Similar to a 1001 thread, but with stories attached! I went through the past half-dozen pages of threads and didn't really see one dedicated to innovative PC thinking, so I figured I'd get one rolling.
We're in a 4e campaign running on a prebuilt Eberron from 3.5 that's being tweaked accordingly. So, we get into town seeking information about a guy (whom we learn at the end of the "encounter" that he's a vampire). We stumble upon news of a party. We're in a gnome city, so they hate our goblin. My dwarf is revered for picking up the goblin and throwing him. (that's a whole other story)
We arrive at the ritzy party where we are asked for our invitation. Having known nothing about this, our Warforged Wizard conjures one up in his storage, turns, and pulls it out. It is damp and the ink is running, but otherwise looks identical to the large basket of invitations next to the NPC. The bluff check completely works, but we are told to dress up.
We go to a shop around the corner, purchase fine clothing, and return to the party. The guards snicker at us but let us through. There we are, donned in our fine attire... as we walk into a masquerade.
We are without most of our weaponry and armor, but we chose to store it inside of the wizard's bag of holding (gotta love Warforged and their built-in closet) so we would have it if necessary.
Ritzy party ensues.
Roleplay ensues.
We are still seeking information on our mystery man. The party of six splits into five groups (only the two warforged stay together) and begin the hunt for leads. My cleric finds the warlord and through the power of speech, the entire group eventually knows that we're looking for a woman with a gold mask to give us what we need. There are six of them. Convenient.
My dwarf approaches one of the women. Wrong one. Through striking up a conversation, Kol'stonne learns that the woman has her eye on the lute player in the band on stage. Between songs, he approaches the lute player, whispers about the "attractive young lady behind the mask," and then offers to play the lute in his stead.
HA. Yes, that totally happened. Through high diplomacy and a raw charisma check, the elf handed over the lute and then I was stuck leading the band. I spent the next 15 minutes whistling the Cantina theme from Star Wars (at the wizard's request) while the other party members finished gathering information.
(Meanwhile, the warforged wizard and fighter were both dancing in the center of the dance floor... doing the robot.)
Also, my current DM once played with a guy who stuck a bag of holding up his @ss so he could literally pull things out of it. The party apparently frequently threatened to puncture it and cause a dimensional rift in the vicinity of the guy's sphincter.
My first ever D&D group I played in was my brothers, his girlfriend, and two of their friends. Being the younger brother, of about 14 at the time, I joined in with all the trepidation and embarrasment one might expect... that being bog all, cause I was young and very headstrong.
However I have always been an avid fiction writer and shocked the group with a well drawn out "role" play character and not your typical first timers stat fest.
The DM helped me intergrate this character.
This character was a young, dirty, smelly and rather foolish street urchin who when found by the group had no name. He was just 'child' or 'boy'.
After several hours (in game) of my character following the party round, pinching peices of equipment, helping them out in the odd tangle with other theiving street urchins (like I was letting anyone pinch from my rich money bag travelers) the group decided to adopt me as their door opener.
It transpired that I had no name, and so on the road to the next town the discussion was started, "What do we call it." the discussion went as follows.
Female Human Sorcerer: We have to call it something, we can't just call him 'boy' the whole time.
Male elf psychic warrior: Lets call him door stop, or trap bait!
Male dwarven cleric: I dinnae give a "beep"
Female Human Sorcerer: I wanna call him Andrew
Male Dwarven cleric: His names of no importance! for "bleeps" sake.
Male elf psychic warrior: Of no importance, Oy OF!
Me: What?
Dwarf: *blink blink* Oh "bleep"
3d6, in order for stats.
Class, race, gender, and weapon assigned at random.
I ended up with a halfling rogue with 21 dexterity who fought with a bola :D.
It was a SWSE campaign, we were level 4. I was Trik'tel Gladius, a Kel Doran Jedi specializing in the lightsaber, my friend Matt was Ga'wain, a Human Sith all about the Force powers. Only he doesn't know he treads the darkside since his master, the imprinted mind on a holocron, never told him he is a Sith. The campaign takes place between part 2 and 3 of Dawn of Defiance.
