So awhile ago back in my sophomore year of high school I was playing in a friends home-brewed campaign. The party consisted of my friend B the swordsman (some type of home-brewed fencer IIRC), G who played a rogue, M who was a sorcerer and me, the ranger turned arcane archer.

At the moment we were in a Colosseum type adventure, and we each got to pick out cool stage names and a finishing move so we each went around the table announcing them to the DM. Since I had 3 items that gave +20 to jump checks I had my character jump up to touch the ceiling and then make a full attack action on the way down, crazy stuff like that. Anyway the my friend B was being an annoying tool (a common occurrence) to the point where the DM said FINE. Your stage name is now “The Salami Swordsman,” much to B’s dismay! He was allowed to keep his “finishing move” however. I put that in quotes because it was really more of a taunt. He would reach into his pants and scratch his danglers with his dagger. it was especially annoying because he would roll to see if he was doing it. Sigh.

The campaign continued on for a few sessions, but the taunt remained. He would do it at the most inappropriate times, even when we were talking to important officials. Especially then, now that I think about it. Even when we were all totally sick of it and we all basically SHOUTED at him to stop, he persisted. Then finally, our moment of salvation came.

We were invited to the mayor’s chambers after completing some dashing deed. Needless to say, to celebrate, B opened up his pants and rolled his d20 with his coma inducing phrase: “I scratch my ****s with my dagger!” but this time, the die stopped on a 1. The whole table froze. He quickly tried to grab the die before anyone else saw the result, but it was too late. The DM told him to roll again. Reluctantly, B rolled again. ONE.

Cheers erupted as the DM announced his self-induced castration and we all promptly awarded his character a Darwin award. The best part was that we had relatively easy access to a regeneration spell, but no one would lend him the money for it!


By: Vagnarok


My wife and I never agree on what type of milk to purchase. She drinks skim milk, where as I prefer whole milk. As a result, we usually buy both kinds.

Shortly after our first child was born she decides to cook up a batch of brownies for the game. They come out of the oven just as the game is about to start, and she brings them in to the game room. The entire group digs in, and players start to comment about how good they are.

My wife then says “And they’re healthy for you too, because they were made with my milk.” As the players begin to gag and spit out the food she realizes what she said, and explains that she meant skim milk.


By: Silver Moon


Two stories about the Burning Hands spell, and the odd consequences of using it.

In the game I DM online, party is clearing off Assassin Vines that attacked their boat

Cleric: Ok, one left. Burning Hands! -fwoosh-

Me: Alright then -rolls for the obvious consequences- yep, you set the boat on fire.

Cleric: Awww

Everyone else: Damnit!

Sorcerer: -runs to get a bucket to put out the fire-

Cleric: No, I’ll handle this -create water, dumped onto deck fire-

Me: -more bad outcome rolls- Well, you put out the fire, unfortunately dumping sixteen gallons of water onto the already fire-damaged deck has smashed a hole in it.

Everyone else: -considers throwing cleric overboard-

From one of the games I played in, we have just climbed out of a cyclops’ larder, and our fighter decided to go all ‘nobody attacked me’ on our host and stab him in the eye.

DM: The cyclops, blind, is groping around the cave searching for you.

Cleric: -fwoosh-

DM: The cyclops’ loincloth has caught fire. He tries to beat it out -rolls- looks concerned -rolls- ok…the cyclops has just punched himself in the crotch to death!


By: GallóglachMaxim


My next character was a bit more creative…I rolled some pretty good stats, so I figured I’d give a neglected race a chance: A half-Orc. But not just any half-orc, a Half-Orc Monk! Strong as an Ox, Fast as a Steed, Wise as an Owl…

And an intelligence of 6.

Yeeah…so they told us to go into the nearby encampment where a Drow Sorceress was keeping dangerous magical beasts (Or something…), and we went into the first room, and fought some skeletons. By then, our Gnome Rogue had left us, and had been replaced by a Warmage. So then…

Warmage: Okay, I search the nearby desk.

DM: Hmm…you find inside a few gold coins and a big brass key.

Warmage: *Pockets the coins for herself* Hey, I found this key! Maybe it’ll open the other door!

Paladin: Well…let’s give it to Gesan. He’s pretty tough. If there’s anything on the other side, he can take the first hit.

