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Great Moments in Tabletop Gaming

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Posts

  • mixmastermindmixmastermind Registered User
    edited July 2007
    I've got a good one, I think:

    There's a 3rd Ed. DnD campaign I'm in, it's been something of a learning experience for me. ALOT of people have died from this campaign, mainly do to bad decisions on their part. Keep in mind that this is an online Play by Post type of thing.

    So here's the players:

    Aren: Fighter/Wizard... thing. It was not a good starting class choice, and for some reason he wished to be the party leader.

    Gwydion: She's a psion character. I don't really know much about psions, but they're clearly awful in combat.

    Sargen: He's a classic rogue; wields a bow, does it from behind, etc.

    Mae: She's a fighter. She's proven herself over the course of our campaign to be quite average. In our first battle she sat comforting a teenage girl instead of fighting a necromancer and some zombies.

    Eltharion: A prankster cleric of Olidammara. Makes jokes, prays in rhymes. Mostly a healer, but he has some combat chops. One of the few really good players in this campaign.

    Gotrek Gurnisson: Me. A dwarf barbarian. Basically is attempting to be killed in battle instead of suicide. Sure, I copied WHFB, but I copied it well.

    Prahiira: Dragon Shaman. Breathes fire, crazy shit like that.

    Right, so after resting up from our first battle (with the teenage girl we saved, as mentioned above), we set out to find an orc scouting encampment. On the way we found out that pirates had captured some nearby elves and were holding them in a fort, and the party of elves who was to give us this message had also been captured. Our party leader decided to go for the messengers.

    So we scout out nearby, with Eltharion and Mae staying with our wagon so it isn't taken by the nearby pirates, and find the messengers. Naturally, though, they are being guarded by a few ogres and a giant. What you need to know right now is that this party is level 2, maybe 3.

    We find that a dragon has busted through the clearing in front of us, apparantly an apparition created by the girl we just saved, who is an illusionist... I suppose. While the Ogres and giant are distracted, a few members of the team run up to the cages and open them, while Sargen stays behind in the woods to provide cover with his bow.

    Everything's fine and dandy 'till Aren decides to take some glory. He runs straight towards an Ogre, and does battle with it. Naturally, as a barbarian, I run and help, and we kill most of the Ogres. Somewhere along the way Gwydion gets whacked on the head and dies. Sometime during this battle, the dragon illusion dissappears, and the teenage girl dies. As the giant gets to us, Prahiira is battling the last Ogre, and Aren passes out. So it's then just me, the giant, and one Ogre, with Sargen shooting his little arrows from the woods. I'm battling this thing like a mad-man, all raged out, and crazy, my Urgrosh flying. During this little battle, Aren regained consciousness, but was quickly swatted away by the giant, and Prahiira's knocked out.

    Suddenly, I have very little HP left, and in my round I attack the giant, who also attacks me at the same time. The giant dies, and I faint. The Ogre's left to round up all of the dead bodies in the silence.

    I keep rolling my allotted saves to stabalize. Each one after another fails until I'm at -9. One last roll or I'm dead. I roll, and.... SUCCESS! I stabilize with one HP left 'till death.

    This was amazing for me, I mean, I was close to rolling a new character, and I somehow survived a level- 2 encounter with a giant!

    Sargen, reinforced with Eltharion and Mae wiped out the last Ogre.

    Right now in the campaign we're attempting to take out the pirate fort mentioned above. I fear the same sort of situation will happen. However, I believe I'm invincible.

  • ChizzerChizzer Registered User
    edited July 2007
    wrote: »
    Rogue: We'll have to use Reincarnate, we don't have enough money for a proper rez.
    Barbarian: Ok, fine. *rolls* An elf? I don't want to be an elf. I want DM's choice.
    DM: Do you really want DM's choice?
    Barbarian: Hell yea!
    DM: Ok. You come back...as a BADGER.
    Barbarian: I'm a Dire Badger?
    DM: Not a Dire Badger. A badger. A normal badger. Your int is now 4.

