children, and when us twentysomethings showed up (tiefling paladin aside) he had been left to run what he’d prepped.
I was pretty wrong about that, as it turned out. I ended up making excuses that “Sunday is normally my family day, but they’re out of town this weekend so I’m at loose ends” just to try not to be rude.
Well. He seemed to buy it at the time, and we settled back in to play. He minced around and fed us some sort of lecture from Rowena Ravenclaw about dragons, in which she informed us that she had a gold dragon friend she called “Daddy”. If you’ve never seen a balding fifty year old man wrapped in a feather boa, fondling a couple of ostentatious rings on each hand, and squealing about “Daddy”, count yourself fortunate indeed, for the experience was fairly emotionally scarring—and neither Red nor I are particularly faint of heart. After a torturously long time of this, he finally relented and threw us into the combat encounter he had planned.
Now, the highest level character at the table was a mere second level, so how he expected us to handle three hill giants (one wielding a ballista as a crossbow), a sixth level priest of Orcus atop a wyvern, and a couple of fourth level thugs was not immediately apparent. Indeed, though I didn’t know it at the time, the only way I had a chance at even hitting about half the enemies on the field was on a 19 or 20. It had already become clear by that point that our erstwhile gamemaster had not bothered to do much more than glance at the 4e rules, since he’d been pretty devastated that the encounters he’d set up by that point had been overcome without any of us missing a beat. Unfortunately, this one was too far the other direction—the guy couldn’t write a good fight to save his life.
This is about where Red and I stopped even trying to hide the rolling of eyes. The GM did have a solution to his overpowered encounter—he turned Red and Poindexter the Tiefling Paladin of the Raven Queen into young gold dragons. (He’d photocopied the stats for young red dragons, crossed out red, and written “GOLD!” overtop.) They were, apparently, meant to take down the hill giants and presumably everything else, but again, the GM hadn’t really read the rules enough to get that the guys still running their own characters would be in a tough position until the two dragons were finished. Red, for his part, was singularly unimpressed, having rolled up a fighter to get to play with the fighter powers, not to get to be a dragon.
My turn in the initiative came up just before the end of the first round. I straightened up from my slouch, eyeing the map—he’d repurposed one of the maps from the Keep on the Shadowfell adventure, and I knew what everything on that map meant, but I wanted to make sure he did. I reached out, pointing directly in front of the giant with the crossballista. “So…what’s that?” I asked, as innocently as possible.
Red, who’s known me for several years by this point, immediately straightened up at my tone. What can I say, I like mischief and I like an audience—so he’d heard me use that tone before.
The GM, however, had only met me a few hours ago, so he walked into it blithely unaware of what was in store. “Oh that’s a pit,” he began, “it’s about sixty feet deep.”
"Excellent," I said, and moved my mini into position. "I’m using Curse of the Dark Dream."
For those unfamiliar with the power, as the GM was that day, it is a first level Warlock daily power that does a relatively obscene amount of damage and then slides the target three squares. Three squares for the ballista-giant was two squares more than I needed to topple him into the pit. As I said, I needed a 19 or a 20 to hit, though I didn’t find that out till later.
And it didn’t matter.
Never has a critical blow elicited such a look of stunned horror from the GM. I casually reached out and shoved his mini into the pit square. “I believe that’s max damage from the attack and 6d10 for the fall,” I informed him. (Okay, yes, the giant should have had a saving throw to catch himself, but the rules had come out just that week and at this point I didn’t know that, and we’ve established that the GM didn’t have the first clue about it.)
"Uh…you…can you…do that?!" he managed.
Red was no longer able to keep in the laughter.
Without the artillery to give that extra punch, the encounter was over fairly quickly after that. Poindexter had to be restrained pretty forcibly from mutilating the bodies of the fallen foes—even the GM, who is apparently his friend, was looking annoyed with him by that point. After experience was handed out, Red and I got out of there, and as soon as the GM was out of earshot, we made a pact never to play with him again.
I just wish he’d stopped calling me without me having to threaten to involve the police—but that’s another story entirely…
Wow, picking just one is harder than it looks. Do we have to?
