Don't ever leave the table in the middle of an argument...
I’m DMing Pathfinder for a group of six players (around level 7) whose characters don’t really see eye-to-eye. They had just taken down a boss with a sleep arrow and were discussing whether they should kill him or let him live.
LG Monk (IC): I say we let him live. Killing him only makes us as bad as him. And anyway we need to question him.
Rogue (IC): But if we let him live nothing will change.
Oracle (IC): I agree.
LG Monk (IC): No. No I won’t let you. We’ll question him and take him to the guards.
OOC the guy who plays the monk goes to the bathroom.
While he is gone:
Rogue (OOC): Can I stealth and then make a Coup de Grace attempt on him without (LG Monk) seeing?
DM (Me): Oh my God, OK, give it a shot.
*Rogue proceeds to roll an insane Stealth check (somewhere in the 30s) and roll huge damage on the attack.*
DM (Me): *laughing* OK, Jesus, yeah. You fire an arrow straight into the unconscious man’s skull. He is well and truly dead.
The monk’s player returns to the table.
DM (Me): Hey, can I get you to make a perception check real quick.
LG Monk (OOC): (Assuming he’d just missed something) Yeah sure, that’s a uhhh… 16?
DM (Me): Yeah ok, never mind.
LG Monk (OOC): Right, I pick the man up and put him on my shoulder. We can take him somewhere safe to question him.
At this point the rest of the party is trying really hard to keep from laughing. The monk is getting suspicious.
LG Monk (OOC): Actually I’ll try to wake him up here. I give his face a slap.
DM (Me): As you go to slap his face you see the shaft of an arrow protruding from his skull, his face is covered in blood.
LG Monk (OOC): WHAT! (Looks at the people giggling around the table) I SENSE MOTIVE THE PARTY!!!
Everyone rolls terrible Bluff checks.
DM (Me): The rest of the party bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
LG Monk (OOC): GUYS! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?!?!?!
OOC everyone actually bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
The next session that player swapped characters. He said playing someone Lawful Good wasn’t a good fit for the party. He was definitely right.
Keith is heartbroken and upset Shiro’s gone, and he can’t just move on. When the team says that they need a new leader, Keith keeps reminding them that Shiro is gone. It hurts him more that Shiro is gone rather than Voltron not being able to form.
So when he says
“You wanted me to lead Voltron? This is how I do it”, he’s bitter and pissed that the team has made him become the leader even though he’s mentioned time and time again that he doesn’t want to lead the group to Shiro because Shiro is the leader and he never thought that he would actually pilot Black because he never thought he’d lose Shiro again.
Tell us how Steve managed to cause a disaster on his bicycle, only hours after he was banned from using motorized vehicles.
you must know steve pretty well, because that is exactly what happened.
the morning after throwing yet another motorcycle at a supervillian, steve woke up early and decided to go out and get bagels. not at all unusual, except that his favorite bagel place is in brooklyn. so naturally steve decided to just bike there.
tony keeps a dozen or so bikes in the vehicle garage, and pretty much every one of them is weirder than the one before. one is a concept made by ferrari; another one is made from bamboo and was a gift from an MIT student whose research he funded. one appears to have some sort of rocket engine attached. with selections like that, you can see why steve chose the oldest, plainest bike in the group.
what steve did not know was that this was the Deathbike.
see, when tony was 14 and starting at MIT, he wasnt licensed to drive and needed a way to get around campus quickly. so, like many other college students, he got a bike. a very nice, high-end bike, of course, but otherwise perfectly innocuous. (it was a bit too big for him. he insists it wasnt, and that he’s not short.)
tony rode it home and painted it black.
within the first month of owning the Deathbike, tony ran into two people, was run into three times by other cyclists, and just barely missed being hit by a car. tony refused to admit that either 1. the bike was cursed or 2. he was just a terrible cyclist, and instead painted a tiny white skull on the side of the bike for every collision, and rode it for the rest of his time at MIT. somehow, he survived, and no one was seriously injured. (he admits that there may have been a few broken bones. but he paid the medical bills, so it was fine.)
by the time steve took the bike out, there were twenty-seven little skulls.
steve knew none of this, and headed out on the sidewalks aboard the Deathbike. he made it a block or two on thankfully empty sidewalks before tony’s modifications kicked in.
little 14-year-old madman stark, drunk on alcohol and puberty, decided that his two-wheeled killing machine didnt go fast enough. so, using the genius and lack of foresight the stark bloodline had given him, he made some changes. and now the Deathbike has a little electric engine that kicks in after a certain speed, which basically increases how fast the bike goes per pedal. tony says the fastest he was ever clocked on it was about forty mph–but insists he could have made it faster, except he didnt want to make it too bulky.
steve was doing fifty miles an hour by the time he was six blocks from the tower.
since steve is himself, instead of maybe slowing down when he realized how fast he was going, he decided to see how fast he could get. and it turns out that a supersoldier on a bike built by teenage tony stark can go plenty damn fast.
a traffic cam on the brooklyn bridge clocked him at nearly 115 mph.
but dont forget–this is the Deathbike. it earned its name, and would fulfill its mildly inconvenient legacy regardless of who was riding it.
also, its tires were never built for that kind of stress.
steve turned around the corner of the block where the bagel shop is going some eighty-odd mph (having slowed down to turn), and hit a heap of cardboard. if he’d been going slower, or if the wheels had been in better shape, he might have been able to brake in time. as it was, he was still going pretty fast when he hit it. and since the universe loves to laugh at steve, the pile of cardboard was shaped pretty much like a ramp.
steve and the Deathbike went airborne.
somehow, the early morning commuters failed to notice captain america hurtling through the sky on the worlds most sadistic pedal-powered monster, so when he landed in the bed of an old metal pickup, nobody checked on him when he didn’t pop right back out. instead, the Deathbike, steve, and steve’s shiny new concussion remained right where they were, in blissful unconsciousness.
when steve finally woke up, he was somewhere in southern virginia, and there was a very confused pickup truck driver wondering how the heck he’d wound up with a giant man and a bike in his truck.
we would have made steve bike back, but we didnt want to tempt fate. instead we sent a quinjet.
Context: I was conning into a game after a party had been established. It was an evil party, so these weren’t the most polite sort, and I was the only cleric, being introduced. The party was a Minotaur sorcerer, tiefling warlock, human fighter, a Goliath paladin and human bard
Me- Wow. You guys are the party I’m with? Bessie, nut job, butch-zilla, gingerbread and a pretty boy.
Minotaur - Cute. What little nickname do we call you? *clearly being sarcastic*
Me- Considering you have no cleric but me, my name if you want to live long.