Warmage: Okay. *Giving Gesan the Key* Now Gesan, I want you to go and open that door.

Gesan: *nods* Okay. GESAN SMASH!!

Paladin: No, wait!

*Roll- Natural 20*

DM: …Um….okay, so the door shatters into splinters. Way to go.

Paladin: B-But…but we had a key…and…and that key was probably to open that door…and…and now we’ll never know if…aaaaugh!

From then on, they made sure to give me the key, and to make me USE the key when entering a door.


By: Introbulus


It occurs to me that I forgot to mention our Wizard. We had one, and he had a Tower Shield. An Animated Tower Shield. That he would use to fly overhead and drop alchemic fire on our enemies. And he would use Ghost Sounds to make it sound like a flatulent dragon was invading the bandit camp. Yeah…he’s that kind of player. No, it doesn’t have much to do with this story. But I feel I should mention him, if only for completion sake.

Okay, so on this island, we find that the place we were going to has been invaded by Drow, totally taken over. Breaking through their defenses (and my rogue entirely missing the one session where he could’ve helped disarm some traps), we find ourselves outside of a human battle camp. We need to find out what’s going on, so they send my rogue out to investigate.

I’m very new at this, remember. And I don’t always make the smartest of choices.

So…this happens.

Me: Okay, I sneak into the camp and find the tent with the most official-looking people.

DM: You mean the Generals?

Me: Er…yea, let’s go with that.

DM: Okay, you find their tent. They’re discussing battle tactics and-

Me: I knock.

DM: …What?

Me: I knock on the tent door.

Paladin Player: What, do you just knock on the tent flap?

Me: No I…I knock on the wooden part.

DM: You’re knocking, in the middle of a Battle Camp?

Me: Yeah, what’s wrong with that?

DM: …*Sigh* Okay, everyone inside turns around and spots you. The General yells out “SPY!”, and you are descended upon by everybody in the tent.

Me: Oh…er…do I-

DM: You’re completely dead, a bloody spot in the corner of the tent.

Paladin Player: …Ouch, man.

So, lesson learned. Never try to knock on the door to a battle tent. <.<;


By: Introbulus


Now, our party needed adamantine from the South because, through an NPC, it was revealed that we would need some to fight the golems our sorcerer’s evil twin brother was making. The dwarves who had the adamantine minds informed us that the caves were infested with snakes, so naturally, we ran in and cleared out the caves (well, THEY cleared out the caves. My 20ft movement rate kept me firmly in the back of the party, doing bugger all). Afterwards, there was a conflict over whether or not we would get the adamantine, and this exchange occurred.

DM (Dwarf King): I’m sorry, we just cannah’ give ye’ tha’ adamantine.

Paladin: In that case, I challenge your weakest warrior to a duel!

Gnome: I accept the challenge!

DM (Dwarf King): Uh…very well! Your Gnome will fight our weakest warrior!

After much confusion, and drawing of a circle, our Gnome went toe-to-toe with essentially the Dwarven equivalent of a book-worm. With the house rules in play, every failed hit allowed a fighter to make a counter-attack. This was an unarmed battle, and the opponent made a lot of AoOs because she (Yes, she) had Imp. Unarmed Strike, and our Gnome did not. Much cheering ensued, and eventually, both fighters managed to knock each other out. Then the Dwarf King approached us.

DM (Dwarf King): Well lads…I must admit…that is easily the sissiest fight I have e’er seen. Me lads will be laughin’ at tha’ one fer’ weeks. But I cannah’ in my right mind give ye’ all this adamantine. So, we’re gonna get ourselves reeeeally really drunk, and THEN I’ll give it to ‘ya.

And after a drunken night of Dwarf Partying, during which our Gnome may or may not have had a one-night stand with the same Dwarf, we left with our metal to find smiths who could shape it into weapons. (I’m…not exactly sure why the Dwarfs couldn’t do it, but for some reason, the Paladin insisted that we go to some random island on the map)


By: Introbulus


First, to properly enjoy this story, you need to know a few things.

1. This was my first DnD campaign ever, so I had no idea what to expect.

2. Our party consisted of the following characters:

*A female paladin with a fairly large knife in her chest from the very first battle ever had (one that I unfortunately missed)

*A Samurai (Samurai class and everything) who would, eventually, commit seppuku when he could not defend his homeland. (A sad tale, but not one I will list here.)

