[Humor/Spoilers] Return of the King as a bad D&D game?

[Branduil]

DM: Okay, Mike, you've just returned from being routed at Osgiliath. Your father is waiting for you. Steve?

Mike: Whoa, wait a minute, Steve is playing my father? I thought he was going to be an NPC?

DM: He was, but then you killed Steve's Southron character.

Steve: Yeah! Why do you always have to shoot first! I was going to have this great, emotionally-conflicted Southron who would help you bring together both sides in the war.

Mike: Hey, I said I was sorry! I thought you were charging. Anyway, I did that monologue for you, remember? "I wonder if he really was evil, yadda yadda yadda..." what more do you want?

Steve: You'll see...

Mike: I don't like this, he's going to use his new character for revenge!

DM: No he won't, I already talked to him about it. Denethor is a noble character. Now, what do you say to Faramir, Steve.

Steve: I, Denethor, order him to retake Osgiliath.

Mike: What!

DM: Uh, Steve, there's about 10,000 Orcs in Osgiliath right now. Faramir doesn't stand a chance. Don't you think Denethor would want to keep his son alive?

Steve: Son smun! I order Faramir to retake Osgiliath, and I tell him I wish he would have died instead of Boromir.

DM: sigh Alright, what do you do, Mike?

Mike: Well, I'm kind of sick of this character anyway. I charge straight towards Osgiliath.

Steve: Die, sucka!

DM: Where's my tylenol...?

-----------------------------

Mike: I made my stabilizing roll!

Steve: What!!!

DM: Ok, your horse drags you back into Minas Tirith. Steve?

Steve: Stinkin' dice. My dice have deserted me. They've betrayed me. My characters always die. Why me?

DM: Roll a spot check.

Steve: 15.

DM: You notice 20,000 Orcs on the plains below.

Steve: Man, I've had it. This Steward stuff seemed like it'd be cool, but I can't even kill my stinkin' son. I start raving and I tell all my soldiers to kill myself.

DM: Gandalf, are you just going to stand there and listen?

Gandalf: Huh? You want me to fight something? Cause my new +4 staff is leet.

DM: No, I mean talk to Denethor! Your diplomacy score is through the roof, remember? I gave you that stat bonus for a reason, come on, roleplay this out you guys, please.

Steve: He doesn't even let me have any magic items... except that Palantir thingy... and all that does is show me my past character's deaths...

Gandalf: I wack him with my 'leet staff.

DM: By "whack him with your staff" you mean "talk him out of his madness" right?

Gandalf: No, I frelling whack him with my staff! *rolls*
29!

DM: *sigh* I'm gonna need more Tylenol. That hits. Denthor lies unconscious on the ground.

Gandalf: I loot his body! Got any cool magic items?

DM: He doesn't have any magic items! He's a ruler, not an adventurer for crying out loud! And the soldiers don't seem to be too happy about you beating their ruler.

Gandalf: Oh... well, I still have that diplomacy bonus, right? I tell them that, in Maia culture, knocking someone out is a sign of affection. Then I tell them to keep fightin' and stuff.

DM: Ok, but something so impossibly, incredibly stupid will give you a -20 penalty on your Diplomacy roll.

Gandalf: With negative... 18!

DM: They believe you.

---------

Steve: Man, I hate this. Are there any of my guards around?

DM: Er... yes.

Steve: Sweet. I tell them to take Mike's body and put it in a pile of wood. And then burn it. Until Mike is dead.

DM: You know Faramir is still alive, right?

Steve: Yes, but not for long! I start cackling with maniacal glee!

Mike: I told you!

Steve: Shut up you're unconcious!

DM: Okay the guards obey. Pippin?

Pippin: I try to save Faramir.

Steve: Oh no you don't! I grapple Pippin and throw him out!

Pippin: Darn size penalty. I go tell Gandalf that Denthor is burning Faramir with his equipment.

Gandalf: Burning magic items! Not on my watch! Hi-ho Shadowfax!

DM: Okay, you find Denthor about to burn himself and his son!

Steve: Revenge is sweet.

Gandalf: Ha, I rolled 25 on my initiative. I grapple Denethor.

Steve: No!

Pippin: I grab Faramir and save him.

Steve: That's it. I try to free myself from Gandalf. rolls 30?

DM: You're free.

Steve: I set myself on fire! I embrace sweet, sweet death.

DM: Uh, that's great. You take 1d6 fire damage.

Steve: Are you kidding me? I just fricking covered myself in oil and setm yself on fire? How can it take 10 rounds to kill me?

DM: Those are the rules.

Steve: I don't want to wait that long. I run out of the room and I jump off the courtyard, screaming "Adriaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnn!!!!"

Gandalf: Crap, now I can't loot his body.

DM: He never had any magic items!

 

[KenM]

Player 1(Gandalf): Ok, now that we saved Helms Deep, we ride to Isenguard to take care of Sarumon.

DM(worried, knowing that he did not map out the insides of the tower): Um, ugh, you get to the tower, Treebeard and the Ents are there and have it well in hand. Treebeard says that the wizard is locked in the tower, and you don't feel anymore magic coming from it.

Player 2: You just don't have the area ready, admit it.

DM: No, thats not it at all.

