Horrible role-playing experiences

[Chuckg]

Sometimes, things just go wrong. Especially when you're gaming with people you haven't known for a while, and it turns you have... incompatible gaming styles.

Or maybe the dice gods just decide to spend that night hosing you horribly. Or somebody makes a wrong tactical decision for entirely understandable reasons, yet it still touches off a horrible chain of dominoes.

In any event, since we have a thread for Made of Win moments in our tabletop play, I decided to create its dark mirror, the thread of gaming horror stories.

This is one I've posted online before in other venues, yet the dark shadow of its memory remains...

---------------------
Cyberpunk 2020 game:

I'm the noob to the group, but they're just starting a new campaign when I get there, so we're all fresh. It's a Trauma Team game -- for those who don't know C2020, think "heavily armed paramilitary ambulance attendants in a cyberpunk world". If you are a paying customer of Trauma Team, Inc., we'll show up to medevac you from the middle of even the worst urban war zone... even if we need a minigun-equipped aerodyne (think a sort of van with vector-thrust VTOL flight capability) to do it. Just pop your transmitter card and voila, instant private 911.

Anyway, we had one Netrunner (decker) running our communications, a combat medic, a couple of Solos (street samurai), and me, the pilot.

First service call of the night, we show up at a building fire to see our rival ambulance service, REO Meatwagon, loading up some of our customers in *their* ambulance... which means that we have lost money, the claim-jumping bastards. So, the guy playing the medic, who's our team leader, orders me to shoot their aerodyne down.

Since blowing it away means we lose money anyway, I look at him like he's on crack, and go 'Shouldn't we just lift the rest of our people out of that big-*** fire? They're lost money anyway.'

Well, first prize for my "insubordination" is a syringe full of thorazine right in my shoulder while I've got my hands busy landing the damn thing and can't fight back. While I'm out of it, Dr. Death then proceeds to use our minigun to blow the REO Meatwagon right out of the sky. When I call him on it later, eh says, "Oh, I used the rubber bullets! It was legally just a warning shot!"

Right. 200 'warning shots' straight into the other guy's vertical stabilizer, and he acts surprised when there's a fiery crash.

Anyway, after that encounter, somebody else pops me with a stim shot so my character's awake again.

A couple hours later in game time, it's lunch. Which, since we were working graveyard, means it's midnight. So we go -- still dressed up in our Trauma Team gear, and carrying our fully automatic weapons and our heavy milspec body armor -- in to eat. Given that this is the place where our characters usually eat, and we are licensed and deputized corporate mercenaries what have the legal permits to wear this stuff, that's not stupid, that's just Cyberpunk.

Anyway, despite the place being a known regular stop on the schedules of lots of heavily-armed corporate mercs like us, the obligatory street gang tries to rob it anyway. So, everybody leaps joyously into the hand-to-hand fray with the wandering monsters. Except me. My guy's feeling pretty bummed and low on team spirit for some mysterious reason, so I just stay in the booth and finish my burger.

So natch, one of the gangers breaks loose and comes straight at me. Screaming wild-eyed on crystal meth and waving around a mono-edged machete.

Now, my character's last job was ex-Special Forces, flying Army gunships over some Central American hellhole in some undeclared Cyberpunk border war or the other, so he's not exactly the most gentle guy in the world. He was an *ethical* man, but definitely not a squeamish one. And this is a Cyberpunk game.

So, I take one look at the monosword the other guy's trying to chop me up with, decide that this more than qualifies as 'being assaulted with lethal force', decide that using lethal force is therefore an appropriate and proportionate response to the situation, pick my assault rifle up from off the seat next to me, neatly put 3 rounds of 5.56mm straight through the mook's forehead, and go back to my burger.

