Your Favorite Character... That You Barely/Never Got to Play

Sacrosanct said:

While not my favorite, my luckiest as far as chargen went anyway. In 1e, I had a fighter I legit rolled 100% for strength, and then rolled 100% again for psionics. All legit, in front of people. Only time in 37 years of gaming its ever happened.

Never ended up getting a chance to play him.

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Well isn't it ironic. Don't you think?

I wrote this little diddy up when coming up with the character. The game was so the group unanimously decided that the DM wasn't right for us, so I got to DM. Probably will never get to play him the right way, as I'm a ForeverDM, but I might try to work him into a story or whenever the heck I end up writing a novel...

Of course it would be raining. Anvelstad wasn't surprised; in fact, he would not be surprised to feel the raindrops slithering through his filthy, old coat to his pale and scarred skin. The trousers he wore were already drenched through, and his boots had more water in them than they did feet.

The streets of Balmaar always seemed to be filled with water from the nigh-constant rain. Of course, Nob Hill had proper drainage all the way to the bay, but the Narrows—the warehouse district that bordered the Docks and the Slums—was a cespool after a torrent such as this.

Nights like this, though, were perfect for a little skullduggery. The thin man sat in the muck of an alley, his collar turned up, a soggy rollup sagging from his thin lips. His eyes appeared to be closed to the outside observer, but even so, he watched closely one particular warehouse, in the Shady Hills neighborhood of the Narrows.

Anvelstad watched through gray eyes as water-logged patrons trudged through the doors of that very special warehouse. These patrons cared little for the wares the owner of this particular warehouse paid taxes on—they were interested in much more disgusting merchandise. The auction was set to begin in two hours, and the owner had yet to arrive. Anvelstad wished the man would hurry up.

The Civil Code of the Free City of Balmaar, Article II, Section 57, Paragraph 3, states that slavery, in both explicit and implicit cases, is illegal and punishable by no less than 50 years imprisonment in the cases of purchasers of said slaves; sellers were sentenced to life without chance of parole. Balmaar, though, was a town of realists. Hands shook, moneys changed hands, and all sorts of terrible things went bump and thump in the dark alleys under the noses of all the authorities and Gods that citizens of Balmaar knew.

Anvelstad knew first hand the type of power those with money could purchase. Beneath the layers of grime and filth, an observer might notice that his coat may once have belonged to a member of the Special Constables.

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4e Shifter Druid with a backstory of lost Nerathian nobility. I figured out a place to locate a "toll road" (but using a canal instead of a road). His theme music while in town would have been Werewolves of London.

Never played.

Any elf or half-elf I've ever tried to run. They never make it past 3rd level, in any edition. They either die or the campaign is canceled.

I'm almost afraid to try again because I'm a bit worried that it's starting to escalate. The last elf I tried to run died in the first session and the campaign was canceled. I think next time it may be even more serious and the DM will keel over dead when I introduce my character.

Sacrosanct said:

While not my favorite, my luckiest as far as chargen went anyway. In 1e, I had a fighter I legit rolled 100% for strength, and then rolled 100% again for psionics. All legit, in front of people. Only time in 37 years of gaming its ever happened.

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The other player in a 2E Dark Sun two-player campaign I played in rolled this exactly: 18/00 Strength and 00 for Psionics. He was a badass Fighter/Mage with some nasty psionic powers.

He was also wealthy, so my character made him pay for everything--even after my thief/illusionist was wealthier than him.

The one I come back to every 10 years or so is Garchoran, a lizardfolk warrior/mage (class varies by edition) who likes to eat his fallen foes. He also offers to eat party members should they die, and would be honored if they ate him when he dies. This all makes sense and is very consistent because the lizardfolk credo is "you are what you eat," so Garchoran believes that eating powerful creatures will make him stronger, and that humans are generally soft and squishy because they eat so much bread. But I never tell the other players this, so they just think I'm just playing some creepy cannibal.

Triani the half elven bard who would play "spaghetti western" music to cast her spells.

Oofta said:

Any elf or half-elf I've ever tried to run. They never make it past 3rd level, in any edition. They either die or the campaign is canceled.

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Lol. That sounds like what happens whenever I try & play a cleric.

Once upon a time there was a teenaged peasant girl named Noylin of Cradham. Noylin talked to the Sun God, and traveled the land as a self-styled lay preacher, sharing with all who would listen, and also those who would rather not, the joy she felt beholding the wonderful world in His light. One night, lay preaching not being a well-paying profession, she was moonlighting serving drinks in a mead hall whither fortune had gathered an assortment of polychromatic characters -- "PCs", if you will -- in search of adventure. Now, serving drinks was turning out not to be a well-paying profession either, for Noylin had a hard time understanding that the guests might not appreciate receiving theological admonitions along with their beverages. One PC, an aristocratic sort with little grasp of the common value of money, tried to get her to go away by tipping her a whole gold coin. In the shining disk Noylin saw a vision of the Almighty Sun declaring this PC to be the Chosen One and commanding her to follow him as his Herald (a development that definitely had nothing to do with him being a kind and handsome prince about her own age). Another PC, a warlock and all-around terrible person, instead tried to shut her up by treating her the way terrible people all too often treat serving girls. To this Noylin responded as her momma had taught her: with a solid right hook to the jaw.

Well, things escalated from there, and as they say, initiative was rolled. The warlock retaliated with loathsome magic. The handsome prince intervened, convincing the warlock to back down and apologize by offering to pay restitution for any damages caused. The guards provided the stick to his carrot by leveling crossbows and threatening to feather any perpetrators of further violence. All seemed settled. But then it rolled back around to Noylin's turn, and...

ME:
You guys still have a RAGING BARBARIAN on your hands. Just sayin'.

OTHER PLAYERS:
Wait
You're a barbarian

And that is the story of how they learned that sometimes Joan of Arc figures are in fact nice young women suffering from undiagnosed mental illnesses, and how I almost killed another PC with a pair of tankards in Session 0.

Oh man, so many awesome (in my head) characters I have not gotten a chance to play, at least not enough!

There's the old dwarven druid with the personality of Master Oogway, preferably riding a verrrry sloooow turtle. The changeling warlock whose patron is an Archfey that fell in love with him. Flint Stronginthearm, a gay dwarf wild sorcerer with a soldier background.

But perhaps my favourite is Grog Axesmith, the dwarven fighter. I have played him for a long while in a space-fantasy setting (think D&D in Star Trek) where he experienced all kinds of sci-fi stuff, but later I decided to play him in a normal fantasy D&D one-shot session. The twist? He suffers from delusions and dementia, being convinced he is a space officer on a mission back to his spaceship, and he calls his companions by the names of the previous party. That one session was awesome, and I hope to play him again.