I think my best was something I ran as a sidechat with one of my players during a hiatus I took due to another being missing. This was in an Exalted game, and the character in question was a Realm-born Twilight by name of Luath. It was just supposed to be a standard run, him shadowing his mentor on a project and me taking the opportunity to drop a plot-hook the group would want to look into when they started up again.
It wasn’t to be.
First part was easy. He’s running around Chiaroscuro (for those not familiar with the system, think very Arabic-style metropolis), and he hears this rumor about some “demon woman” raiding sandships out in the desert. Decides he wants to look into this further, and that the best people to ask are the local Wyld Hunt. (Not only would they know, but they’d be guaranteed to speak a language he understood; the local tongue wasn’t his strong suit.) He’d been off the radar long enough that he could probably have passed for normal, so this wasn’t too bad—except that apparently, the person likeliest to be taking questions was his older sister, who as far as he could tell would probably kill him for selling his soul to demons as soon as look at him. This required Better Subterfuge. Fortunately, in this neck of the woods, the men wore robes and veils, and Luath was easily able to come up with a local costume.
So he walks in, and that’s when things get amusing. As expected, there’s his sister, awkwardly attempting to comfort a local woman whose boyfriend has most likely run afoul of “That demon woman”. And Luath, being the wonderfully nice little brother he was, decides to help out. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he begins. So far, so good. “I admit my Flametongue is very rusty, I don’t speak it very well, but I believe you should listen to this kind representative here…” And continues consoling for a bit.
If you don’t see the problem here, go back and look at it again. His sister certainly caught it right away.
The player, on the other hand, didn’t. And since this was online, he couldn’t hear me laugh. Would you believe he still asked me for his stunt bonus?
The moral of the story? When you’re trying to pass for a native of a place, don’t admit you don’t speak the language. Not only is it hazardous for your health, nobody will ever let you live it down.
I remember one game I played back in high school. Can’t even remember what the system was, might have been one of those really obscure games, but it was skill based instead of class based—you could combine skill choices to build whatever kind of character you wanted.
One kid showed up declaring he’d made a thief character. First thing he does at the bar is try to pick the pocket of the biggest, meanest looking guy at the bar. (There’s always one.)
GM calls for him to roll pick pockets. “I didn’t take that,” says the kid. The big mean guy turns around. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks. The kid stammers. GM calls for him to roll bluff. “I didn’t take that either,” says the kid. “What did you take?” the GM asks in exasperation. “Uhh…”
The kid hadn’t taken pick locks, pick pockets, remove traps, bluff—he’d not even bothered to read how the game rules worked, it turned out. After a bit of yelling at him, the GM decided to let him try and talk his way out through roleplaying. ‘course, the kid was as bad at that as everything else, stammering and stumbling and just generally making things worse. One of the other players leans over and whispers “Tell him he dropped it and you were picking it up for him!”
"Oh! Yeah, what he said."
And that was when we threw the offending player out the window. That was a regular occurrence at that game club.
My friends and I had a campaign we played in for several years that led to a number of really hilarious stories. One of the most memorable was the time we had scurried through the sewers to find the evil wizard’s secret lair, and upon confronting him, found him puttering around with a book. Since he didn’t immediately attack us and in fact seemed quite friendly, we were kind of confused. He kept shushing us, and telling us to wait a moment, and incidentally could you hold this candlestick and stand right there, please, no no a little to the left, just in that little chalk circle, ah yes, just so.
And because we were stupid, we did so. And he summoned a big demon, and things got messy. We decided to leave out the part about how we helped him with the demon summoning like a bunch of morons when we reported our victory to the king, though.
Mine is a bit long for a comment, so I am linking to it instead. Still makes me roll around in laughter just thinking about it.
Trask, The Last Tyromancer
At one time we played a system that allowed for customization of the appearance of magical effects with a slightly larger expenditure of energy. One of my friends, having recently watched Slayers Return, decided he wanted to have his flame bolt spell go off as Baker Strike—if you’ve not seen the anime in question, just know that Lina throws a baker at someone while following the anime tradition of yelling attack names—and he described the effect as a flaming baker rushing at the foe.