So the team leader writes my character up with a big nasty discipline slip (to add to the one I've already collected for "insubordination") for -- get this -- 'excessive force'. So, apparently blowing away a rival company's ambulance w/ two innocents on board is company policy, but shooting a guy who's berserk on meth and trying to slice you up with a monosword is beyond the pale. No, I don't get it either. Sure, *their* characters were all kung-fu heroes and took on the crazed gangers with monoswords melee style. Hey, whatever floats their boats, but do I have to jump off a cliff 'just cause they jump to?

So, on to the last call of the night. Panic beacon signal from a basement in a very bad part of town. God only knows what we're running into.

So, I land out front of this abandoned house in the slums, everybody but me and the Netrunner rolls out -- I'm sitting at the controls, he's on the radios.

And over the headset, I hear them all go into the house, and down into the basement...

.. cue screaming.

... cue sound of multiple gunshots.

... silence.

At this point, I seriously considered just taking off and leaving them there. In addition to the negative attitude I'd been getting all night, if they all die, then my record's perfectly clean. And it's not as if I have any *duty* to go down there -- if whatever's in that basement ate three heavily armed Trauma Team field operatives, then one pilot can't seriously be expected to go whip it.

So, being me, I immediately load a clip of armor-piercing into my rifle, scrounge a couple grenades, and tell the Netrunner "I'm going in." Because, dammit, they just might be soulless corporate merc scum, but my boy used to fly with the Night Stalkers and by God he's not leaving fallen men behind even if he does truly hate their asses.

And I tell the Netrunner, before I go down -- "I've moved the aerodyne around so the nose gun's aimed at the front door. You don't need to aim anything. You don't need to know how it works. You just need to know that if I come back out that front door running, something really ugly is chasing me. And when I make it out the door and drop and roll and yell "NOW!", that's your cue to open up with the rotating gatling barrels of death and turn that house into an open basement with no roof."

And so, moving as stealthily as I can, I move down the stairs.

And from the top of the stairs I see... this enormously huge and psychotic cyborg. Full-on cyberpsycho. Heavy full body plating, mono-whips implanted in both arms, hydraulic muscles, the works. We're talking like Jason X here, OK? And I see my buddies, huddling over behind some support pillars in the corner, as the cyberpsycho rants and raves at them about how all fleshy meatbags must die and so forth. Great. They're still alive. So I'm still going down.

And I go down the stairs.

And then I roll my Stealth roll. And I crit success. And crit again. And *again*. (In Cyberpunk 2020 you keep rerolling for as long as you keep getting 10's, and adding that to the total). And in the end, I get a total die roll result of 50. It is like the highest roll ever seen in the history of that campaign. In Cyberpunk 2020, a total die result of 35 makes a difficulty class of 'F**king Impossible".

And so I ninja down, because my plan is this -- to get right up behind him (he was facing away from the foot of the stairs), put the rifle barrel right to the base of his skull, and let him have all 30 rounds of 5.56mm armor-piercing right there.

Which would *probably* kill him. Yes, he was that heavily armored.

The rule in Cyberpunk 2020 is that any firearm attack launched within Point Blank range -- which means 1 meter -- automatically rolls max damage. With this guy's armor value, max damage on all 30 of my shots would eventually nickel-and-dime him to death 1 or 2 BODY at a time.

I get to within 4 feet of the bad guy before the DM has him suddenly hear me -- and remember what my stealth roll was! -- and turn around. And I know damn well he didn't roll an Alertness high enough to beat 50, as the only way to do that in Cyberpunk 2020 involves having base stats and skill codes of 15+ each (the Hero Game equivalent of which would be like having INT 50 and +10 w/ all PER rolls), or else you have to crit succeed and then confirm the crit about three times. So just by counting how many times his d10 hit the table, I know whether or not he did it, and he didn't do it.

So the guy hears me anyway. I ask if I get the point blank damage. DM goes "No, that's only for 1 meter or less." And I go "You said I got to within 4 feet! The difference is negligible! Can we go common-sense instead of exact literal here?"

No. No we can't. So I blaze away, my average damage barely pisses Mr. Tinhead off, and he pops both monowhips and starts swinging.