Our characters got along very well, since I had been running half my life from the Empire and finally had discovered a fellow Jedi, and Ga'wain had been searching for Jedi's himself because he knew only their power could overcome Lord Vader. We really were close and had saved each others lives on numerous occasions. But I had begun to see violent tendencies in Ga'wain, and, just prior to last night, I saw him use force lightening. I let it pass, knowing my companion was tredding the dark side. I decided to see if there was a moment I could talk to him, but because of events, we were too busy to have a sit-down. Eventually we did what we had to, captured a 16 year old girl who sold her parents out to the Empire. After the NPC interaction, everyone but myself, Matt, and the GM went home. Everyone was hurt, Matt the lowest at about 6 hp. Matt decided to question the girl to discover what she knew. When she refused to give up anything, Ga'wain crushed her throat. I immediately used Force Sever, barely making the lowest DC. Matt did not know I had the power though. The following discussion took place, and a lot of it refersto past events:
Ga'wain: (looking at me) What was that? Why have you attacked me?
Gladius: You are treading the dark path, I must do what I can to save you!
Ga'wain: Save me! What have I done that is so wrong?
Gladius: You killed our prisoner. She was defenseless and in our power. All you did was murder!
Ga'wain: Not murder, justice. She attacked us, wanted to kill us. We had no choice!
Gladius: Death is not the answer. It is a last resort. There was no reason to kill her.
Ga'wain: There was every reason to kill her. She deserved death. That is justice.
Gladius: That is not justice! That is revenge! You talk as one who follows the dark side!
Ga'wain: So what if it is revenge? Do you expect me to spare those who have done wrong?
Gladius: No, I expect you to do what is right! Bloodshed is not a solution, it only begets further violence.
Ga'wain: You, you toting about peace! You are the first to draw a weapon, to attack.
Gladius: I do what I must to protect those that I care for.
Ga'wain: Yet what of that time you killed that defenseless soldier?
Gladius: Yes, I made a mistake, and I have atoned for it. And I pay for it every day, and lament every death that I have caused.
Ga'wain: Yes, right. You lament. And I do something about the injustice in this galaxy. And is it not I who tries to talk our way past difficult situations while all you do is wave your blade?
Gladius: I have been forced to fight, to fight all my life. I was abandoned at 12, alone on a world that feared and hated me. Do you know what it is like to live a life in constant fear?
Ga'wain: No, but I do know of loss. I watched my wife and children murdered by the Empire, all because of the Jedi on my world who refused to fight. I must stop the Empire for what it has done.
Gladius: That is not right, that is revenge! You let your emotions run rampart! You are giving yourself up for what, quick and easy power?
Ga'wain: Yes power, the power to confront the Empire.
Gladius: That is the same power Darth Vader uses. It is the same lines of reasoning Skywalker fell, the same need for control, for revenge, for power that made the Empire what it is.
Ga'wain: Yes, in control.
Gladius: A Jedi would never uses their powers for these reasons.
Ga'wain: The Jedi are dead! All of them dead. Their vaulted values of logic and reason over passion is what has caused them to fall!
Gladius: The Jedi are the reason this galaxy was safeguarded for so long!
Ga'wain: The Jedi are fools! It was this reason they were doomed to failure. It is not knowledge but ignoracne they had!
Gladius: Not ignorance but balance.
Ga'wain: No, ignorance. Ignorance of true power.
Gladius: How can you act this way? How can you believe this? You are a focus for the Force. You are to maintaine the balance, be a safeguard for life.
Ga'wain: And that is what I shall do. I shall save lives...
Ga'wain: What will you do if I keep to this path.
Gladius: What I must.
Ga'wain: And what would that be?
Gladius: I would stop you. And if need be...kill you.
Ga'wain: You will kill an ally and friend?
Gladius: To protect those I love, as well as themselves. Let me ask you, what would do once Vader and the Emperor is dead?
Ga'wain: Live a peaceful life and die free.
Gladius: Do you believe that?
Ga'wain: I must.
After a pregnant pause.
Gladius: We don't have a choice.
Ga'wain: No we don't.
With that, Ga'wain force gripped me and began to kill me..
Ga'wain: I'm sorry.
Gladius: You seal your own fate. With my death you complete your fall and extinguish the last hope we had for salvation. Yourself.
Ga'wain: You were noble, and you were a friend. Now, no more.
And with that, he crushed the life from my body.