    So the Barbarian's INT went up as a result of being a badger, right? :lol:

  • mr. papercutsmr. papercuts __BANNED USERS
    edited August 2007
    My friends and I played our way through most of the PnP games ten years ago, when we were all teenagers. For shits and giggles, we started up a Shadowrun campeign this last winter, thinking (rightfully so) that the games would be enhanced by our newly developed alcohol and marijuana habits, as well as the ability to take PLAYING PRETEND so much more seriously than when we were kids. It has been the greatest gaming of my life, bar none.

    I'm DMing (since AD&D was our first, we always use the term DM, even in World of Darkness or Palladium or other games) and we live in and around Portland, Maine. Biggest city in Maine, but still small enough that we've learned every inch of it over the years. So I spend a good month or so developing the Shadowrun world of Maine - why should the west coast get all the cyberpunkery fun?

    In our timeline, the native Maine indian tribes (most notable the Wabanki and their subsets) have regained control over most of the New England wilderness, and the slightly modified Brown Bear totem holds sway. However, the city of Portland itself features a large, luxury hotel rising as high as any building in the city, and this hotel is called the Eastland, spelled out in great big red letters on the top of the building. Well, in reality, the Eastland has a bad habit of letting the letter S go out. In our game, this was a major source of inspiration.

    I tend to run the games as if I am describing a movie or an awesome event, and usually the dice rolling is kept subtle, so that we often sound like we are describing a fight that really happened or something. So this is the story:

    They were as stereotypical a group of Runners as you could ever find. Orc, elf and dwarf faced each other in a three-way game of Go-Fish around the scarred and pitted wooden spool they had commandeered as a table. On the floor, a slightly short, serious looking human male sat with his back against the wall, idly sifting through a pile of maps and occasionally glancing at his comrades as if wondering something about the others. Eventually he got up and slapped his papers down onto their pile of cards.

    "It's time to go to work." he said, pointing at a glowing red line snaking its way up from their current camp near what used to be the southern Maine border. This line followed a path of some thirty miles directly into a black splotch on the map, a mark that signified the location of Eatland, the horror that had once been a city. The dwarf threw down his cards and shoved himself away from the table. "It's about time," growled Rob, "this old lady shit was starting to piss me off." Touching one hand to the pile of electronics pouring out of the side of his head, we heard the transport fire up, it's throaty growl chewing through night silence like a chainsaw.

    The elf split his face with a wide grin, planted one hand on the table and vaulted himself towards the door. "Yee-haw fellas!" he cried as he landed, "let's go!" This was Sean, an overly excitable decker, still young and untested by combat. Silently the orc rose, turned his ponderous bulk and solemnly walked out into the autumn night air. If the sharp chill of the wind affected his green skin, he showed no sign. Zack didn't say much.

    Casey was last to leave, double checking his vibro-katana in its sheath as he went. He had been the one to get them into this, and aside from Zack, the mostly taciturn orc, he felt that he was the only one taking it seriously. Rob and Sean, dwarf and elf, seemed to be treating this mission as if it were only a game, and he was spending a lot of his time wondering if they should be replaced on his team. However, his screening process had been rigorous, and he knew for a fact that attitude problem or not, he had the best dwarvish rigger, elven decker and orcish street mage on the east coast at his disposal. He considered this only appropriate, as he knew the way of the samurai was strong in him, stronger than in most. With his strike team of four, the plan was a simple as it was ridiculous. Destroy Eatland before the plague of its citizenry could spread.

