I was DMing for a strange group: Cleric, Barbarian, Ranger, Paladin, and Bard. This wasn’t the strange part. The Cleric refused to heal characters, the Barbarian was overly cautious, the Ranger was inattentive, the Paladin was enslaved to the Bard, and the Bard was trying to sabotage the campaign. Also, when rolling for trinkets, they got almost all magic stuff. But on to the story.
I had these guys in a tough dungeon, and a few NPC party members (not previously mentioned) had already died. They were facing the boss and had already taken out his minions. ANY players know that when magic items are broken, @#$% happens. So, my cautious…
Among our characters were a Fighter (whose player was a twelve-year-old, the son of one of the other players), a Mage who was fairly evil (though the other characters didn't know), and my character, a tiny little Beastmaster (she rode a bear). Also a few others, including a Thief.
The campaign involved taking out a lich. Over the course of the adventure, we'd found some old magical armor that the lich had been looking for, which had been owned by a previous lich. The bulk of the armor was basically just magically boosted armor, but the helmet had some nifty built-in spells.
The Fighter decided to wear the suit of armor, and the Mage…
Our little group of adventurers were stuck in a goblin camp, that for the moment were our allies. We needed exotic saddles for the mounts that the goblins could provide. But we were broke.
My multiclass Rogue/Warlock went on a stealing spree that did not go so well. Nor did the pub performance of the Bard. So we did the only logical thing—we decided to start a circus.
The next hour at the gaming table was a flurry of ideas and planning on how to make profit. It was decided that my Rogue did the promotion, because he was a good liar. The Bard was in charge of arranging the performances, and the Dragonborn Sorcerer was in charge of th…
Our party, all level 3, consisted of a Dwarven Monk, a Gnome Rogue, a Duskscale Lizardfolk Swordsage, a Human Cleric, and my middle-aged Human Bard.
This adventure began when we encountered a drunk, dishevelled Wizard living in a shack at the beach. Despite his haggard appearance he was powerful enough to restore our Lizardfolk and Gnome to flesh once again after they had petted a cockatrice. Since the Wizard had been very lenient with the spellcasting fee, and my Bard being Neutral Good, I inquired about his living conditions, to see if we could help. Turned out the Wizard had lost his tower due to a bet with a Devil and a Sorcerer.…
We were playing the Age of Worms campaign (3.5), already a brutal meat-grinder at the best of times, when our DM (a prodigious power gamer) decided that the NPCs could be played much more effectively than their stat write-ups indicated. Enter the Meat-grinder 3000.
So our party, which consisted of an Elven Arcane Archer and three Half-Dragons (Fighter, Ranger, and me, the Cleric/Paladin of Pelor who focused on healing and buffing), descend into the dreaded dungeon. After a few epic encounters, and swarms of undead, most of our resources were spent. At this point we finally met the dungeon’s master, a spell-weaver Lich named Makar. We…