Immediately, he felt the tendrels of a prescence in his mind, one full of malevolence, hatred and lust, as a powerful force found him and laughed with tainted glee.
Borg's body was never recovered from the Crystalmists.
The DM was afraid that, having died before even getting to the dungeon, I would be soured on the game. Au contraire, I loved the idea of action/consequence. He let me run one of the NPCs, and Carl the Cautious retired at a ripe old age.
Right now I have a great group of roleplayers. One did a soliloquy on what it feels like to begin transforming into a shadow and even provided a motivation for why they attack the living. Another used his drow PC to attempt to corrupt, over a series of games, another player's PC in an attempt to turn him down a dark path just because it's the sort of thing his character would do, and watching the player act out his PC's wrestling with his conscience is awesome.
He threw a curveball at us last weekend. He wants his PC to become LG and restore Sir Keegan's good name and honor, but the drow is constantly prodding him into doing things of a decidedly not LG flavor, such as murdering prisoners, killing a foe slowly, and other heinous acts. So last week as the party breaks camp and gets ready to move out, he says to the Paladin, "Tell me about Bahamut." As the PC was written up to not believe in any god, the Pally and the Cleric both jumped at the chance for a convert. The drow rogue simply slapped his forehead, pondering the new twist in his "game".
The question did come up, OOG, about why a faithless fighter would suddenly become interested in the gods at all. His answer was because of the way the Cleric and Pally were being played. They were devout and always seemed to have each other's backs. The fighter is from a very broken, tragic background, and such a display of teamwork and camaraderie was something he felt missing in his life. As the other two members of the party, the drow and the elf, seemed to be sharing only the most tenuous of alliances*, the fighter, wanting so desperately to belong somewhere, would be naturally drawn to the two genuine friends.
*My players have a thing going where they provide me with "secrets" about their PCs from time to time, just in case I can do anything with them. The "tenuous" alliance is a disguise on the drow's part. The fact is that he is absolutely awestruck by the elf wizard's self-discipline and mastery of the arcane arts. He'd do anything to learn just a little of what the elf knows... anything but admit it, that is. Pride is his biggest obstacle. After all, what drow would admit that he was in awe of a surface elf?
We were talking to a wererat and we heard a huge explosion. When we ran out to see what happened we found out someone set off a huge alchemical bomb. We rescued everyone we could, and when we got finished we found out some of the wererats were raising a mob to attack us.
We ran away and got stuck in a dead end. At this point our DM was going to send waves and waves of wererats against us. So my tiefling wizard uses wall of fire and flaming sphere to totally block the way. They were taking a full turn and seventy-odd damage just to get to us. Which killed all of the wererats in the book. My DM sent three wererat militia--werewolf stats--at us, which we beat easily.
All of the mob in the middle of the wall and who were pressed forward did not just die, they were carbonized, and I kept the wall up long after everyone else was yelling at me to lower it. I still kept it up long enough to look out of to make sure that we were safe. So now everyone is ****** at me for being so cautious.
Eventually, we found out that it was doppelgangers causing all the trouble, and that one had managed to kill and replace the halfling king. At this point I was really ****** off, and my DM, entirely without realizing it, managed to hit almost all the things I hate, all the things that people do to hurt those who are innocent.
Then I find out the doppelganger/king is about to consummate his marriage to the daughter of the king's guard. Since she is not aware of the fact that he is not really the king, I feel that it is ****. So now this poor son of a ***** has managed to put me in a killing rage.
I ran in, pulled him off her in the middle of the act, and slamed him against a wall. As I moved away from her with the man she thought was her husband, she pulled a knife and stabbed me. She got a natural 20, critical hit. Now remember, she is a halfling, laying in bed, and I am standing above her. Guess where the knife went in. I then slashed him a couple of times before I got another critical hit from the knife and had to use expeditious retreat. Eventually, the rest of the party calmed her down and explained what happened, and I got to kill the doppelganger/king.
The funniest part of this is the fact that another player was complaigning to the DM about how slow and cautious I was, so she set that little encounter up just for him to shut him up. Apparently everyone else was blown away by me kicking down a door and cutting up on the halfling when they were going to come back after the newlyweds were finished.