    The countryside had been beautiful and natural for most of the drive through Old New England, and their peaceful drive had only been broken by the angry shamans who witnessed their passing. Rob knew his business, however, and they held no grudges - the team simply shot through, past, over or around the various magical defenses that were thrust in their way. They had made camp on the borderline of the outskirts of Eatland, where the natural beauty of the reawakening had been halted by the evil that dwelt at the center of the city. From the camp, Rob took the transport north on the crumbled ruins of I-95, a highway that had, once upon a time, spanned the entire U. S. from Maine to Florida. As he deftly took them around the buckled and cracked chunks of pavement the sky began to glow a dark and sooty red, as if they were driving closer and closer to a massive forest fire. Within minutes the glow seemed to infect the clouds above and all of the night took on a reddish cast, a sickly burning crimson that made them all feel as tho they were bathed in blood. Soon they reached the outer edge of the city, which was on a peninsula, surrounded east, west and south by an ocean. Rising up from the ruined spires and the twisted iron girders reaching like clawed hands, open in supplication to the heavens, rising a full ten stories above the shattered tops of the tallest remaining buildings, stood a tower, a building, a skyscraper castle of metal and stone and glass, a tangled mess of medievil and modern seemingly melted together and standing vigil over the city for twenty miles in any direction. From the top of the skyscraper tower the red light shone, blazing red letters on each side of the roof, facing the four winds. EA TLAND it screamed, branding the word into their eyes. They reflected, wavering, in the burning ocean of blood below them.

    They stopped the transport at the edge of the highway, where a mile long expanse of ocean stretched between them and the city, broken only by the occasional piles of rubble that were all that remained of the bridge that once spanned the bay. Standing on the road, they heard a low murmuring, a subtle vibration on the ears that one could almost pass off as imagination. They knew, however, that it was a real sound - it was the sound of the mindless dead that had overrun Portland, Maine, the sound of hunger unyielding and violence unending, presided over from atop his tower of metal and stone by the creature that they had come to kill. Behind the burning words that had named this new city of the dead and undead lurked a presence whose mind was even now brushing against their own, searching for a weakness, delighting in its power, wondering how long they would last before madness or mindless men tore them asunder.

    He was called the Nethermancer, and from his home atop the EA TLAND building, he could command the shambling corpses below, and even inhabit the body of any of his undead citizens. The range of his out-of-body journeys had been increasing, and the dark mindlessness of his crimson light was reaching further with each passing day, warping the forest and turning the minds of the Wabanki shamans away from Gaia and opening them to his powers of possesion.

    They had been hired to put a stop to all of this.

    Rumor had it that the Nethermancer was a vampire lord who had started life as a powerful mage. Others claimed he had no corporeal body, and could only exist in the host of another. Still others maintained that he was a broken living thing, held in half-life with various machines, sending out his consciousness to dwell in the bodies of others because his own lay shattered and ruined in a tangle of wires and tubes. They knew that killing the creature he was currently possessing would do no good, and with an entire city of hosts at his disposal, they knew that a head-on fight would be futile. The first mission then, was to gain some information - they would breach the city, gain entry to the tower, and learn what they could about the creature atop it.

    Little did they know that he was learning about them as well, sniffing around the edges of their minds, and every second they spent under the glare of that red light brought them closer and closer to the hideous, unending hunger of the zombie.

    I remind you of somebody, don't I?
  • RilthynRilthyn Registered User
    edited September 2008
    Cyberpunk : Wanting to get into a gang HQ without plowing right through the front door, and attached guards, we instead opt to cut through some derelict buildings to find another approach.

    On the way through our Solo (fighter/tank) who we will call Bob, wanders off into an open yard full of derelicts and druggies, wandering about raving and wild-eyed. Bob cleaves one of them in half for kicks, (which draws an immediate, knowing laugh from the GM) and the masses surge up and attack him, bearing him down with their numbers before he can bring his big fancy guns into play.

    Even though Bob is wearing metal gear armour (cyberpunk platemail) they are still managing to deal a surprising amount of damage.

    Why? It turns out that the drug of choice for these guys would happen to be performance enhancers, physical strength more specifically. They are laying into him with all manner of close-combat weapons, and in their hyper state, they are tearing apart his near impervious shell.