*A Gnomish Rogue, who my own character hated intensely for doing my job far, far better than I ever could

*A sorcerer, who would eventually become plot-relevant

*A dwarven Cleric, complete with beer-soaked beard

*Me, a halfling rogue with way too much confidence

Our first session involved raiding a bandit camp to save a girl who may or may not have been the mayor’s daughter (and who would become the cohort for our Paladin). Then we headed South, and along the way, were attacked by a raiding party of goblins. There were very typical goblins and, by all accounts, we should have mopped the floor with them.

Our Paladin could not hit a goblin to save her life, and I couldn’t even get close enough to attack any of them. The DM saw that we were going to die if he let them actually flank our party, so rather than let this happen, he made the goblins very, very stupid. These goblins, you see, were wielding weapons designed for medium-sized creatures, and coming at us through a passage that was just big enough for a goblin, but not big enough for them AND their large weapons.

The goblins, like raccoons trying to get honey out of a log, would not lower their weapons, and proceeded to clumsily amble towards us.

But we were still losing, literally rolling natural 1s over and over, stumbling over each other like fools.

And then a rock came down, out of nowhere, and crushed half the goblins.

The deity of our cleric, St. Cuthberg, spoke directly to us.

DM (St. Cuthberg): You have a great destiny to uphold, but while I was looking down upon my cleric, I realized that you all suck! So I had to help you beat these puny goblins. I hope you’re happy.

And that is how our DM had to bail us out on a random encounter, that we, by all rights, should’ve won easily.

Oh, and my Halfling was at negative HP by the end of the fight. This was the second time this had happened during the campaign. Keep this in mind.


By: Introbulus


So I’m playing a halfling rogue (again), in a no/low-magic campaign where you’re lucky to get 1 mwk item even at level 9. Anyways…

There’s the two dwarves, a man that’s actually a woman, a crazy old man who happens to be a wizard, and me, along with an NPC band of mercenaries. The party isn’t really friends… in fact, only the dwarves have any long-standing relationship with each other. One, named Ebert, is extremely stupid and can’t speak common. The other more reasonable one, Einkil, has pretty much given up on Ebert, especially as a translator. An example, is this conversation with a traveling bard.

Ebert (In dwarven): Hey, you’re one of them ******y types, right?

Einkil: You suck [censored]?

Bard: Wha- what?

Einkil: He said, you suck [censored]?

Bard: What kind of question is that?

Ebert: God, what a flaming queer. He’s a queer, right?

Einkil: Yea, I guess so.

Ebert: *punches bard*

When I went to talk to Ebert to try to get him to come with us and the band of mercenaries (that he already didn’t like), here’s how it went….

Mylo (me): Heya, you two are dwarves, ri-

Einkil: I wouldn’t talk to him… he’s in a foul mood. He’s always in a foul mood. All he ever does is drink and kill stuff. I hate being his translator, cause one way or another it just ends up in me telling someone they’re gonna die.

Mylo: Bu-

Einkil: Look… Just leave, because this isn’t gonna end up well, and none of us are going to like the results. Not me, not you… well, maybe Ebert. I think it’s because his wife left him a long time ago that he’s always so moody.

Ebert: What’s he saying?

Einkil: Shut up. I told you that you needed to learn to speak the language of the humans, because that’s what everyone else speaks. But no, you decided to stay and drink.

Ebert: Oh, good. I thought you were telling him that story of “my wife leaving me again”.

Anyways, this is pretty much the entire session. Sure, it mostly seems like nonsense, but it actually gets us somewhere, and we’re all in pain from the laughing.


By: Meirnon


Ahhh, I had a good one recently.

So, the game just began, and the group had been attacked by swarms of little flying beasties (I homebrew most of my monsters). Anyhow, the mystic theurge/necromancer goes invisible and slips into a room. It’s a dead-end, and because of his atrocious move silently skill and the beasties’ high listen, they follow him. He gets lucky on the last roll, and manages to remain unseen… in a corner of the room, surrounded by hundreds of foot long flying leech things.

Me: “What do you do now?”

Him: “I dunno, what can I do? I’m screwed.”

Me: “Listen, you have to do something.”

Him: (sarcastically) “I crap my pants”

Me: “Alright, you crap your pants.”

