The five of us made our way to the edge of this dungeon with heavy Gygaxian overtones that was located out in the middle of some ancient and holy woods. The Dungeon Master was sipping Doctor Pepper and I had a strong suspicion that it was spiked with rum as he looked over the top of the Monster Manual and said, "There's a bunch of elves standing guard around the dungeon's entrance, smoking and wearing biker jackets. They're giving you lot the stink eye as you approach."
Conversations were had as I finished my character and started drawing him. At some point money seemed to be changing hands and we were told to head on down. The elves seemed happy that we had paid them and I was happier that our rogue had stolen back our entrance fee and more.
Enter a room, kill a few skeletons, get raped by a dresser; the dungeon hadn't held any surprises for us so far but the Dungeon Master was slurring his words and I could see our deaths around every corner. It was the cleric who spoke up first though, allowing that we'd collected a fair amount of treasure and our fighter needed abuse counseling since his sexual assault at the hands of a 1200 year old dresser. So we turned and headed back the way we'd come only to find that the bikers at the top had discovered our rogue's theft.
They were pissed and looking to get back what was owed them plus twelve pounds of flesh. So I slipped back as the rest of the party charged forward and made my way through a side chamber we'd explored earlier that took me closer to the entrance. The sounds of combat were echoing around me and the Dungeon Master kept trying to make me feel bad as the elves were making my companions look like the 76ers.
The elves were finishing off the last of the party as I slipped through the exit and into their camp. I kept an ear on the combat as I loaded up two of the light horses with as much of their shit as I could and mounted a third. I then lead us out of camp, but my luck had run out as the first of the elves came out the entrance and sounded the alarm.
I turned about in my seat and fired an arrow right through the back of his neck. He garggled on his own fluids as I spurred the horses on towards town. Behind me I could hear the elves shouting and the distant beat of hooves as they made after me. So I did my best impression of Janet Reno and started throwing each of my fifteen bottles of alchemist fire I'd purchased into the woods as I raced to safety. With any luck the drunken Dungeon Master would remember that this place was holy to them and I'd make it out.
My luck held as I broke the tree line and I never looked back. When I made it back to the party's safe house I stowed away the horses and brought the chests into the living room (nice place, even had some lovely window treatments that the cleric had spent weeks fretting over). I sat on the couch and counted my loot: 230,000 gp; 1,500 pp; 450,263 sp; 7 magical rings; 10,000 gp worth of assorted jewels; and 1 magical dagger.
The Dungeon Master said, "You've got enough money to cast True Resurrection ten times over and there's a temple of Exalted Goodness just down the road so if you'll just deduct that money we'll -"
Hold on now. I'm not doing that. His mouth dropped and everyone stared at me. No, what I'm doing is building myself a great, big, fuck off tower inside the walls of this here city and I'm going to take some correspondence courses.
"Correspondence courses? What the fuck are you going to study?"
I'm going to become a wizard and then I'll resurrect them.