I crit success my first dodge roll. So I don't get cut in half, my rifle does. As I'm doing this, I'm backing up the stairs.

He swings again. I crit success my second dodge roll. Yes, I was rolling crit after crit that night. It was the hottest dice streak of my entire life. I must have chucked like eight natural 10's in a *row*, on 1d10. Literally one in a hundred million odds.

So by now, I've lived about two rounds longer than I could possibly hoped to have, I'm halfway up the stairs, and I'm just about to where I can break, run, have Borg Boy follow me up and out the front door... and stare straight into the nose gun of my gunship.

Oh yeah, I also tried chucking an EMP grenade. Nothing. Fully shielded. No prob, that's an allowable option for 'borgs in C2020.

And just as I turn to run and play follow-the-leader...

... the combat medic leaps out from behind the pillar, levels his .477 magnum handgun, and fires a called shot into the borg's head from across the basement. And I see his die roll. He rolls a hit, but he does *not* crit.

The DM rolls some dice behind his screen and says that the borg is down.

... this is the same borg whose head I'd just put 30 rounds of 5.56mm armor piercing into at a distance <4 feet, and barely dented his armor. And now one shot, from across the room, from a heavy pistol, just floored the borg.

Gee, DM favoritism much?

(Note -- the damage of an Militech-Ronin 35 assault rifle loaded with AP is 5d6 Armor-Piercing. The damage of a .477 "Boomer-Buster" pistol at close range is 5d6 Armor-Piercing. So our weapons were doing the exact same damage.

My average damage rolls, called shot to the head, for *30* shots were barely plinking the sucker. His one round, called shot to the head, floored it. Notice a problem here?)

And then, just as I'm standing up to announce that I'm quitting this freak show, the rest of the party tells me that they'd have had to throw me out anyway -- for my "cowardice in the face of the enemy". Because, you know, I was turning to run away from the 'borg. Never mind the whole plan with the tactical retreat and the parked gunship. Never mind me going down into that basement to save their asses *after* they've repeatedly ****ed me over, when I could have just abandoned them all to die and gotten away totally free and clear with our employer, Trauma Team, Inc. Nope. I'm a coward. Gotta be.

I left.

[Wittgen]

Wow, what a bunch of dicks.

Seriously, that's awful. Those people shouldn't be allowed to game.

[Darkandus]

As you were leaving did you burn the building they were in down to the ground? And I don't mean in game...

[serbii]

*looks at title*
*smirk*
(that's not what they meant and you know it Serbii!)

Yeah there are idiots in the world. I agree, you should use fire on them.

[Chuckg]

As you were leaving did you burn the building they were in down to the ground? And I don't mean in game...

Sadly, this was during my Navy time, and burning down the BEQ is frowned upon by the Uniform Code of Military Justice and makes the shore patrol all flustered and stern.

Edit: But this thread isn't about me, or rather, not just about me. Anybody else got any RPG horror stories they want to vent?

[Psalm Of Fire]

I don't know man, the one was epic. Wow. That is a baaaad RP experience. It's going to take us a while to mull that over.

Serbii! I'm shocked, shocked I say!

[ecs05norway]

I gotta agree, that is EPICally bad.

[Darkandus]

I had the most annoying person in our gaming group. He would literally argue with the Dm over everything. One particular situation led to us sitting around for two hours while he argued about how many days it would take to walk sixty miles. The one week he didn't turn up we got literally five sessions worth done in the time it would take to do one sessions worth with him.

Eventually we just got sick of him and pretty creatively killed every character he made with some variation of Bears because even though he knew we didn't want him there he kept showing up.

[Dervon]

OOooooo! I can add quite a bit to this!

BTW, Chuckg, that was utter shit, really! I´m going to have a hard time topping the shittyness! :P

I hope you´ll never have to deal with idiots like that in a game again, dude...

And hats off for all you did in the game. It sounded like you were the most logical minded of the bunch, and the game´s sole purpose was to screw you over. I mean, the luck of the roll? You had Lady Luck on your side, man...

