I am the Warchief
I was DMing a campaign for the D20 World of Warcraft RPG. The party consists of a Goblin Tinker, Orc Barbarian, Troll Druid and Undead Necromancer. The players haven’t played a PnP RPG before, but they’re all huge fans of Warcraft, members of my Guild and play WoW often. After saving Razor Hill from a Quilboar Siege, they are called upon by Thrall. The PnP RPG predates Cataclysm, it even predates Burning Crusade, so Thrall was still the Warchief of the Horde.
DM (Me): You enter the Warchief’s throne room. Standing there are representatives of the four races of the Horde and a handful of guards and warlords. Thrall sits upon his thrown, the mighty Doomhammer leaning against his throne. As you enter, he pauses from his discussion with the Tauren repre-
Goblin Tinker: I USE MY ROCKET POWERED BOXING GLOVE TO PUNCH THRALL IN THE BALLS *Rolls a Nat 20*
The Rest of the Party: *all gasp in shock and proceed to break into laughter*
Goblin Tinker: I HAVE SLAIN THRALL! I AM NOW THE NEW WARCHIEF!
Me: Thrall is not dead, just missing a testicle, but now he is VERY pissed off.
The party is then chased out of Orgrimmar by the royal guard and city grunts and spend the rest of the campaign on the run from the full might of the Horde, which is out to avenge their Warchief.