 

[Stebie9173]

Actual thoughts in the theatre:

DM : You, Frodo, wander towards the fortress along the causeway possessed by the Ring.
PC 1 : Aww! Don't I get a save?
DM : The gates open and a horde of orcs starts to march out.
PCs 2 & 3 : We grab Frodo and hide behind that big rock!
DM : You hide? OK. Make a skill roll each.
PCs : Yes! They'll never see us with these rolls.
DM : Except on a natural twenty... Let's see 20,000 d20 Spot checks. Can I borrow your dice?
PCs (together) : We hates you we does!

 

[Dakkareth]

You know, some weeks ago I decided to dig out the old thread and translate it for my sister (who is a LotR fanatic) for Christmas. And now here comes even more stuff. Sounds like work for me

 

[Larcen]

One reason why this thread is funny is that D&D (any edition) is a terrible system to model combat with.

...and if we were talkng about real combat, and not a movie, that would mean something. After reading all the posts, seems like we are using the right system for the job.

 

[Dirigible]

DM: Okay... the soldiers of Minas Tirith are loading their trebuchets with chunks of masonry, and it looks like they're targeting you.
Player1 (Orc general): Bah! Puny humans, I shall wear their skulls as my codpiece!
Player2: Dude, stop saying that. It's getting creepy.
DM: They fire... one of the stones is heading straight for you! Make a Reflex save!
Player1: Nope.
DM? What?
Player1: I don't wanna make a Reflex save.
DM: Uhhhm... why not?
Player1: I just told my troops to hold fast... I can't be seen to wuss out in front of them!
Player2: (sotto voce) Drama queen.
DM: Just make a save, man.
Player1: Nuh uh.
DM: (rustling of pages) Here, under artillery... it says you make a save to avoid the attack. It doesn't say you may make a save, if you like.
Player1: *sigh* Fine. *roll roll*. 21.
DM: You narrowly avoid the huge rock.
Player1: *hoik-ptooeh!* Freaking rules lawyer DM...

 

[Dirigible]

DM: The Southron oliphaunt howdah plummets to the ground with an almighty thunder of shattering wood.
Player1: How many soldiers were there on board?
DM: Ohh... about eight.
Player1: (turns to Player2 and smiles smugly) Hear that? Eight to me.
Player2: (makes rude gesture) Bite it, elf boy. (adds eight ticks to the big scoreboard next to the gaming table)
DM: Meanwhile, the oliphaunt is goping on a rampage, and...
Player1: I run up it's neck and fire three arrows into it's skull! *roll roll* Three crits! That's... 294 damage!
Player2: (sotto voce) Munchkin.
Player1: What was that?
Player2: Frog in my throat.
DM: (gleefully) The oliphaunt starts to fall... you realise you're going to be crushed under its bulk!
Player1: Wait... I run up its head, then surf down its nose!
DM: ...
Player2: ...
DM: ...
Player2: You mean trunk, right?
Player1: OK, sure.
DM: No way! That's impossible!
Player1: (smugly) Ahh... but you let me do it last session. With the shield? On the stairs? At the dumb siege?
DM: (caught by his own precedent) Sh*t. Ok... Balance check... DC 80!
Player1: Luckily, my Elven Stunt Acrobatics feat grants me +20 to the roll. Man, I'm glad I bought that one. *roll roll* 92! I pass.
DM: I hate you so very much.
Player2: (sotto voce) Seconded.
Player1: What was that?
Player2: Just belittling you.
DM: Fine... you skate down the oliphaunts trunk and land on the ground with Elven grace.
Player1: (grinning) Now... we were counting mosnters as a number of kills based on hit dice, right?
DM & Player2: NO!

 

[Dirigible]

DM is reciting a long, poetic wrap up to the game, describing the celebrations of the men of Minas Tirith as they learn the Shadow is vanquished and Aragorn is crowned king of Gondor. A fall of petals descends, and Aragorn launches into a beautiful, baritone lament for the fallen and prayer for the future. Suddenly, a small voices interupts this intricatly prepared speech...

Player1:...XP...?

 

[Dark Jezter]

This is technically a Two Towers EE joke, but oh well...

Player 1: My score is 42 kills.
Player 2: Not bad for a pointy-eared elf princeling. I, however, am sitting pretty at 43 kills.
Player 1: Are there any wounded orcs still alive?
DM: One near you is still twitching.
Player 1: I coup-de-grace it.
Player 2: See why I hate playing with twink elf players?

 

[Olgar Shiverstone]

Aragorn: I try to command the Undead.
Legolas and Gimli: You WHAT?!??!

ROFLMAO. Actual thoughts in the theater:

DM: Eerie green figures of warriors long dead rise from the floors and walls, surrounding you.
Player 1: I command them to serve me.
Player 2: I gulp in terror.
Player 3 (to Player 2): We're well and truly farked, man. Explain to me again why we've been encouraging his delusions?
DM: The king of the dead approaches, failing to heed your commands. He swings his sword ...
Player 1: I attempt to parry.
DM: Your blade halts his swing, the ringing impact echoing through the chamber. There is a hush as the dead issue a collective gasp.
Player 1: COOL! The macguffin the elf dude gave me is a ghost touch bastard sword!
Player 2 (grumbles): DM's pet!