...

Taken from the Hollowed Archives of /TG/( no, none of these are mine, but they are in the spirit of the thread, I hope you don´t mind, Chuckg):

OH GOD, some players are just...

Spoiler: show

So, it was my first game of DnD as well, and it is still running to this day (I am staying a part of it because I gave the DM a second chance).

The time of this story was around a year into the game, in a setting that the DM had made for ten years. Ten. Freaking. Years. He spent the best years of his life developing this game world, and by god it had everything from fucking names for rats to a council of mad superwizards trying to rule the world.

So here's my character, a level 11 Chaotic Good Warlock. He's a bit of an ass, but he sticks up for people he considers friends, and uses those who aren't so he can fulfill his crusade (to purge the ghetto of evil).

So far, the DM has been putting me on a bit of a plot, something involving some big conspiracy to destroy the town's magical power reactor or something. I dunno, I was sorta fading in and out whenever he put something in like goblins who could speak fluent Common, or criminals who turned into daemonettes whenever you said their name several times.

So the party (consisting of me and a rogue) go through the plot, make an explosion (attracting the attention of magical ninjas), get our reward for clearing out a goblin nest.

The reward is a magical map with riddles that pissed the hell out of me to try and solve. Instead of getting a big sack of pride and the gift that keeps on giving, my guy gets teleported into this wierd quasi dimension where the two new members of the party are.

It's pretty cool and shit, walking around a highly-detailed monastery. DM promised phat loots to be had.

Then I met the other two party members and shit a brick of sheer hatred.

With Cthulhu as my witness, I will not lie to you:
The first party member I was introduced to was a drow psion. Yes, Drizz't with mind powers. And what did he wield? Two longswords.

Two longswords that had some obscure enchantment that made it so "people with evil hearts" couldn't wield it. Apparently, Warlocks- even CG- qualify as evil people. Okay. Whatever. So I just kept my cool as he went on his usual "I'm a redemption-seeker!" tirade.

Then the party monk. The first thing that made me squint my eyes was the thick sword hilt sticking out of his sash. I thought he might have a broadsword or something, which would cause plenty of bleeding.

I was wrong. I was dead wrong.

We continue traveling through this demi-dimension (with the rogue player having to go out on a trip for a week, leaving us plenty of time to adventure), and eventually encounter a squad of GRIMDRK knights in GRIMDARK armor.

They have a box with something glowing inside, and the monk decides he wants the box. He tells them, "Give me it or else", and the Drow does his usual mopey "Woe is me".

My warlock suggests that they should help the knights, and promises the monk more "shinies" in the long run. The monk goes crosseyed and realizes he can loot my level 11 ass as well.

His weapon, when he draws it from his sash, is a 12ft sword. A 12ft, 3ft wide sword.

I am a level 11 boomstick who- at the time- had a 6d6 eldritch blast.

He was a level 10 monk who had this behemoth, which was also enchanted. I lost initiative, and he hit me three times: 150 damage total. I dropped like a rock.

DM did a fiat, where my character popped out of the demi-dimension unconscious. The rogue decides at that time to try and kill my character, but the DM persuades him to not do it.

Instead, he loots my warlock. He takes everything. Even his underwear. So I was out of a Greater Chausible, my Warlock Scepter, and a slew of other items that really served me well.

The rogue then rerolled, thereby deleting my items from the world. I had to spend all my savings just to get my Greater Chausible back, my Scepter remains at large...

It gets better. The three guys who screwed me are still in the game, but in a separate plotline (different gaming group).

I have since taken on 2 levels, and have modified my lanky ass into a blasting machine. My standard Eldritch Blast at this point is 12d6 damage, and usually I land both shots (thereby creating 24d6 damage per turn). It was later revealed that the "5 feats" that the monk took did NOT let him wield a colossal weapon, so I decided to neglect to tell the DM that Mortalbane is 5/day, and that I can only use one Eldritch Blast per turn.

What the hell...

