Best Death in an RPG

[GoblinGilmartin]

anyone have a good story of character death in a tabletop RPG?

I'll start:
RIP
malkavian film director, a Mr. Leeander Godfrey, died while wrestling a dragon made of fire conjured by a greater demon, saving the others in his group

[MCerberus]

RIP Andy-R-ctr-2. I warned him that not being stunned by the beauty of Friend Computer's "flower arrangement center 238b" would be bad for him.

But no, I had to get the minigun turret hidden under a potted daisy out. (which he should have been honored to die this way, that daisy was waaaay above his clearance)

[Geno9999]

RIP*: Lucius.
Oh how I regret not packing along a Restore Staff. For if I did, you would've been able to cure Raven of his magic-induced madness, instead of ironically dying by his hands.

*Only for so long before I restart the chapter again.

[Acanous]

Thomas Numpton, who died while casting an epic devine spell from an epic scroll. Permanent character death was the material component :/
It rezzed the entire party, though. Because he was the only one to survive the Master Vampire followed by Crazy Vampire Hunters.

It was a good death for a Lv 10 Paladin.

[Othesemo]

RIP Eln'Mastak, CE Rogue Assassin, killed as his wand of gravestrike spent its last charge. Forever shall he remain in our hearts and the stomachs of three separate zombified dragons.

[Dragon Star]

Wrong subforum.

[GoblinGilmartin]

how so? are you an admin? if not, please be quiet.

[Vaynor]

The Red Towel: Moved to Roleplaying Games. For future reference, all topics regarding Roleplaying Games belong in this forum and its subforums (depending on type of game) and anything that does not fit in that category (such as video games and board games) belong in the Gaming (Other) forum.

[Delwugor]

Am AD&D battle where only one character survived had some great deaths. My character (who started the fight) had his soul sucked from his still conscious body by a witch.
But the best was the last player to go down. He was running from the Fire Element that had been summoned. Every once in a while he'd stop and throw a Javelin of Lightning at it. He gets to a cave and as the reduced size elemental attempts to get in he throws his last Javelin. Of course that was the absolute best time to roll a 1 with fumble rules. The Javelin strikes the ground between him and the elemental killing them both spectacularly.
We rolled on the floor laughing throughout the night and that almost TPK became one of my favorite D&D sessions.

[GoblinGilmartin]

Okay, well, then i was wrong, cool.

I'm loving these epitaphs so far.

[Totally Guy]

Rest in Peace Bernard Eckhard. His quest for honour saw him become a monster, his ends were betrayed by his means. Through his actions it was prophecised that his death would come from his own weapon. The prophecy was fulfilled out of shame.

[DaMullet]

RIP Kevin Richardson, who converted his power armor into a briefcase nuke to prevent a phoenix from turning Atlanta into slag.

RIP Kelly Heyden, who was standing next to Kevin at the time.

--

RIP Abraxus Goldheart. You probably shouldn't have charged blindly into that dragon's cave.

RIP Abraxus Goldheart, resurrected, dragging a necromancer off a precipice to their mutual doom.

[GoblinGilmartin]

Rest in Peace Bernard Eckhard. His quest for honour saw him become a monster, his ends were betrayed by his means. Through his actions it was prophecised that his death would come from his own weapon. The prophecy was fulfilled out of shame.

mind providing specifics? sounds interesting.

[Kalmageddon]

RIP Elric Connely, he fired a Tesla cannon while in melee with a Super mutant behemoth, killing it with a single shot and saving the party but getting caught in the explosion. He was a 9nth level field medic.

RIP Everflame, Sacred fist of Kossuth, he used his soul as a thermonuclear device and leveled a good chunk of Cania in the Nine Hells, burning several thousand devils, which is kinda cool when you realize that devils are normally fireproof.

RIP Ranulf the technoviking, he charged a fighter jet in mid air using a jetpack, armed with a chainsaw. It didn't work.

[Totally Guy]

mind providing specifics? sounds interesting.

Sure!

Bernard was a knight with a sad history and ambitions, he wanted to reclaim his ancestral polearm and have vengeance on his nemesis Reece Auburn who stole it and his life. He wanted to rejoin the king's legion of knights that he'd been separated from by the lies of his enemy.

Bernard's journey had brought him to the city of Art Cackles, a town with dreams of independence from it's distant king. Reece was now a bodyguard to a local nobleman. Bernard waited for an opportunity to kill his enemy without notice by the noble.