The game was quickly interrupted with all of us at the table doing impressions of what a “flaming baker” would be like.
"Hot buns, hot buns, coming through! Oh, couldn’t you just eat them RIGHT up? They’re FAAAAABULOOOOOOOUS!"
He never tried to be that creative again.
So, this story may not be the funniest ever but it holds a special place in my heart. I am 28 and recently got into gaming with a group ranging ages 26 to 32 in various levels of family and maturity. But when we get together all bets are off. One of our friends, Ike, is absolutely the easiest person to make laugh, ever. I was reflecting on this at one gaming session and I looked across the table at him as said in a very serious voice. “Hey, Ike.” I paused while he looked at me curiously. “Botswana.”
Instantly he bursts into side splitting laughter. Botswana had nothing to do with our game, nothing to do with action at the time, it was a complete non sequitur but he could not keep from laughing. It only became funnier later on when he admitted that he didn’t even know that Botswana was a country. He thought it was just a word I had made up.
The joke continues on today as we have mentioned the country many times. I have, while DMing, passed him secret notes containing only that one eight letter word to watch him erupt in cackles of bemusement. I have even toyed with the idea of setting a campaign in the mythical land of Botswana, but I doubt I’d be able to get through any of the descriptions without half the group collapsing from humor induced asphyxiation.
Why do I bring this story up now? When I saw what the prize for this contest was I instantly had to post a link on our message boards, it was far to perfect - I’m sure I’m going to be accused of an elaborate hoax.
About 20 years back now, A bunch of us were playing D&D and at the time we where all into the “power” gaming. Amass the biggest and baddest items we could and the like.
Our DM, and a great one at that, decided to give us a deck of many things. You know, some thing powerful you shouldn’t play with, like a bomb!
Well, I, being the brave/stupid one drew a card after several of the “nice” cards where known to be used already. And I got the “Defeat death or die” card.!
Being used to the way my DM worked puzzle rooms,riddles and traps, I was up for the challenge.
He told me a grim reaper appears before me. Standing there robe and sickle in hand.
I asked the DM how he was standing exactly. And he told me a general description (6 feet away planted firmly and ready to strike).
I then told the DM I ask “Death” that if he could do what I say I would go with him quietly.
The DM looked puzzled but agreed.
"I ask Death if he could touch the ceiling (12’ above his head or so) without his feet leaving the floor I would go with him.
The DM pondered a few seconds and says “Death detaches at the ankles, floats up and touches the ceiling.” At the point I say “I win!”………..
nuff said. :)
So this took place back in the days of 3.0 D&D. My dwarf fighter, Hamus had picked up a real hatred of all things magical. He just kept getting sucker punched with pretty much every spell the party faced. So he went Forsaker (unable to use magic items but gain a stat bump every level). Eventually we ended up facing some large Gargoyles in a cavern that was 70ft tall, just enough so I couldn’t see them perching up in the roof. Hamus steps out leading the party as the token meat wall. Down come the Gargoyles swooping in to nab our Halfling caster and taking him back up near the roof to drop him. My dwarf sees this and readies his axe to strike the next Gargoyle to swoop down. I do so, and the blow totally bounces as its not a magic weapon. The Gargoyle then grabs hold of poor old Hamus and begins to beat his wings to take off.
I look right at the DM and ask what the strength score is of the Gargoyles is, then I remind him since Hamus is acting as the party pack mule while we work our way down the tunnel (because no one else is strong enough or dwarf enough to carry more than their combat gear) and that I way with all my gear well over 700lbs. He looks down, looks at me.
"The Gargoyle has a hernia trying to lift you off the ground.â€?
Let it never be said that being in your median encumbrance as a dwarf is a bad thing.
This happened just last night and was too good not to share.
The party’s three rogues and a fighter who are being paid to evict a series of monsters from the woods surrounding a small village. They’ve just defeated a harpy and, because they’re big on trophies, have taken her wings.