Spoiler: show

One of the campaigns finer moments played out like this:
We had just completed a quest to find some artifact that would never end up helping us at all.
But we searched for it anyway because you can't veer this plot train off it's tracks.
DM: You see a magic door appear in front of you.
PC1:I open the door.
(Why did we not have the door checked for traps you ask? The DM will not allow rogues or any other trap finding classes.)
DM: Behind the door, you see...another door!
Players: ...........
PC1:I open the door.
DM: Behind the door, you see...another door!
PC1:I open the door.
DM: Behind the door, you see...another door!
PC1:I open the door.
DM: Behind the door, you see...another door!
(This goes on for 10 minutes. We ask him multiple times if he's just stalling and has no idea where the story goes from here. His reply is no.)
PC1:I open the door.
DM: Ok you guys are back at home now.
Players: .............
(When we asked him what the fuck the last 10 minutes was all about, he just says..."The gods work in strange ways." We lost a player for good that night.)

Who needs social skills in a Role Playing game anyway...

Spoiler: show

I once had a player in a Deadlands game who insisted on taking nothing but shooting and fighting skills. No social skills at all. He even invested all his stat points in such a way that he would become a better fighter. I told him this was a dumb idea, because he would only be useful for a maximum of half the game and completely useless for the rest, but he insisted that this was the way he wanted to play his character, and stupid as I was, I agreed. He seemed like a smart enough guy, so I figured he had some sort of plan when it came to this character. Boy, was I wrong.

First session, the guy doesn't really do a lot besides sit in the corner moping because there's not all that much fighting. The few fights they do end up in, he proves to be only slightly more efficient than the others in combat, despite his massive advantages, mostly because of him being a moron. He even goes so far as to shoot an unarmed, wounded attacker in the face, despite the others explicitly trying not to kill him, with the implication that they were going to question him later. He did not take the hint.

And things just go downhill from there.

You see, this guy soon realized that not having any social skills meant he would pretty much have to stand in the back every time a situation called for talking to an NPC. So what does he do? He politely asks me if there's a way for him to make up for the fact that his character is the least sympathetic person this side of an insane asylum. Delighted that he seems to have taken a hint, I tell him that he can get bonuses to social rolls by roleplaying or otherwise coming up with ways to appear more convincing. Now I think I've finally gotten through to him.

This leads to him deciding that a badass gunslinger probably would go for intimidation. Fine, sounds plausible. I'd sure as hell be scared of someone who could shoot that well. So he declares he's going for a circumstantial bonus to his intimidation roll. BY SHOOTING THE GUY IN THE LEG! This is in the middle of town. The guy hasn't really done anything. He is a civilian who will most likely go into shock and bleed to death from the trauma of taking a bullet to the thigh. Which is exactly what happens.

At this point the guy just looks at me like I'm to blame, but doesn't really say anything. His big Rorschach moment has been ruined and guess what, here comes the sheriff to see what all this commotion is about. You see, not only did this moron shoot a man in the middle of town in the middle of the day, but he also did it with a Derringer he had smuggled into town, since carrying weapons within city limits was prohibited!

So, how does our favorite gunslinger respond to the sheriff and his deputy rushing toward him brandishing shotguns when he is armed with a derringer with a single shot left? Fight his way out, of course.

He makes a called shot to the sheriff's head and hits. The sheriff goes down in a spray of blood while his deputy looks on in horror. But now it's the deputy's turn. He unloads his shotgun, severely wounding the idiot player, who decides that since he has no bullets left, he is going to rush the man carrying a shotgun and punch him out. I repeat, instead of sneaking out, hiding or even waiting for the rest of the party to act, he decides he will try to fight the guy with the shotgun while unarmed and on the brink of death. He hits, but doesn't cause enough damage to do anything other than bruise the deputy a little. The largely unarmed law enforcer answers by hitting him in the face with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out.

At this point, the player is almost foaming at the mouth, whining about how I had "set him up" and that it was impossible to play the game if I was just going to screw him over all the time.

