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So I got my revenge tonight, and it was sweet and tasty.
One common trait of our games is that we leave a MOUNTAIN of notes after each session. We all carry a small notepad, and anything we need to discuss in private, we scribble on the notepad. Helps keeping out-of-character knowledge from becmoing an issue, because you didn't hear that information in the first place. The most common notes are between the DM and players, but if characters decide to head off to discuss something alone, we can actually plot without the DMs fore-knowledge of our plan. Makes things interesting.
And we recycle the massive amounts of paper we tear through, don't worry.
Anyway, the end result is that we don't really raise eyebrows when secret notes are being passed. It's a given, and it's not necessarily something sinister, just a roleplaying aide.
So my party (now level 5, the last level before we become engines of superheroic destruction), finds a relatively quiet out-of-the-way corner of the world to crash in for a few days and collect our bearings after some particularily BAD planning went south. We had a mini quest in the town helping out a gnome stage magician (this was NOT something I set up, the DM dropped it on us as randomly as anything else, I had no prior knowledge about it).
Then we planned on relaxing for the evening. While the party started a brawl in a bar for entertainment (really.) I headed out for a shopping excursion. Since this was all out-of-character stuff for the other players, it consisted of me and the DM passing notes about what I was hoping to accomplish, while he DMed a random bar fight.
As a side note, the vestige I had bound gave me a number of random abilities, one of which included being treated as a wizard of my level when it came to using spell trigger items like wands, so I could use em freely same as a 5th level wizard.
Now, what I did, and the DM approved readily, was find the gnomish stage magician we'd helped earlier, and talk to him about buying some of his stage magic stuff, which the gnome was fine with (he was a real spellcaster who just happened to use it in theatrics instead of adventuring, putting on a 'brilliant' show for entertainment purposes).
So I came back to my party with
- A number of wands that did various useless magical tricks
- A few pints of flammable oil
The local authorities (with a semi-southern sherrif twang, which was a ncie touch) were berrating my party for causing such a ruckus. He let them go with a slap on the wrist cause he could tell 'they didn't mean no real harm', along with a warning to keep their noses clean until they passed to the next town. My party sheepishly agreed that the fun was over, and we headed to a nearby inn for the night.
We were going to get seperate rooms, but I suggested we'd probably feel fine with crashing in a room together (we did it in dungeons and the wilderness anyway) and it'd keep our cost down, which in the long run could give us more cash for crucial gear, so my party agreed that we'd just rent a sizeable room and work out some sleeping arrangements there. We roleplayed it, arguing over who was gonna sleep where without letting it get too heated, with people arguing that they weren't sleeping on the floor until the party wizard reminded everyone (me included) that we all have bedrolls and blankets and sleeping gear in our packs, like always. Having a pillow makes sleeping on the floor more bearable, and we let the fighter (swashbuckler, actually) sleep in the bed cause all the extra physical stress was worse on the joints and back ect.
So the Dm tells us we all fall asleep while I'm handing him a note. The party starts describing waking up, and he gives us the always ominous "Oh no, wait." Which means he's being the devil.
Or in this case, that I'm being the devil.
And he starts making them roll listen checks over the swashbucklers snoring, which they fail, and are very freaked out about.
Especially when they realize, the DM didn't make ME roll a listen check.
The DM makes them roll a few more, which made me nervous, but none of them passed. They were starting to get nerve wracked, with the rogue actually grabbing his character sheet and yelling "WAKE UP MAN, WAKE UP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" but it was too late. I abandon the notes and say aloud to the dm "I splash the rest of the oil in the swashbucklers face".
Jaws drop.
DM: You wake up with a cough and a snort, immediately assaulted by the overpowering smell of violatile, COMBUSTIBLE chemicals.
Swashbuckler: I shout "What in the hells are you doing?!" loud enough to wake the party.
DM: Sure, I'll give you that. Everyone stirs, the smell of flammable oil permeating the room.
Me: I wave my crossbow pistol around and say "No no one move, or this is liable to get very messy very quickly" with a sweet smile.
DM: Nate roll a spot check (Nate's our wizard, and he passed the check). You notice the bolt loaded into the crossbow pistol is glowing faintly, a dull red tip that, even in your groggy state, realize is probably ripe with magical fire.
Nate: I say aloud "For the love of god no one move"
Swashbuckler: Screw that! Roll initiative, I jump out of bed at top speed and attack with my fists!
DM: Jump out of bed at top speed?