They come up to a cave said to be full of bugbears and send their drow scout in to recon. Seeing a couple of guards, the guy playing the drow asks the DM if he can throw his voice to convince the bugbears he’s somewhere behind them. The DM figures this’ll be all right and allows it. In short order the entire group of bugbears is standing outside their hole, absolutely convinced that God is speaking to them (it wasn’t really what the drow was going for, but he ran with it).
The rest of the party overhears some of this, sends a second scout (who reports back) and decides that they’ll send the two remaining rogues out so that the four party members form an X with the bugbears in the middle. Then the party leader will fire his crossbow and everyone can attack the distracted baddies.
The drow, of course, has no clue this is going on and continues his God act, and is starting to really terrify the poor bugbears. The party leader, carrying the harpy wings, replans - he spreads lamp oil on a patch of grass in front of him and stuffs his arms through the harpy wings like sleeves. He then lights the grass, attracting the attention of the terrified bugbears, and walks through the low flames screaming, “I am the Dread Pirate Roberts. Leave now or I will devour your souls!”
Two of the bugbears drop dead from fright, and two more are taken out as the other party members figure this is as good a time as any to begin the attack. After the drow pops up from a few feet away, the remaining baddies head for the hills, presumably to begin the Cult of the Dread Pirate Roberts.
Back in our early days of gaming, we played only AD&D and Superworld. We really got into it with dark lighting and sometimes funky music or movies playing in the background. Near the end of one D&D campaign, we were getting tired of the adventure (it lasted several weeks and it was approaching 5:00 a.m.). I mentioned that we should move on to Superworld next week, and everyone thought that would be a good idea. What I failed to hear, what the others swore they agreed upon, was that we should do the last battle of D&D at the start of the next session, and THEN move on to Superworld.
So, next week I come to run will all of my supervillains made and ready. They were all badass, decked out with power packs, gleaming armors, cool suits, and awesome powers. However, I was running a little late. So when I got there, I wanted to jump right in with a major battle to set the tone of the Super Campaign. I drew a quick map of the area (more like chicken scratch) and off we went.
I was so excited (and surprised) when I acted first, killing two players in the first round with my flying villain and another with fire bursts. They were practically jumping up and down screaming at me for being such a cheater, that no monster from the Monster Manual could fight like that blah-blah-blah! I swear I said these exact words, “Monster Manual… what, wait, huh???â€?
We decided to spy on rivals so we sent in our rouge and pixie. They’re good at stealth right? The rouge gets caught and tied up. The pixie, who has been redecorating, drops by says in an understanding voice “Oh, kinky” and flies off.
It all worked out in the end but we never used the pixie for infiltration again.
One of my favorite game stories took place purely by chance. Our ill-fated level 3 elf swashbuckler was sneaking around a church of Pelor, when he came across a hallway with lots of locked doors. Being the 6 wisdom he was, he kicked down one of the doors to see what was behind.
There was a priest sleeping behind the door in a private bedroom, who awoke white a cry of “WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING?!?!?”
“I FELL!” Our smooth talking swashbuckler instantly retorted, with a beautiful bluff roll of one.
“Yeah, sure, you’re in big troub—”
“NO SERIOUSLY!” He gloriously stammered out.
He rolled a natural 20 with that bluff.
Naturally, our DM wanted to keep some realism but at the same time reward such a fantastic roll.
“It’s up to his sense motive.”
He rolled a one.
It was amazing, and from now on, when ever a bluff roll is failed, “NO SERIOUSLY!” is yelled out and a d20 flung at random.
We have yet to see another 20 vs 1.
Well, our buddy Mike always makes the games interesting, no matter how many +1s he tries to invent or add to his roll, his antics always make his presence worth it.