At this point, the rest of the party decides to intervene. The huckster manages to create a distraction, giving the others the chance to knock out the deputy, take the moron with them and get the hell out. To this day I still can't understand why the fuck they would want to save him.

The character actually manages to miraculously survive for a few more sessions, until he is eaten by a Utah Rattler (think the Dune sandworms). Apparently, he couldn't understand the concept of encounters with monsters you weren't supposed to fight and so tried to shoot the 60 feet long worm to death with his revolvers.

Needless to say, he left the game after this, moaning and bitching about me being unfair.

Only to beg to get back into the game a month or two later, with me refusing.

HAHAHAHA, OH WOW...

Spoiler: show

All right, this campaign was in a fantasy not-DnD game. The DM had found some adventure online that he thought was super fucking awesome, so he decided to print it out and run it. The problem with this adventure was two-fold. One, it was pretty shitty to begin with. Two, it required the involvement of the prince and instead of making the prince an NPC like any normal person, the DM decided that this role would fall to one of the players.

Of course, the prince role fell to the DM's best friend, a guy who wasn't a dick per se, but was far from the most able of roleplayers and was egged on by the DM to become the worst Mary Sue character ever. Since the DM decided to name the kingdom Lothlorien, naturally the prince was named prince Celeborn of Lothlorien.

I could live with this. After all, those were just names. It could be forgiven if the rest of the campaign was any good. Of course, it wasn't.

You see, the prince didn't start out as a noble or anything of the sort. No, the prince was a knight. Nothing really wrong with this, it's fantasy after all, so why wouldn't the prince be able to fight? The problem comes once we realize that the prince has unlimited funds. Literally. The DM actually allows him to pick whatever the fuck he wants from the book, since he's the prince. The rest of us start out with some shitty armour and rusty scissors for weapons, despite the fact that most of us are either the prince's bodyguards or servants!

As we start the adventure, it instantly becomes clear that the whole campaign centres around prince Celeborn and no one else, since every NPC only speak to Celeborn while ignoring the rest of us, and the DM even goes so far as to forcible move the party's minotaur fighter in front of Celeborn every time he is about to take damage, because "he is so devoted to his lord".

The adventure finishes, and I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking it was a one-shot and that we would finally be rid of this shit. But it just wasn't meant to be.

You see, upon returning to the castle, we learn that Celeborn's father has been murdered by a vampire. How the fuck people know this, since apparently the fucking vampire managed to infiltrate the castle and kill the king without anybody noticing it, is beyond me, but what the fuck. At this point, I might as well introduce my character. I'm playing a wizard, and since the DM insists that casting magic without a staff is impossible in this world, and my staff is constantly stolen/missing/broken for one reason or another, I pretty much serve as the brains of the party.

So, I take charge and start using magic and various investigative measures to track this vampire down so we can kill it. But no matter what I do, I can't find a single trace of the vampire. Detect magic? Apparently it used mundane means to get inside. Very well, I'll investigate the room. Yeah, but the vampire was sneaky enough that it didn't leave a single trace behind.

Long story short, a DMPC (who is the DM's previous character's half-banshee daughter. She was called Éowyn. Yes, really.) barges in, says she knows where the vampire is and forces us to go along with her. We fight the vampire, lose, she defeats it with a single sword stroke while simultaneously managing to get mortally wounded, and tells Celeborn he is the only one who can kill it. Something about royal blood. So, he kills it, which apparently turns his sword into a bolt of lightning that deals insane amounts of damage and only requires touch attacks to hit, and also causes the somehow recovered half-banshee DMPC to fall in love with him.

On our return, we get a loooong coronation ceremony, followed by a looooong wedding, followed by an awkward sex scene that I won't mention any more than I have to, because it was some of the most disturbing shit I've ever experienced.

And this is where shit gets really bad.