    The rest of us (finally) find the source of all the noise and are trying to make our way across the yard, as Bob's hps drop lower, and lower, and lower.

    The player is actively getting worried, this is a Solo he has had for a LONG time, until he finally gets the idea that will save his ass.

    "JUST SHOOT ME!!!" yells Bob, and everyone opens up on full-automatic, cutting down the entire mob in one frantic round of gunfire, leaving a mass of bodies on and around the huge metal-form of Bob the Solo. The lucky bastard survived though, as not a single round of our scattered small-arms fire makes it through the Solo's metal-gear armour.

  • AzashAzash Registered User
    edited January 2009
    This story comes from my first experience with a table top RPG.

    The name of the game is Megatraveller (2nd edition of the RPG more generally known as Traveller). It's a pretty old game so I won't be surprised if you don't recognize it. I got into it 'cause I joined my dad and some of his mates in a game.

    I joined in right as a big campaign to start a revolution was about to kick off. The scenario was to bust the generic South American knock-off revolutionary out of prison. Me and my brother were given some phony crim records and planted on the inside to find the guy we needed to bust out.

    Basically it ended up with them raiding the place when they knew where we'd be waiting. Only problem, there were two guards waiting on the same side of the door as us. So, in order to prevent them getting ripped into shreds when they burst through the door, me and my brother took action. At the exact moment the party blasts down the door, they are faced with two guards collapsing face first onto the ground with chisels sticking out the backs of their heads.

    I've been hooked on Traveller ever since.

    The wisest man that ever was, when asked what he knew, replied that the one thing he did know was that he knew nothing
  • PuddingbrainPuddingbrain Registered User
    edited December 2009
    In my little group of friends, one GM always stood out as having the most clever, but ultimately ridiculous campaigns and characters.


    There was a game he led having us start in an open battle field wearing matching armor and uniforms. A hundred thousand worth of freshly dead lay around us in the middle of a great crater. None of us remember who we are, what we are doing or where we are. After the rogue instinctively looks through the dead for valuables, he discovers anything he picks up turns to dust. This is true for everyone. After walking around the Dwarf fighter discovers a small spiral staircase into the ground. We venture down finding a stash of steel weapons and torches. The weapon room is connected to a long hallway. After dodging traps, clearing small rooms of rats and zombies we reach a great open chamber. Splitting the room in two is a great yellow river. It is thicker than water and glistens in the light shining from nowhere and everywhere. It is hard to breathe the air, with it's strong taste of lamp oil. A greasy film of oil coats the walls and floors. The river is more than 50ft wide with only a rickety bridge spanning the expanse. Sitting squarely in the middle of the bridge is a flint Golem. The rogue checks the river without drawing the attention of the golem and finds that it is flowing too quickly to swim across and is in fact comprised of lamp oil. No one in the party can teleport, fly or find another way around this room. No one can fight the golem without armor or weapon and the one caster only knows fire and lightning spells. Any attack made from close range or long will result in a spark that blows the whole room up, causing a collapse effectively halting any progress and ending everything there.


    We sit for about an hour debating about what to do. We finally agree the best option would be going back and getting the dead bodies in our wake, lashing them together and drenching them in oil. The Dwarf cleric and Half-orc fighter decide that because they are the largest, and can push the whole mess harder and faster than anyone, they strip off their armor and line up the shot. We all give the mass a big push on to the bridge to start it's journey. The golem takes notice of the two burly naked creatures riding on something and charges towards them . As the two collide, the cleric get stepped on by the golem, but slides out only breaking a few ribs. The golem gets one leg stuck in the mass of dead, sticky bodies, losing balance and stumbling across the bridge. Seeing his opportunity, the fighter pushed the unstable creature, causing it to tip and fall off the bridge, washing away in the river, and never seen again. The adventurers gather their armor and weapons to continue to the other side of the bridge.