When the orcs came to flatten Art Cackles the town militarised to put up a resistance to the orcs. Bernard was on the same side in a greater conflict, when he turned on Reece mid battle he bought the orcs an advantage which cost more lives. Bernard tried to make up for it by killing the Orc Great One with his lucky arrow. He succeeded and was hailed as a hero!

He kept the head of Reece in a jar of brine. This reminded him of his sin.

Of course the Polearm was no longer with Reece, he'd given it onto a knight called Matchias from Bernard's old order. Bernard tracked him and his allies to Gold Rustle to talk with the elves.

Matchias and Jabel were young Knights. Jabel was of noble birth and was the leader of his patrol. Matchias was of a low background but had been doing very well for himself through his genuine and reciprocated friendship with Jabel. Matchias was Reece's nephew and he'd received the legendary polearm that Bernard sought from his uncle. But he'd given it to Jabel in order to have a masterwork gift to present the elves.

Bernard caught the pair and heard the tale. If he pursued his polearm the order of Knights he wanted to rejoin would never take him back. Bernard could not deal with this and killed Jabel, a lad of but 17. Matchias had lost everything, he'd given up his heirloom, lost his best friend and found his uncle's head in a jar of brine. Bernard escaped his wrath. He also stole from them the gift of a vial of starlight that the elves had presented to them.

Another member of Bernard's party was Thel the elf. He could pass prophecies onto people. Thel asked him how badly he wanted his weapon returned to him, as he may have sway with the elves. Bernard answered "With all my life, it is all I have left and it will be mine again."
Thel answered "Well that is what it will someday cost you."

Thel passed on this prophecy "You will die by your own ancestral polearm" and Bernard accepted his help.

Thel pulled some stings with the elven treasurer and demonstrated the Eckhard family's crest markings to prove ownership. The soldier's gift to them was a disgrace, but the elves had their starlight vial returned.

Bernard realised that this was all he had left.

He had turned on his own side in a war. He'd toted around a head in a jar like a madman. He'd killed a leader in the order of his knights and stolen the gift of starlight like a common thief. Matchias was a crushed lad who'd done nothing wrong and would certainly tell the order who had killed Jabel.

He certainly hadn't acted like the knight he wanted to be.

He sat in his room in the inn with his polearm and considered his destiny and his shame.

He fulfilled the prophecy himself, that very night.

[Brauron]

Some deaths from campaigns I've run...

RIP Pleoh of the Peregrini, impaled through the chest by the tentacle of a Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath after destroying the cult following the foul aberration.

RIP Azulien Blackblade, vivisected by the Marilith BBEG after taunting her.

RIP Sir Aeron Cunedda, decapitated by a Nabasu.

RIP Father Grigori (last name sounds like a sneeze). Face blown off by a shotgun in a cultist's hideout. Last words were "I am the Way out of the Doleful City."

RIP Dr. Virgil Masters, snuffed out by the Mafia when he proved no longer useful to them. Died with a pillow held over his face in a hospital bed.

RIP Allen Marbury, gone insane and thrown himself into the middle of a three-way Mexican Standoff between his friends, a Cthulhu Cult, and a Hastur Cult, gun blazing.

RIP Eli Nimitz, driven psychosomatically blind by an eldritch abomination, hurling himself blindly at it to distract it from his friends, and being split in two by the constrictive action of a tentacle. Last words were Captain Ahab's final monologue addressing the Whale in Moby ****.

[Maxios]

RIP Kevin Richardson, who converted his power armor into a briefcase nuke to prevent a phoenix from turning Atlanta into slag.

...what RPG system was this?

[Fayd]

R.I.P. Carl Justice, Silver dragon-blooded Sorcerer (Pathfinder). One successful bluff and a Book of Exploding later, the enemy cleric was no longer a problem.

[DaMullet]

...what RPG system was this?

Ostensibly d20 Modern, but I like to homebrew a lot.

[Destro_Yersul]

I'd say RIP, but I don't think that's in store for Hieronymus Bosc. Possessed and betrayed, undefeated and uncowed by all he faced, from psychotic planet-spanning AI to horrible four-armed alien killing machines, he died at the hand of his own master while fighting his former side.

[Gemini Lupus]

RIP: Alerion Stromewynde I, the first time that this character died, it was at the hands of one of his party members. We were level 4 or 5 and he was a Scythe-wielding Fighter with 20 Str and scored his first crit of the game, doing nearly max damage, against my multi-class Cleric/Sorcerer. He was under some sort of mind control and failed his Will save and attacked my character without realizing it. He made his role and was really excited, until he realized who it was against.

Note: I say first time he died, because it became a running joke that Alerion died at least 3x every session, which was mostly true. He was the only servant of a major deity and so basically had free true rezzes for the duration of the campaign. It was over 6 months before we had a session where Alerion didn't die and we were all shocked and amazed.