You see, in the vampire fight, my character had lost an arm before Éowyn decided to kick it's ass with her lolawesome swordsmanship. Being a complete dick by this point, Celeborn refuses to pay for the regeneration, saying I have to earn the money myself. Of course, since I'm not actually getting paid for risking my life for this asshole king (and the fact that I'M NOT EVEN PLAYING A GODDAMN ELF, SO THIS GUY ISN'T EVEN MY KING!) I don't have the cash. And the DM rules that you can't cast magic with a single arm, so I'm pretty much useless, or I would be if the party didn't rely on me for every single thing that couldn't be killed with a sword.

So apparently Celeborn's had a kid with Éowyn, and the kid's been kidnapped by some evil cult or something for no apparent reason. As usual, Éowyn goes with us as we try to find this evil cult and stop them. I just tag along because I figure I can find some way to regenerate my goddamn arm and cast magic again.

We find the cult, who apparently hid inside a tower made out of black rock on top of a mountain. Yeah, real subtle. Anyway, we fight our way up the tower (and by "we" I mean Celeborn and Éowyn, who is apparently under Celeborn's control now) since they were going to sacrifice the kid and use the power of the royal blood to rule the world or some shit like that. At this point, I'm not even paying attention.

So we bust in, stop the ceremony, Celeborn kills them all with his lightning-sword (which can apparently also shoot lightning bolts more powerful than mine now) and then we have to watch Celeborn and the DM rp an awkward love scene as they rescue their child.

And here comes the truly painful part.

Somehow, the magic ritual goes haywire, and we're all struck by lightning (except Éowyn, who was holding the kid at the time). When we wake up, we're in the future (seriously, instead of trying to describe what our characters are seeing, the DM just says "you wake up in the future").

Yes /tg/ shit is about to get a whole fucking lot worse. I have to take a break to even be able to type half the shit that's coming up, because the saga of Future Celeborn is so goddamn ridiculous it physically hurts me to even think about it.

...

Ok, I've had a drink, calmed my nerves down, so it's time for the epic continuation of the story of Celeborn the Mary Sue.

So, apparently we wake up in contemporary New York. I try to ask the DM why the fuck we would be in New York when we obviously weren't in anything even remotely similar to our world earlier. He tells me to shut up and stop ruining the game.

Anyway, we're surrounded by a crowd of people who think we're some kind of mascots or something in costumes. So we walk around for a while, while Celeborn ruins any possibility of immersion (if such a thing was even possible in this shitty game) by immediately knowing what everything is and how it works.

Well, finally, some kid impressed with Celeborns lightning-sword touches the blade, is electrocuted and turns into a smoking corpse. The cops show up, and Celeborn orders us to fight them. I try to convince the others that we should surrender and explain it was all a mistake, but the DM says I do as Celeborn wants, because i's "in character" for me. So we kill the cops, at which point SWAT shows up, and we kill those too, steal their guns, and are now running around with fucking assault rifles and shotguns.

After about an hour and a half of non-stop fighting (most of which is just the DM describing how Celeborn kills everything in gory over the top ways) the army finally sends tanks and choppers against us.

At this point, we all figure we're screwed. All except Celeborn, who pretty much has a carte blanche for whatever the fuck he wants to do. He somehow lures a chopper close enough to him that he can jump onto it, kill the crew, fly it despite never even having seen one before now, and somehow blow everything up with missiles and machineguns. He then picks us up and we fly off.

Somewhere along the ride, the DM decides that I now remember a spell to reverse time travel. This despite the fact that he explicitly said that I could not cast magic with my one arm and the fact that I'm nowhere near the power level where time travel would even be remotely possible.

Alakazam, and we're back in Lothlorien. I get my arm regenerated in return for saving our collective bacon, but still get treated like shit. But it doesn't matter. I can finally cast spells again! Well, too bad the entire party is equipped with modern weapons that can easily outdamage every single spell in my repertoire.

Post-adventure, we learn:

The Lothlorien smiths are apparently skilled enough that they could recreate bullets after a bit of experimenting, so now we have assault rifles with near infinite ammunition.