Playing in our friend Jim’s homebrew world, there are these magical swrods, the Moonblades. The most epic swords known in the world. Mind you Jim runs a bit of a low magic setting, so remember that, but these are the peak weapons. Eventually we actually get several of them. While my rogueish (sp) character sneaks into a keep to try to steal something or save someone, that part doesn’t matter, the rest of the aprty outside starts to get antsy. worried about what may have happened to me, Mike and 2 other characters make their way in as well. Mind you the walls of the keep are littered with archers. Well we all start making our way out the rooftop route, which is my natural route, being as i can hide, Mike gets spotted and figures he can distract their attention with his mighty magic sword and fend them off while we escape. Mind you he has no ranged weapon, and the outer wall for the most part was 50 yds away. He taunts, they fire a massive volley on his swordweilding butt… “I strat deflecting the arrows with my sword”. At least a couple were 20s and numerous other hits, and he takes a fall from the wall, after only deflecting one. Mike stands up and says “I said I was using the magic swrod to deflect arrows.” Jim replied, I know you deflected one.”
“What kind of F’in magic sword doesn’t magically deflect arrows?!?!” Of the few minor magical effects they had, Jim never once said or implied it could deflect arrows. To this day we joke about having arrow deflecting swords.
OK one other one from a ways back. our group was a traveling performing troupe and each had our own wagon/cart. I was a middle eastern type snake charmer/firebreather. We also had a tinker gnome and a kender/halfling. The two of them were arguing about something and taking forever to get on our way to the rest of the adventure, so I grabbed one of my empty snake baskets, snatched up the kender in it and threw him into the tinker gnomes wagon to occupy them both, and let us get on our way.
We had just started to play MERPS (Middle Earth). It’s a game with a LOT of tables and dice rolls to work out every little detail. It can end up a lot of fun sometimes with a lot of things happening that you didn’t want to happen.
I decided to play as a fighter for a change while the other 2 players rolled rangers, one human and one elf.
Our first encounter with a thief who wanted to demand money for us to pass and then attacked us when we refused. As a mighty fighter i took a swing at him with my sword only to have it get stuck in a tree branch.
Our second encounter was a couple of orcs in a ruin tower hiding from the rain, so we set ourselves up to ambush them.
The elven ranger climbed a tree while the human ranger hid in bushes and the brave strong fighter was to run in and draw the orcs into the open to be picked off.
Well in i went and got their attention and then ran out far enough for the arrows to hit them. However one orc decided to come around the other way and saw the ranger in the bushes and started to head for him.
Meanwhile the other one followed me out and started the comedy of errors that followed.
The orc following me went to hit me but the DM rolled badly so the orc missed, spinning himself around 360. I then took a swing only to roll badly, miss and fall down in the mud. The ranger in the tree then missed the orc with his arrow, nearly missing me. The orc’s next turn was another swing at me only to fail and slip and fall next to me. Thankfully the elf then hit the orc, while i tried to hit the orc while laying down. The orc tried to stand and failed slipping over again.
The elf then went to fire off another arrow and failed his roll which resulted in his nice expensive bow to snap in half.
Meanwhile the human ranger had disposed of his orc and came to our rescue. I think his dice were rigged as he rolled without a problem killing the orc.
Once upon a time… we, a group of D&D3.5 Adventurers around the 7th or so level were stumblin’ throught a half flooded city. I played then a sorcerer, and one of my most powerful spells was greater invisibility. Ehrsam Immertreu, called Eri, our rouge, was, after i got that spell, my best friend, as she ALWAYS pleaded me to make her invisible. We found the main base of the evil monsters in that city, and, after another discussion, i made Eri invisible. The fight startet, and at some point all the bad guys stood perfect for a fireball. I swung my hands in some strange gestures, muttered some words and a tiny globe of fire sprang into life and whizzled towards the bad Guys. BAAAAM! and everything o’er there burnt.
The fight ended soon, and, of course, we won. But.. where’s Eri, we started to ask us. Then, with that her body appeared in the middle of the Battlefield, right there were all the bad guys stood. And… nearly burnt to ashes. From a previous encounter we got a Staff of Healing or something alike, and we ressurected her.
Point was, when i casted that fireball, she made her reflex save, and… guess what, she rolled a 1. As we have Hero Points for such situations, she spent one and rolled again, and, well, rolled again a 1.
After the next visit in a town, she gave me some scrolls of see invisibility for free. But… well, i have not yet any used ;)
Comments for this article are closed.