The first moment comes from when we are going after a gnome by the name of Gregorious, whom we believe is causing a mushroom (evil, near-instantanious death mushrooms) outbreak throughout the kingdom we are in, in an attempt to ressurrect a chaotic evil goddess by the name of the Sanguine Rose. At the moment, we're under some limestone caverns that stretch out underneath the city. For a while, Aran (being a bit paranoid and distrustful of magic and the gods, Tymora the only one who he believes is fair) has been talking to a disembodied voice, believing it to be a god toying with him (OOG-wise, I'm passing notes to the DM, then showing them to Silarrias' PC, then writing stuff down before passing it back to me).
Aran: (To disembodied voice): "Should I be suspiscious of the people who have touched the medallion?"
DM: You all realize the room is filled to the brim with mushrooms, and Rocky sees Gregorious, spikes going through his chest as he chants and mushrooms growing out all over his body. (Hands the note to the other PC, then back to me)
Disembodied Voice to Aran: "YES! Especially the girl, she is not who she says she is."
Rocky: "Gregorious is there" (points to him).
Aran: "How're we going to kill him if he's in the circle of mushrooms?"
Rocky: "I dunno... Maybe throw alchemist's fire and spells at him until he croaks? You've got your bow and arrows with you, so you can shoot him a few times as well."
DM: I think it's time.
Sillarias: Huh? Oh, yeah. (Points to Rocky) Dominate. Attack Aran and Rose.
Aran: As soon as she says 'Dominate,' I take a 5 foot step back and begins to watch Sillarias.
DM: You have no reason to do that.
Me: The hell I don't! (pointing to the notes)
DM: Ahh. Right. Good job.
Rocky: I shapeshift into my panther soulmeld and... Wait... The medallion disappears when I do that.
DM: That's riiight! She can't control you anymore.
Sillarias: (Points to Rose) Dominate. Attack Aran and Rocky. (Her PC hands the DM a note)
Rose: What? Aww... (attacks Rocky, misses)
DM: A brilliant flash appears in the room, momentarily blinding everyone. 5 feet away from Sillarias, is a second Sillarias, only this one is glowing.
Aran: I still watch the black-haired one.
DM: She unferals a piece of parchment, which grows in size, with a single, big-lettered word on it. It says, 'Duck.'
Aran: I drop to the floor.
Rocky: I do the same.
Glowing Sillarias: As do I.
Rose's: I do the same.
DM: No sooner does Rose hit the ground, a large, purple tentacle bursts out of the parchment, grabbing the black-haired Sillarias. She screams in pain as acid burns into her and she begins thrashing wildly about, the baby she's carrying falling to the ground into the other Sillarias' hands. Finally, the tentacle pulls her into the parchment before bursting into flames.
It turns out that the goddess had been emprisoned into the medallion, and whenever someone touched it she was able to control them. She took over Sillarias' body, but Sillarias was owed a favor by Illmater, so he pulled her soul from her body to prevent her from being controlled (which also gave her the Saint template).
After we escape from the caverns, we are racing back to the city to save a pair of powerful Seers who are twins, who are being falsely accused for attempted murder and treason against the king. The pixie tries to reason with him, but he's blinded by anger and evil (he's Lawful Evil we find out later). The rest of us arrive to try and stop the execution. Now, earlier in the day, the twins gave us some items, giving mine an Adamantine Shortsword.
DM: He casts an Anti-Magic field. Your turn Sillarias.
Sillarias: Well, crap. There goes my obscenely-high Diplomacy score and my AC of 28. I try and reason with him again. (rolls, fails)
Rocky: Well, I can't do anything either. I'm too far away, and I still have the medallion on me. The moment I change out of panther form the Sanguine Rose will take control of me.
Aran: Well, about how far away am I from the stockades holding the twins?
DM: About... 30 feet or so.
Aran: And, it's not too much of a stretch of an imagination to assume that the locks on the stockades are magical, right?
DM: They'd have to be, to hold these two in.
Aran: Well, the Anti-Magic field kills that magic.
DM: Right. As well as any other magical or supernatural things inside of it. The only thing that can be cast in it is a VERY specific spell or divine intervention.
Aran: You took the words right out of my mouth.
DM: Huh?
Aran: I pull out my Adamantine Shortsword, scream as loud as I can, "Tymora aid me!" And chuck the blade at the lock on the stockade.