Yeah...

...

I´m going to stop here, might post some more later. :D

[Tempest Kitsune]

Okay, that last one? That's the Anti-Christ of GMs right there. I would've left the freaking game, and smacked the taste outta his mouth on my way out.

[Lthayer3]

Yeah, I think that's pretty much as bad as they come. Why did that guy stick around for so long? It had to have extended over multiple sessions...

[Dervon]

Yeah, I think that's pretty much as bad as they come. Why did that guy stick around for so long? It had to have extended over multiple sessions...

It´s a common theme in /tg/-related RP stories: either a lack of other groups to join, or a morbid curiosity as the drama unfolds. Other players might have been friends, etc...

Depends, really...

[Darkandus]

I would have left. If leaving wasn't an option I would have got the rest of the group except the dm and his best friend together and set up a new group. And they would have never gotten an invitation either.

[Jasruv]

That reminds of the time when I was playing Rifts with a human ley line walker and one of my party members decided to use a plasma grenade in a bar fight. A plasma grenade does 5d6 MDC damage(where a modern M1 Abrams tanks has about 4-6 MDC) to a area over 75 feet across.

The GM decided (not too unreasonably) that the explosion also cooked off the plasma grenades another character was wearing but not using.

The result: a nearly total party wipe from the hundreds of MDC damage inflicted by the resulting chain of explosions.

This was actually not that unusual an occurance with some of the people I gamed with growing up as they never seemed to grasp the concept not useing maximum force to resolve a problem.

[SLAMU]

NOT use maximum force? Why ever would you do a thing like that?

[MrRigger2]

Because sometimes maximum force kills you just as dead as the other guy. And Now You Know.

MrRigger

[Phht]

Because sometimes maximum force kills you just as dead as the other guy. And Now You Know.

Speaking of that, years back when I was in my final year of high school or so, I was running a Robotech RPG campaign. We were doing the Ghost Ship adventure.

We're talking variable fighters with missile loads inside a Zentraedi warship's corridors. The squad leader, quite intelligently, gave the order to keep weapons safe regarding missiles to avoid getting caught in their own blast radius. They make their way through the ship and get in a fight near the bridge. I think everyone can guess what one member of the squad did when the group ran into a group of hostiles at close range.

Booooooom. Took out at least one of the hostiles PLUS his own VF in a glorious explosion of missiles (pretty sure it was both fired missiles plus others cooking off in the blast). I'm talking 200-300+ Mega Damage to his vehicle in a single round by his own missiles. I think he even managed to punch a hole through the hull with the blast. The guy survived his bird's death, but man, that incident still makes me laugh when I think of it.

Not so much a horrible roleplaying experience, but proof of MrRigger's comment.

[Tempest Kitsune]

I've managed to do the same thing on two seperate occasions. Once mutated the entire party, and the second ended in a TPK 35 minutes into the game.

[SLAMU]

Ah, but I see these examples not as reasons why you should hold back on the firepower, but rather be able to withstand being hoisted by ones own petard ;) (My wizard tends to have the highest AC of anyone in the party. It drives the barbarian up the wall, making it worth doing on its own merits. )

Also, watch where you're pointing that thing.

[Minion]

Am I an ass for thinking all of the above are just bloody hilarious?

[MrRigger2]

Well, maybe a little, but you'd have to be dead inside not to laugh at at least some of that stuff.

MrRigger

[Comartemis]

Heh. My Star Wars roleplaying group was much more casual and we never really did much playing; we just got together once or twice a week and made characters, played video games, and ate pizza. The one time we actually sat down and started playing, we started off with a jump into hyperspace, having freshly escaped from a prison maintained by the Trade Federation (which was located in orbit over Endor, for some bizarre reason the GM wouldn't elaborate on). First check we ever made was a navigation check... which sent us right into an asteroid field and blew up our ship and all our characters with it.

We just kinda sat there staring at each other for a minute, then started cracking up and went back to the usual routine.