[Swooper]

RIP Mxura Mwrr you magnificent bastard, killed by the contact poison on the sword that knighted you. Not before seeing your archnemesis toast your demise with the wine you poisoned, though.

RIP Þrándur Stoneblazer (not my character), killed by the wormhole that opened in your stomach, two rounds after you jumped into the active volcano. The demonic robot invasion was stopped by your heroic sacrifice.

[LibraryOgre]

In 4e, I had a minotaur paladin who held a duergar lord hostage so the rest of our battered party could flee. When they returned, they were greeted by a minotaur zombie.

I had a witch in Rifts commit suicide by holding off his demonic master so the party could escape.

********

We awoke at dawn of the last day. Something about that dawn seem crisper and purer than any dawn I'd ever seen before, and I knew that the day would be momentous beyond imagining.

We knew where the tomb was, roughly, so Nightfall and I flew in slow passes over the plateau, seeking out a magical signature that would tell us where He lay. Once we had him, we could go home. On the sixth pass, Nightfall motioned me down. He'd found the tomb. A rough hole cut into the wall, bearing a faded inscription. It was beyond my ken, until I flipped down the optics on my helmet, translating them from arcane script to my native Egyptian. "Let only he who is true enter here, for he who knows maliciousness shall surely fall." I knew maliciousness, that was before the Village of the Damned... not anymore.

We retrieved the others in quick order. Only Maelstrom, Nightfall, and I felt up to the task of going in... too main stains on the other's souls from this campaign, I suppose. A quarter mile in, we came to an archway. Nightfall read the Gaelic inscribed, and we found the trap... one set for he who entered with an impure heart. I stepped through, even though I knew my heart wasn't pure. I had to. My family, my clan, my people... my homeland... depended on us waking the man who lay in that sarcophagus. I passed through with nary a scratch... I wish I'd had time to wonder why.

We lifted the lid from the sarcophagus, and gently lifted out Arthur Pendragon, greatest warrior of Old Atlantis. He awoke, slowly, shaking off the dreams of twelve thousand years, looking at us quizzically. The others, Bagh-Dach, stood in awe. I kept my head, as Acheran do, and stepped forward with a bow.

"Arthur Pendragon, I am Harakhamis Arimi Acheran. May I present to you Nightfall and Maelstrom, of the Bagh-Dach clan?"

He seemed more at ease with his own clanmates there, and questioned me about the date. "It has been twelve thousand years since you last breathed, Arthur. There is much to do, and we will explain later."

He hesitated, wanting his sword, his armor. Why is it that warriors always want a sword? The Bagh-dach found it concealed in the room, and he seemed much relieved to have it on his hip, clanging against his armor. As we walked up, we spoke briefly of the situation with Atlantis, telling him of the loss of Atlantis and the ongoing campaign to reclaim it. He was not comforted by our news, but I did not expect him to be.

When we stepped onto the ledge overlooking the valley, the scent of evil was palatable in the air, even to those of us with normal senses... the presence, though, was enough to send Nightfall reeling for a brief moment. Before us, in the quiet air, hung a man, long hair and wild eyes. Some part deep within me, some stain I had long tried to purge, knew this man to not be a man... he was a god, one of evil and deceit. I shoved to Gecko all but a tiny portion of my power, whispering into the radio that they should leave, now, through a portal I knew Zoderhan could make. In that instant, the man spoke, his voice like a roll of thunder across the plains.

"Harakhamis! You owe me a debt, the debt of a life! You will slay him, Harakhamis, to pay your debt to me!" I didn't even need to look to know that he pointed to Arthur. Time slowed to a crawl, and I knew that all debts must be paid. Quick as thought, I flew along the wall to stand in the empty air across from him.

"You know I can't do that, Mephisto." Please, gods, let them have the time. Let them have the time. A crackle in my senses told me the Rift was opened... they could go home. Maelstrom spoke to me in the radio, asking me if I was sure. I had no choice... I had to pay my debts. I sent them through the portal with my blessing, until only Zoderhan remained.

"Then you know the cost." Mephisto's words contained more hate than I had ever known, and his negligent gesture summoned nearly a score of deevils to stand before him. In the corner of my eye, Zoderhan blinked out of sight. For an instant, I thought he was gone through the portal, and wished him well. I felt his parting gift materialize around and inside me... armor of pure energy, and a bubbling, magical strength. I knew the cost.

