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<< previous | RM Moments Homepage | 1 | 2 |
In a seemingly endless campaign our party had to face the four apocalyptic riders. Each of them had a special kind of stronghold and method to be defeated.
So, when our party fought "Hunger", we had to get inside a large mansion, where he was holding a feast. Knowing that our Tarot mage, Ainadan Merrick, had the brilliant idea to outwit the GM and evade all his traps and monsters by entering the mansion through the back wall. Thus he cast a Stoneportal into the wall and our party slipped inside, took out the few companions and "Hunger" himself with ease. The plan had worked well, but as we all know "smart" shortcuts usually don't work, so did this!
After this easy victory Ainadan got kind of overconfident and urged the party to search the whole building and loot the place (why leave all the treasure and the experience behind?)! Now that we were in the back of the building, he argued, we could just surprise all the minions in it. Unfortunately for himself, Ainadan's player could be quite persuasive at time like these. So, the party went for it…and ended up quite well, except for Ainadan. When the house was cleared and looted, he was still lying paralyzed from the neck downwards on the large stairs where the rest left him after their first fight after leaving the banquet hall.
He was healed, but learned his lesson and never ever again tried to outwit the GM and took "others" as weak and easily surprised!
When we were exploring a fortified camp of our enemies, there party got separated. Well, actually, the separation was the whole plan we had to get into the camp.
One of our party was sneaking around a small cottage. When he came close to group of guards, he was trying to be very smart, so he got down on his knees and peered around the corner. However, just at that moment a club hit him right on the head.
Asked by the GM what he wanted to do (not being unconscious), he just pulled his head back. When it was his turn again, he looked round the corner again! Guess what happened...he was hit again.
Now, everybody should think that he would have learned from this two-times-experience and so did we. But the following round proved us better. He looked round the corner AGAIN.
And (surprise, surprise) was again beaten with a club, knocking him unconscious this time. Luckily for him, this scene was observed by one of his comrades, who nearly couldn't act because of laughing so hard.
But in the end he got rescued before the man with the club could put him to an end. (It really never occurred to him that he was peering round the corner just below a window, where one of the guards stood.)
Let me just say that my bud Arlo is better suited to playing a fighter-type character than any other class. His thought process is usually, "Hey! That's bad! Let's go fight it!" My other players generally feel things out first and like to talk to NPC's to get through things with minimal dangers. But for some reason, they always come to Arlo's rescue instead of having him roll up a new character. You see, Arlo's obsession with charging into a fight wouldn't be so bad, except that he has only played a fighter once (when we forced him to); usually, he plays a human mage who specializes in fire spells. For the most part, mages aren't too handy in close-quarters combat, but Arlo just loves to try it anyway.
And so it was that the "fire mage" Allen turned out to be the only human character in a campaign, with the other players choosing dwarves (from different holds) and elves (of different types) to represent the free peoples in a Middle Earth campaign. Their task: scout out the area east of the Anduin to look for signs of army remnants from Mordor (the campaign was fourth age 122).
The party of six is traveling by night in a dry river bed and cresting a hill when the rear guard (a sindar) makes a perceptions check and notices shapes at the bottom of the hill headed up the river bed behind them. He open-ended the roll quite handily and was able to pick out 5 shapes -- 4 orcs and a troll. He halted the party and directed their attention, and with his guidance as to where and what to look for, everyone but the human saw the shapes and started to scramble up out of the riverbed to run for the safety of the trees. Allen climbed up to the top of the old riverbank, but only to get a better look. "Why can't I see anything?"
Zak, ever the helpful elf (and none too keen on the mage): "Because
we have better night vision. Maybe you should light a torch."
Allen: "Hey. Great idea! I'll use my brooch to light a torch." (They
had bartered a magic brooch from a traveling merchant that would start small
fires, such as lamps, cook fires, etc. three times a day)
Zak: "What? Really?"
The torch blazes to life and the party scatters, rushing for the trees. Except, of course, for Allen, who stands alone, waving a torch on a cloudless night at the top of a hill less than a hundred paces in front of the orc patrol. After still failing his perception check (the light messes with his night vision), Allen only knows the orcs are approaching because they are yelling battle cries on the way up the hill. As they near him, Allen draws his dagger and jumps off the riverbank straight for the lead orc, not realizing the rest of the party is busy taking up positions in the trees. The orc is nearly stunned by the stupidity of the mage, but manages to set his spear and delivers a nasty 'D' crit as Allen impales himself on the spear and slides down the shaft to face the orc.
Barely conscious but miraculously not stunned (probably due to shock), Allen the mage decides that if nothing else, he can disarm the orc by using a 'leaping' spell as a snap action the next round and carrying the spear he's impaled on with him. Unfortunately for Allen, the orc is trying to wrench his spear free and still has a pretty good grip. Passing a strength check, the orc holds on, and Allen gives himself an 'E' crit as he leaps backward off of the spear, the barbed point re-skewering him in reverse. Unconscious, the mage's body flies up and back into a nearby tree, trailing innards the whole way.
The rest of the party used spells and arrows, and survived by staying in the trees. Arlo's next character was a fighter.
Some of the exploits of the group I play in have now been saved for eternity on these pages. Our group has encompassed roughly about 4 complete sets of characters over the last 4 years due to our GM's affinity for the gruesome demises of the party members. His theme song, as decided by the rest of us, is "Let the bodies hit the floor" by "Drowning Pool". One particularly unusual group is one mentioned previously on these pages, involving my brother Cobalt and his poor perception of relative sizes.
This group was unique in that there were no humans in it at all. We were composed of the "Giant" Cobalt, myself who was also a Cobalt, A Minotaur, A faeri-like creature and a few other "Specimens" of the wonders the world had to offer. My position in the group was 2 fold. # 1, provide comic relief (as only a small, but overly ambitious Cobalt could) and # 2, basically be cannon fodder. I had a knack for running headlong into the battle, even (and usually) when there had yet to be a battle to worry about. This was sometimes to the chagrin of my fellow adventurers but I always drew the fire of the enemy, allowing the larger, stronger and much more likely to kill someone with one shot, members of the party the chance to get in real good blows without much encumbrance.
However advantageous these traits of mine might be to the group, it did not save my butt from the terrible thrashing I got from the Minotaur of the party for calling him "Bossy" the dairy cow. Though I DID receive a multitude of experience for my "Near Death" experience.
Some time ago in a MERP campaign, the group consisting of several fighters (a dwarf, a rohirrim and a beorning) and an elven animist was involved in the siege of a castle. The castle was defended by several ballistas, which were unfornutately able to fire magic missiles, which exploded on impact and did additional fire damage.
The group, quite proud of themselves and indeed of quite a high level, decided to pass quickly through the open fields and take cover at the outer castle walls, as the ballistas were unable to shoot directly downwards. As one might not think, the dwarf was especially fond of this plan, as he had recently discovered some magical boots of speed and finally was able to keep up with his larger fellows, or so he thought, as he had not had the chance to test them yet.
So they all sped along to the castle, and in the beginning all went well - until one of the ballistas aimed at the dwarf. The result was only a minor hit (an A or B, I don`t remember exactly), but nonetheless devastating. It read something like this: "Blow falls low. Any footwear is destroyed." And now imagine our stouty dwarf: One moment speeding along in a battlefield, eager to reach the safety of the walls, and now left in the open of the same fields, an easy target for any marksman. Okay, he survived, but barely and robbed of his precious shoes.
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