I was Calkios Blackskull, lich sorcerer, supreme master of the undead, lord of darkness and nightmares. My party was a psychic warrior with an affinity for red swords, and a warlock who probably should have been better at his job, but had too much of a fascination with kidnapping princesses.
We had recently rolled into a huge dwarven metropolis, disguised as travelers to prevent any nastiness with the guards. As we scope out the town, we discover it has a large number of competing banks, all with their own vaults. So, my character, over the course of about a week, goes around to all of them in different disguises to case them, learn where their vaults are, and prepare to raid them for the sweet loots.
Naturally, being a master of the arcane, the thefts go off without a hitch. Twelves banks in the city, so we go after four each night. My character scries into the vaults, then teleports us in. We stash all the loot into bags of holding, and warp out. Easy money!
The final night, we reach the final bank. Number 12. The big one. My character raises a hand as we teleport in. “Wait… I’ve got an idea.”
With a nasty grin, he looks to the others and details the plan. As the other players laugh, our characters dump out EVERYTHING WE STOLE. All the gold, gems, loot, money, rare minerals, EVERYTHING. Every single thing we took from the other banks is dropped right in the middle of the 12th.
Then we teleport out, go to our room, and order room service for the show.