With both hands, I raised my sword. A thought sent the energy of life running down its blade, and it glowed green in the light of an early morning. As I raised the blade higher, over my head, the sun crested the cliffs, bathing me in its light. The exultant energy was too much for me, and a word rang out of my throat. "HORUS!" I charged into melee, a mortal against a god, and knew that I would never die.

And then I knew no more.

[Mastikator]

Don't remember their names, sadly enough, so I'll give them new names...

RIP Paul Mayer, competent psychoanalyst, devoured whole by a giant slime monster.

RIP Griff Gore, criminal mastermind, devoured whole by the very same giant slime monster in the same campaign.

[Medic!]

RIP Grogg the mentally retarded LG Fighter - Ventured into a crypt alone and drained by the Master Vampire after the epic slaying of its underling (which involved a prayer to heironius at 2 con mid-grapple followed by a natural 20 on an attack roll with a stake) then later beheaded in his sleep by his former party members. His head still resides in the ranger's backpack.

RIP Peter the Druid (not mine), who contracted Mummy Rot in a party incapable of healing it. Found the next morning on the other side of the locked door the party wouldn't let him through. Dust in the Wind.

RIP Puuk the venerable jermlaine druid/monk gestalt, power-word-killed at level 4.

RIP(?) Delmar the Paladin/Vassal of Bahamut (not mine), slain(?) in an Ysgard-esque plane fighting a Balor and Pit Fiend while back-to-back with his VoP monk ally (mine =D) after vanquishing the Balor. Died grappling the Pit Fiend 50 ft in the air. Avenged in the next round by the monk's ki blast, which defeated the Pit Fiend with a respectable 3d6+7 damage.

and finally

RIP Rex the Barbarian (not mine), turned into a vampire along with most of his party. Later had his coffin drug out into the middle of a field before dawn while he slept in it with a new window remodeled into the lid....courtesy of the aforementioned fellow vampire party members.

[Xiander]

RIP Anthony, Malkavian oracle, object of the sadistic games of fate.
He was misunderstood by his teammates who found him creepy when he tried to be helpful. He was doomed by fate to always loose what mattered most to him. And he was loyal to a fault trying to keep others safe from the evils that haunted him.
He finally died laughing into the face of the vampirehunter who killed him, even while holy flames consumed him. Laughing at the hunter for not seeing the futility of fighting, when fate will always just destroy what you create. Laughing at the fact that provoking the hunter made the hunter break the prison which held his friends. But mostly laughing because he was finally going to be free of it all.

I wish he could rest in peace, but fate is totally going to break the rules and have him becom a ghost haunting the ghoul-girl he had a crush on and who found him freaky beyond belief.

[Karen Lynn]

Rest in Charred Pieces, Kit. Fox shapeshifter PhysAd. If only you knew jumping in front of a Toxic Shaman's Fireball to save a party member would've torn right through all your mystic armor and negate your regeneration...

[polity4life]

RIP Thaubaum Thaer

This goliath fighter died after reconnecting with his people after feeling ostracized for much of his life, pulled himself out of an emotional downward spiral after the loss of his party, which included the love of his life, and found a higher purpose in his life by becoming a paladin of Pelor. His life was taken after he struck Orcus down and the demon lord's corpse blew up.

Of course, according to the DM he isn't dead but the DM isn't interested in playing tabletop games anymore.

[Civil War Man]

I was once in a campaign that took place in the Pirates of the Caribbean universe (using the Serenity system). All of the players were different types of pirate stereotypes, including a foppish swashbuckler, token female pirate, ex-navy sailor, etc. I played the angry alcoholic brute, and barely edged out the deaf gunner for most insane person in the party (I even had a flaw that said I was so insane that I did not always operate in the same reality as everyone else).

In practice, that character was a personification of war and death. During one battle late in the campaign, while the party was fighting off undead boarders, my character jumped overboard and swam (despite claiming for the entire campaign that he didn't know how to swim) to a Royal Navy ship that had been taken over by the undead. Then he climbed aboard and, with the help of the deaf gunner firing broadsides at the ship, he proceeded to slaughter everything that moved.

The reason I include him in this thread is that he did end up bleeding out before the party could make it to him after the battle. He may be disqualified, though, because they ended up using a voodoo ritual to bring him back as one of the undead, making him even more unstoppable. In the end, he ended up taking control of the other undead through a combination of a magical artifact and being completely and utterly terrifying.

In the epilogue, the consensus was that the Bermuda Triangle was my character claiming that area of water as his domain and murdering anything that entered it.

[Das Platyvark]

A player in a somewhat absurd one-shot I ran died after trying to punch out the manifestation of an eldritch abomination the size of the universe while floating in space without a suit.