Him: Wait, uhhh….

Me: Yeah, you crap your pants. it slips under your robe and falls to the floor. the beasties all look over, and descend upon you (rolls) ripping you to pieces.”

Him: “****.”

Me: “Precisely.”


By: Gorgondantess


Okay, since we’ve got a go-ahead on non-DnD gaming stories, here’s one from my silly days of playing rifts.

Back in the day, I rolled up a seriously awesome Cyberknight, named Parik Starkman. With the crazy palladium rules on rolling stats, I got him a starting strength of 28 (improved to 36 with skills), a physical prowess of 23, physical endurance in the very high 20’s, and an IQ of 10. I played him like he was a combination of The Tick and Sir Galahad, always going forth against impossible odds to do his best to right wrongs and smite evil. The original intention of the first edition Rifts Rules was that the Cyberknight would be a truly awesome combat class: very good combat abilities, minor psychic powers, sky-high hit points and then they started with cyber-armor implants.

Unfortunately, the rest of my party consisted of a superhero (formerly a juicer who whined and whined to the GM until he was allowed to use the heroes unlimited rifts conversion rules), a dragon, a mega-damage monstrosity from Atlantis that looked like a gigantic owl on steroids, a line walker who was too smart to get involved in direct combat, and a Magic Tattooed man. Basically, ol’ Parik Starkman, heroic cyberknight and all-around do-gooding pile of beef, was the weakest character of the bunch, but I always played him as if he thought that he was invincible as long as he was acting on the side of justice and righteousness. This was boosted by the fact that he was one lucky SOB. Having his armor blown to smithereens just encouraged him to fight even harder and it was when Death was staring him right in the face that I consistently rolled natural 20s.

A common situation:

DM: Okay, Greg’s dragon has been reduced to a regenerating tongue hiding behind some rocks, Kristen’s line walker is out of PPE, Johnny Omega and Parik are trying to keep the demon busy so that everyone else can regenerate enough to get back in the fight. Johnny, what do you do?

Keith: I punch the demon in the effin’ mouth!

DM: Roll it!

Keith: 34 to hit! [DM sighs] 65 mega damage to the frickin’ face!

ODP: Awesome, Parik steps up with his psi-sword and slashes at the Demon’s leg! 18 to hit! [DM rolls, nods that I hit] 15 mega damage!

DM: Okay, the Demon isn’t happy with you guys. He power punches at Johnny Omega for a 26 to hit!

Keith: I dodge! Aw crap, I rolled a 3.

DM: So what’s that come out to?

Keith: Um… a 28. Heh heh. Safe!

DM: Oh for crying out loud. Alright, the Demon then smashes at Parik with his tail! 22 to hit!

ODP: Parik takes it like a man – he needs all his attacks this round.

DM: Ooookay… 55 Damage. How much MD did your armor have left?

ODP: Hm… 34.

DM: BOOM! You’re naked! You go flying back against the cliff and you’ve got a nasty dent in your cyber armor.

The other players, who all have vivid imaginations: Oh gods! My eyes! Put that thing away!

Next round, Johnny Omega continues fisticuffs with the Demon and hurts it some more while easily dodging. Parik picks up his NG-P7 Particle Beam Rifle with a gleam in his eye.

DM: Okay, Parik, your cyber armor is badly damaged, you’re wearing nothing but bruises and no one, including the demon, is particularly happy with this situation. What do you do?

ODP: I run up, jam my rifle into the demon’s belly, and unload my clip!

DM: *sigh* Alright, roll it.

ODP: Natural Frickin’ 20!

DM: Woah! What’s the damage on that thing?

ODP: I rolled a 4. On a d4 times 10. Multiplied by 10 for unloading the clip. Multiplied by 3 ’cause I’m level 6 and I criticaled.

DM: That’s…. holy #$*(&!

ODP: Twelve Hundred Damage.

DM: You are now wearing the fine, paste-like remains of the demon.

Everyone: Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

Parik was beaten into nekkidness so often that the DM eventually gave him magical, always-clean, indestructible boxer shorts so that no monster from the rifts would ever again have to make a horror factor check against Parik’s privates.

The DM of those adventures just got married last weekend. For my best man present, he made me a beautiful, full-color comic of the story of the Magic Boxers. I laughed until I was almost sick!


By: OverdrivePrime