The party is spending the night in a fortress and are being attacked. The fighter/thief is about to kill a vomiting strong fighter. (A stinking cloud was cast, if I remember correctly)
DM: Your conscience is acting up. The fighter is on the floor, vomiting, and helpless. He’s begging you with his eyes to spare his life.
Fighter/thief: Hell no, I don’t do conscience. That guy attacked me.
Ranger: You’re putting him out of his misery.
Fighter/Thief: Yes, I’m putting him out of his misery.
DM: I suppose you can call it that, yes.
"I think I left my manticore double-parked" - my wizard after being teleported to the other side of the country
Our party has just entered a huge underground complex hunting for their enemy and everyone is making Survival checks to find the most commonly used path.
DM: You find that the eastward path shows the most signs of travel.
Jace: We should follow the northwest path then! Take the road less traveled, right?
Abend: What? No, we’re taking the east path!
Jace: Well I’m going northwest.
*the rest of the party shouts at him about not splitting the party*
Bethryanna(OOC): I’m going to try to use hold person on him so he doesn’t get himself killed.
Jace: *rolls an absurdly high Wisdom saving throw and marches into the northwest path*
DM: Four Gricks slither out of the shadows and immediately set about making you their dinner.
Abend: Nope. *casts magic missile at the ceiling and causes a cave-in which separates the rest of the party from Jace and the Gricks*
Jace: LET ME BACK THROUGH! HELP! *fails a Strength roll to move some of the rocks*
Abend: The needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few or the one.
The party bravely marches on, completely okay with leaving their comrade to die.
Backstory: Our group (3 of us, all of us new to the game) is walking along, find a town, blah blah blah. We accept a quest from a crying halfing. 2 sessions later, we’ve done it, and about ready to return.
Me: OK, so we’ve finished two quests in a row by killing this one guy.
Bard: Oh, yeah! We should probably go back and tell that kid we solved his problem.
*stunned silence, made ironic since the bard is the shortest person IRL*
Me: It was a HALFLING!
DM: That’s racist!
Druid: You, of all people!
Our last session, We fought giant ant people. 2 of our party members(Me as well) were taken into their nest. We are asking an animal expert about them to find weaknesses.
Beastmaster: If they lay eggs in your friends, they are dead unless you have a healer.
My Second Character: OR A ME, A NECROMANCER! DUNANUNANANA!
Party: *Dies of laughter*
(In this version of D&D, skill checks are rolled with multiple d6s and the goal of getting lower than your saving throw number. The more dice, the harder the save.)
Me (swashbuckler): I’m going to open the door.
Rogue (OOC): Are you sure you want to do that? ARE YOU SURE?
Me: Yeah, it’ll be fine.
GM: What’s your Reflex?
Me: *gulp* 16?
GM: …Roll Reflex. 6d6.
Me: Crap. (rolls dice, gets 1-2-3-4-5-6 spread) …Um?
Whole Group: Wait, what?!
Me: I’m dead right now, aren’t I?
GM: You should be, but I’m letting you off the hook because that’s freaking incredible.
(And that’s how I avoided decapitation.)
(Before heading into a battle with a group of cultists, my eladrin bard gets in an argument with their leader, also an eladrin. The argument ends with my bard telling the cult leader that ‘he probably couldn’t stab himself in the chest if he tried.’ Later in the fight, I end up killing him with a spell in which I insult him. The following exchange occurs:)
Me: YOU ARE A PATHETIC ELADRIN! YOU COULDN’T LEAD A COUNCIL OF BUGBEARS!
Master: OH AND WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT LEADING, YOU FUCKING-
(At this point the DM has him turn to face my character. While doing so however, he slips and impales himself on some nearby rocks.)
Me: (after pondering for a moment) hmm…. close, but you didn’t stab yourself on purpose. Doesn’t count.
We’ve been building up to this moment for weeks.
As part of the Dwarven New Year celebrations, the party bard will sing in front of the entire city to try and change a law on the death penalty. The 2000-strong crowd goes silent as the bard steps up (spells have been put in place to amplify her voice)…
Rolls a nat 1 on Perform for the first time in the entire campaign.
The bard promptly sings a racist song about dwarves, throws up on the nearest guard, and is known by the entire city thenceforth as “the smelly one”.
"He’s an assassin! You don’t want to make him a *grumpy* assassin, do you?"