Posted on September 08, 2017
We were adventurers, chosen by the Gods to sew back up the fabric of reality and gifted with incredibly powerful artifacts to do so. I was playing a Tiefling Storm Sorcerer, and with some amazing luck on rolling my scores I was a force to be reckoned with.
A few sessions back we'd been slapped around (literally) by the Big Bad, who'd laid a curse on us and ran away. It was a curse from the God of Slaughter, unremovable except by waiting it out, that took the form of bloody handprints. For every finger we got a +1 to damage, every hand a +1 to hit, and killing things gave us a finger. Downside was we had to roll wisdom or go berserk and kill anyone we met. It wasn't too much of a problem, my Sorcerer and our Cleric regularly made the saves and we simply used Hold Person on anyone trying to kill random civilians.
The curse was slowly running its course and everything was going fine. Until Fate decided we weren't worried enough.
We were in an attic that housed an entire race of mouse-people. This attic was essentially their New York City, and someone reminded the DM of the curse. For the first and only time, I failed my roll. Now, I fully admit, I metagamed hard for the next few minutes, because my companions—heck even the DM—didn't see how bad things were about to get.
So I laid it out. We were in about a 40 ft radius attic. We were in the center of Mouse-person New York, with thousands of 1 hp residents. I had Ice Storm. If I wasn't stopped, my character would commit Genocide in 6 seconds, and I'd "earn" thousands of Hands from the curse.
Grappling wouldn't work. I could still cast because of Careful Spell. Throwing me out the window wouldn't help, as I could fly naturally. The only way to stop me was Hold Person from the Cleric, and I was really good at Wisdom Saves.
Everyone watched as I rolled the die, and everyone except the DM breathed a sigh of relief as I failed the save... by a single point.
A week later I got an e-mail from the DM. It had been so close, and he'd never considered the implications, that he'd written out what might have happened. I would have exploded from the force of the curse’s power, taking out the entire mansion with me. From the wreckage, what remained of my Sorcerer would have emerged as a New God of immense power, a God of Genocide. I would have tracked down the BBEG God of Slaughter, killed them, devoured them, and become the new force of evil the party had to fight... only much, much more powerful.
A single point. I've never been so glad, and so disappointed, to fail a saving throw.