Rest of the Table:
DM: *rolls a d100, looks*
Rest of the Table: Well!?
DM: Here's what happens. The blade hits the first lock dead on, cutting through it like a hot knife through butter. The bottom half pings off the sword, hitting the second lock. Several tumblers click inside and it pops open. The sword flies forward to the podium, now spinning around and bounces off it. It flies back to the stockades, and as it spins, cuts the stockades clean off, freeing the twins. It twirls around more before embedding itself in the statue next to Aran's head. *pulls his screen up, showing his d100 roll* You got a 100. Congratulations, you just won at DnD.
Aran: I grab the sword from the statue, twirl it around a bit and sheath it. "That's right. F*** you B*****!"
Rocky: "Time for plan A?"
Aran: Yes sir. I hop onto Rocky and we quad-time it to the Mage's Guild.
The remaining party members escaped thanks to the twins actually knowing what that very specific spell is, and casting it. We all flee the country, knowing that we're now enemies of the state. But we return about a month in-game time later, finding out that the king has gone mad with power and has bound a devil to himself, making him stronger (along with given him devil stats and 9th level spells). To stop him, the party goes on a three-way front. The first group is being led by Rocky and lots of NPCs. The second group is led by Sillarias as she tries to get the remaining citizens out of the city before the reported bloodrain (which we find out is diseased with Warptouch) kills everyone. The third team is made up of 4 people: Aran, a duskblade NPC, her copper dragon, and a Nymph NPC. Their mission: To assassinate the king. The current plan is this: to buy Aran 18 seconds so he can study the king long enough to Death Attack him.
DM: The four of you land as you see him torturing several naked women, as he sits on a throne made of bones. You can tell they're human bones because of all of the skulls and various other body parts its made out of. Since you're all under the duskblade's Invisibility Sphere cast upon Aran, he doesn't see you enter.
Aran: I begin watching.
DM: *rolls* The king stands up and looks around. "I know you're here. I can smell your fear." The duskblade, nymph and copper dragon all move out into the center of the courtyard and exchange words briefly. *lots of dice rolls* Give me a Will save and a Fortitude save.
Aran: *rolls, passes Fortitude save*
DM: You relive your worst fear, but fight back the urge to buckle from the strain of it. The duskblade and dragon appear shaken, but ok. The nymph, however, falls over dead.
Rocky's PC: Weird? S***, that sucks.
Aran: Round 2, still watching.
DM: *lots of dice rolls* The duskblade attacks, hitting him with an Enervation spell. He can't cast 9th or 8th level spells now, but he responds by casting Wall of Teeth. You take 32 damage.
Aran: S***. I'm at 0 HP; there goes the plan.
Rocky's PC: 0 HP exactly?
Aran's PC: Yes.
DM: That's ok. You can take a 5 foot step back on your turn, get out from the radius of the spell, and still be able to watch and not fall into -1. In terms of what he cast, you got lucky; not only did he not kill you, you fell into the sweet spot where you can still get an action off before going into negative HP.
Aran: Turn 3, 5 foot step back, still watching.
DM: *lots of dice rolling* The duskblade and her dragon look pretty beat up now, and the king is looking sorta bad, but not as bad as them. More spells are cast, but to save time I won't bother to let you know what happened. Suffice it to say, it's your turn.
Aran: Good. The timer goes off in my head, I proceed to Death Attack his ass. The DC is 21.
DM: *rolls, rolls again* Here's what happens from the NPC's point of view. The king rears up, his hands moving as he prepares a spell. All of a sudden, he stops, as blood trickles down his chest. You see a silvered shortsword sticking out of it, as Aran appears behind him, bloody and panting, looking ready to keel over. He glances back to see who it is, recognizing Aran immediately. "You...!" He falls to his knees, as Aran does the same, his breathing getting labored. "Today, you have killed a man. But, can you kill the devil inside?"
Aran: "I don't care. You still die."
He died, I fell to -1. The duskblade pulls out my wand of Cure Light Wounds and brings me into positive HP. Aran and the duskblade suffer some warptouch, but I got good things out of it; working bat wings that give me a 30 ft. clumsy fly speed and a +4 to my INT score. She got medusa eyes, but countered it by wearing tinted goggles that only she can see out of.