Swashbuckler: Yeah
DM: what's your Dex? *rolls a secret dice* take 5 bludgeoning damage from smashing your face into the wall of force over your bed
Swashbuckler: you've gotta be KIDDING me. Where the hell did THAT come from.
Me: Out of character (which we just say out loud) The gnome uses moveable walls of force to roll marbles over the tops of the audience
Swashbuckler: What the hell? what's that mean?
Me: I'll explain later. Back in character now though. I figured you'd be the one to try something like that. Aren't swashbucklers supposed to be INTELLIGENT?
Swashbuckler: Fine, back in character, what do you want from us?
So I went on to explain that I'd gotten some unique magical gear while they were all wasting their time peaking under waitresses skirts and smashing mugs of ale on random passers heads. I tell them that they're all allready under the effect of one of the spells. Which is controlled by me. And that if I decide, they will immediately take 1d2 points of fire damage any round I decide I'm unhappy with them. A weak effect... except that they are all soaked, along with the room, in torch oil.
I also tell them that, while they get will saves against the second effect, I can try to force any of them to freeze, or pick the direction they run in (which will be away from me, requiring them to close the distance if they want to attack, if they get a chance to).
Wizard: Ug. God. Allright. What do you want us to do?
Me: Burn for me.
Wizard: ...what?
Me: I activate the fire ability. "BURN FOR ME!!!!!!"
DM: everyone flip a coin for damage, and then roll 1d6 for fire damage as the entire room flares up like the pits of hell themselves.
Rogue: Oh *EXPLETIVE* Oh *EXPLETIVE* THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.
DM: No, it is, you're very much on fire.
Swashbuckler: I roll off the bed, avoiding the wall of force, and ATTACK.
Me: Not really.
Swash: huh?
DM: Roll a will save.
Swash: Oh you've gotta be *expletive* kidding me. *rolls and fails, by a wide margin*
Me: He runs out of the room
Swash: Runs out of the room screaming "OH GOD I'M ON FIRE"
The DM goes on to explain that everyone in the inn goes into panic mode as the flames spread out of our room and a group of random people run by FULLY engulfed in flame. Along with making them roll 1d6 for fire damage randomly (about once a round). All while I run behind them, laughing maniacally, making them run in random directions and freezing occasionally, while on fire, screaming "DANCE MY PUPPETS, BURN BURN BURN. BURN AND DANCE! HAHAHAHA"
Then I cast invisibility on myself and dissapear into the alleyway (we're outside at this point, along with the evacuated inn).
DM keeps making them roll 1d6s while they dance for me unable to put out the flames, and freezing anytime they try to stop drop and roll or go for something that might help. when the wizard is at about 1/5th of his hitpoint total, the DM gives them this.
DM: Suddenly, the illusory flames wink out of existance, and you're left standing, panting in terror, under the night sky. In your skivvies.
Rogue: WHAT?!?!?!
DM: Good question, I'm sure you'd be wondering what the hell that was about in character too. But there's no time for that, the local authorities show up, and immediately place you all under arrest, dragging your protesting forms into the night, saying he knew you were trouble and that he shoulda locked you up after the barfight.
Jaws still dropped.
Me: I watch and wait while everyone tries to figure out what happened, until the crowd starts shuffling nervously back into the inn or leaving as warranted, and sneak back to my room, locking the door and curling up in the bed.
I slept soundly (though the room did still smell of oil) and got up bright and early to wait by the jailhouse for my party.
The local lawman and his goons escorted them to the front, and told them he wanted them out of town by nightfall, or they'd spend a lot longer than one night in the pokey.
I asked them if they slept well, with a huge grin.
I explained to them that the ILLUSIONIST I'd gotten all my magical gear from assured me that none of it would cause any real damage, but that it still felt "hot enough to make the front row break a sweat when it flares up on stage".
Swash: I guess I don't really need to ask WHY...
Me: No. You DON'T. back in character. I lean in to the party and look the rogue dead in the eye, and say in a small, friendly whisper, "don't *expletive* with me." and walk away.
Jaws are still mostly dropped here. Rubbing forheads and eyes in great annoyance/recovery.
Me: I shout out "Are we gonna have any more problems? Or do we know who's the baddest dog on the block now?" (I'm a shifter and all).
Rogue: We'll be good.
And there was much rejoicing. By me. I've got my eyes peeled for them trying to turn this into something more, but I'm confident I can stay one step ahead of them if they try to. Hopefully they'll realize they had this coming, and that I didn't have to use FAKE fire, and was being very generous to them in how I got my revenge. Afterall, it wasn't FAKE fire that was burning me. Or my clothes at least.
Good times, good times.