    Still naked, the half-orc starts to dance and cheer. He gets so worked up and feels so strong, he rushes through the door and into the jaws of a waiting Hydra.

  • benBearzbenBearz Registered User
    I've always wanted to play a P&P game, but sadly never got the chance, after getting my hands on a copy of Call of Cthulu d20 along with some extra web supplements to play games set in Starship Troopers, Ghost in the Shell, Resident ect, I decided that I'd finally just get a bunch of people together and I would GM a game and see how it all go.

    We all decided to set it in Resident Evil in a big city that got hit with a terrorist attack with the T-virus, their main goal was to A - get out of there alive and B - Figure out who started all this. To cut a long story short, after figuring out that Tricell had essentially hit the city to drum up some profit for their vaccines + show others what their BoWs can do, the players also broke into a research center and rescuing a girl that Tricell had taken in due to her natural immunity to the virus, they were on their way to getting out of the city, whilst being attacked by Tricells mercenaries.

    They were having an easy time of it thanks to all the weaponry they had scavanged from various gun stores and dead mercenaries, so anything that came their way was turned into swiss cheese, regardless of whether they were zombies, BoWs or people with very big guns, thinking that this was too easy for the end game I decided to have not 1, but 3 tyrants drop in on them. After several rounds of spraying them with bullets and fleeing, the Players were starting to run low on ammunition and were either low on health or pretty much dead, they run into a building to get some space from the now 2 tyrants and figure out a plan. One bright spark decided to fire off some incendiary grenades at the tyrants setting both on fire, this dropped them to less than 50% health and activated a special ability they had which allowed them to mutate.

    This abillity allows them to gain new characteristics depending on what you roll on a table, rolling a 10 would allow the creature to get more than 1 mutation, in the end both tyrants got spider legs allowing them to run faster, with one going up 1 size catagory and the other now has blades for arms. Players cack themselves and leg it as fast as they can through various buildings, with the tyrants chasing after them, plowing through walls, cars and anything else in their way. The players managed to kill the one with blades with a few grenades, but still hade the huge on on their ass, by that time theres only 2 players left after scampering into a resturant and then to its kitchen another player bit the dust as well. The last guy is frantically searching for something to use to kill the Tyrant, when it pops in, so the player just grabs anything to hand and throws it at the monster, pots, pans, knives and such fly at the tyrants face.

    Some of these projectiles are doing damage, so by the time the player was on his last projectile, a spork I might add, the tyrant only had a few hp left, the player threw the spork at the tyrants head, not only did he damage it, he got a crit and essentially blew the tyrants head away with a damn spork, splattering brains and blood everywhere. While only he got out of the city alive, he made sure that he got his spork back and is probably still roaming around, exploding zombies heads with it.


  • UnknownSaintUnknownSaint Registered User
    So my first campaign ever, I was rolling with my Half-Orc Fighter, dual wielding shields. (One of them was covered in spiky bits and attached to a chain, so I could use it as a flail type weapon.) We were on a ship out in the middle of the ocean, being attacked by a giant crab monster. It's kicking our asses pretty hard, and I'm grabbed by one of it's massive claws, taking damage each turn. My chain-shield was out of my grasp, hanging onto the edge of the ship as it rocked around.

    For some reason I had our group's portal wand from a previous session, this magical item that basically worked exactly like the gun from Portal. So I throw one underneath the giant crab's feet, and another at it's chest, making difficult rolls each shot to aim. The crab falls through the ground and gets stuck, it's own legs coming out of it's chest, and it drops me. I then bash it until it removes itself from itself and crawls off into the ocean in retreat.

    Then the captain of the ship comes up, and we knew this guy was bad news because he had already shot a few people earlier and boy did it hurt, plus we were in no shape to fight him.

    So my character walks over, taking bullets all the while, and promptly uppercuts him into the ocean.

    \m/

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