Aran: "I don't care. You still die."
Great line.
June is a whisper gnome, she has returned to the orc tribe she was a member of for around a decade ... and she does not appreciate the way their new chief has been leading them ...
--
"Chief Gro-Ak, I challenge you for leadership of the tribe." June taps the heel of one of her boots against the other. Time slows to a crawl for her. She runs toward the orc chieftain, drawing her blades as she does so. In a matter of seconds, she stabs him repeatedly, managing to thrust deep into the soft areas of his flesh four times before he can react beyond unsheathing a greatsword from his back.
Gro-Ak roars in agony, which soon becomes a roar of anger, swinging his adamant sword into the more vicious of June's weapons. The greatsword howls as it smashes through her diamond blade, sending off horrid vibrations. The sword Talon shatters into four pieces, flying out of her hand; June screams in pain and rage, feeling her mind nearly torn asunder from her bonded-weapon's terrible wound.
She starts to claw at Gro-Ak with the hand which had contained Talon, continuing to stab at him with her remaining shapat. In the back of her mind she senses something out of place, a black...something feeding and growing off of her rage, something made of fear, hatred, doubt and something unmistakably; evil. She also senses that she could repress it, but it carries with it a sense of power and dark magic.
Gro-Ak shrugs off her attacks, assaulting June directly with his great blade and cutting deep into her shoulder. She tries to endure the injury and calm herself, as yet unwilling to use the dark power she senses against her kin. Moving out of his reach she instead invokes magic she knows she can control, and shoots a ray of burning energy from her hands, striking him a glancing blow.
He easily closes the short distance to her, slashing aggressively and powerfully, opening several gashes deep enough to cut to the bone. June turns and runs, dropping her sword to scramble up the pole in the center of the tent and flee out onto the ceiling. Gro-ak roars in contempt, sheathing his sword and climbing after her with great agility.
June moves toward the entrance, seeking to get to another pole, and allowing time to speed back to its normal rate. Gro-Ak follows her movement with anger-filled eyes and leaps from the pole toward her, reaching out to grab her in mid-air. His hand closes around her arm. The hide roof tears beneath their combined weight, and they fall to the floor beneath.
The force of the impact tears her from his grasp, and they both lie gasping for a moment, the breath knocked out of them. June shivers with revulsion and fear, growing more desperate by the second. She focuses and channels her anger, remembering Talon's agony, Gro-Ak's idiocy forcing her to this, and her deep, abiding resentment of the very people she is fighting to lead: a people who had at first considered her little more than vermin, who she had struggled to prove herself to, forced to bury the gentler parts of her mind beneath the mind-set of a warrior culture. Striving to somehow access the power she senses.
An alien force takes hold of her mind for a few moments, Dark patterns fill her vision. Tendrils of newfound strength wind their way through her weary limbs. All she can think about is anger, vengeance, hatred...
Her claws lengthen, curving into vicious points, and her canines grow to the ripping tools of a carnivore. She tears at Gro-Ak savagely, clawing and biting from her position on the floor, managing to sink her teeth into his neck. After latching onto Gro-ak with her newly formed fangs, a strange sensation comes over her. A hunger, a thirst. For life, for vitae, for that which courses through his veins. A thirst for blood. She drinks as deeply as she can.
Gro-ak is shocked by this turn of events and pries her off. He looks as if he might collapse at any moment, but June continues savaging him with tooth and claw, until satisfied he is dead.
With the ending of Gro-ak's heartbeat, so ends her rage. The blackness recedes and vanishes. The tattoo on her arm appears to have grown quite a bit, covering the entire length of her arm with black markings.
June lets out a sigh of regret -- so much of what she'd feared had come true. The hatred drained into exhaustion, she bows her head in respect to Gro-Ak. "You were a strong warrior. The Watcher will set your soul many conquests."
She moves to retrieve her weaponry, cleaning and sheathing her intact sword before seeking out every last shard of Talon, a throbbing headache where before she was bonded. The four pieces still glimmer with intelligence, though it is slight and weak. She cleans them and puts them into his sheath.
"I'll get you healed, my loyal friend ... thank you. For everything." She turns and walks toward the entrance, moving slowly; knowing that what happened cannot remain secret for long.