It when I was still in 7th grade, I joined a D&D club, which had multiple groups within it(being different clans in the world that was created), which was made that year, and I created my first character. Me being me, I wanted to make a character that is an abosulute joke, and I succeeded, horrifically.
I love tragic story flipped on their head so I made a high elf named Doren Nightmoon, Chaotic Neutral, whose parents were killed by a changeling when he was a young boy. He was left to the streets to fend for himself, becoming a thief. And with him never being raised in the ways of the "honorable high elves", he became a drunkard.
The group I was had really fun guys to play with, a couple of 6th graders, one of there younger brothers, myself, and and our "DM" (and for all intents and purposes we'll call Bob). I'll be straight forward, Bob was the worst DM you could get as a beginning player, he never showed up. And when I say that I mean I don't think he even DMed one game! Which of course, caused it so the main DM, who had been playing for 6 years and he was 6th grade. Much respect for that dude, but eventually we got a new DM.
My character, Doren was apart of one of the clans called Tuzueki, a snowy wasteland, that the main DM created. How it all started was that my character and rest of the group met in a bar. The group had a orc warlock(who Doren and he were always headbutting with eachother), a dwarf warrior who drank a lot of apple juice, and a Dragonborn who was a Paladin and everytime he sneezed, he sneezed lightning. They went on to meet an older man and set off the quest(which went nowhere with the helkp of me and the club being brand new so everyone was still figuring stuff out).
Right after we left the ancient man, who was somehow handy with the ladies, I dragged my group into a bar fight that was happening at the bar were at earlier. There was a half-orc who was wasting beer, which was a big no no in my book, and killed the bartender, who I was good friends with. Infuriated, I ripped my shortsword out and charged the creature, slashing it across his chest. Unamused, the half-orc ripped out the two tusk he had in his mouth for daggers. In other words, I got beatup.
The orc warlock saw this and charged him. Jumping high in the air, he slammed the ground, abliterating the half-orc. After the smoke cleared, the warlock walked over to the orc whose's tusks were in his chest. "I'm sorry my brother," the orc walked away.
When the encounter was over the whole club was staring at us, because we role played the whole thing for everyone to watch.
After the battle, the bartender's son came out and congratulated us with a free round of beer, after he mourned for his father for a minute and chopped the head off of the Half-Orc and hanged it on entrace as ward for anyothers for similiar intents.
The next session, the DM asked if we would like to do anything before we left town and go to do the quest and my first was go to the bar, of course and the Dragonborn Paladin joined me. He gave me 2 pieces of gold to buy some alcohol and such. As the DM looked his handbook to find how much that would be worth and sat there in shock. "Twenty gallons of beer!" he exclaimed. With a grin on my face, I bought it.
After purchasing the beer, I got extremely drunk. Not in my right mind, I saw a large man, 7 footed or so, and attempted to pickpocket him, which failed badly. Causing a second bar fight and me getting knocked out, the police came and arrested in my group and the man.
In the cell, my character sat there cooly as any good rogue would, while the warlock orc walked around enfuriated, and went to strangle me was stopped by the guards. The 7 footed man in the other cell was crying, sentenced for life in prison, after previous mishaps like this and that was his last straw.
Eventually, the old man from earlier let us out, fining us and told us go do the job we were assigned.
A month or so pasted and nothing big happened, by this time we got a new DM and the main DM was trying t organize a club wide event, and took a person or two from each group to form a new one. Our group lost our Orc Warlock, leaving the apple juice craving dwarf, the Dragonborn who sneezes lightning, and Doren, the drunken high elf.
Now here is the part that set the road my character was destined to go down. One day, one of the members in my group, the Dragonborn, asked if he could change his alignment, which sparked an idea in my mind. Immediately I asked if I could turn to Chaotic Evil.
And he said yes.
First thing I said and did, light a torch (even though there was a fog making it hard) and I kept succeeding, but my group knew what I was about to do, eventually I light it and got past them and went to the closes house shoved it into a hole in the foundation. *nat 20*, but the DM said it went out because of the fog which I thought was really messed up.
After that, we went on with the story and we continued the campaign.
When we got through the plot point(which was a club event) the session had ended. Next session, our DM couldn't stay, because of an appointment so we conjoined with another group temporarily. Since I knew the DM fairly well, I was being the anoying 7th grader I was and she got fed up with and set out to kill my character no matter what by the end of the session.
This marked the beginning of the end of Doren Nightmoon.
As we were in a town with nothing to do, I went to a bar, of course. As I was up to my dirty trick again, I went to pickpocket a man. To my horror, it was the 7 footed brute. When he caught me, shocked and started rolling for my life.
I was rolling for persuasion as much as I could, succeed over to my surprise and the DM as well. After a while, the guy bought a drink for me then realized, who I was. Hideously angry, he grabbed me and threw me across the bar into a wall, which caused, you guessed it, another bar fight.
Eventually the police came in and arrested the brute and didn't suspect a thing from, whatsoever, until the bartender ratted me out. The officers took me and were dragging me to the jail. Rumaging through what I had on my person, trying to think, I found my tinderbox. A wide grin spread across my face.
Rolling my d20 and getting a 16, lighting the match, I rolled it again, 17, I threw the lit match at one of the officers. With a streak of luck, it caught him on fire, nabbing a piece of clothe hanging out. The dwarf in my group ran over as fast as his short legs could to help put out the fire that was consumed the officer.
Meanwhile, the other officers finally threw me into a cell. Strangely though, I still had my tinderbox and my barrels of beer around me. The officers returned to my cell, but this time they carried a barrel of dead and alive vermin alike, such as snakes and rate, and threw them in my cell and closed the cell door, laughing horendously.
I turned to the DM. I knew what she was trying to do, she may win, but it would be a bloody one because of me.
I asked if I still had my tinderbox and she said "Sure, why not." and then it dawned on her what I was going to do.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked me.
"Yep" I responded carelessly, I had nothing to lose.
"Roll" *nat 20
That day, I learned that if you roll a 20, beer becomes very flamable, as did the jailhouse and everyone within it. This story ends how it began, except with a whole lot of fire and the screams of Doren Nightmoon piercing the air.
-I can tell you now that I was the star of the club for the rest of the school year, everyone couldn't enough of the tragic story of Doren Nightmoon.