I have a couple of stories floating around /tg/ at this point, most about D&D with my amazing DM, but what people don't know about him is just how dark he can get.
Take our Call of Cthulhu campaign.
See, we got a little bit uppity and may have over stepped our bounds, which put the DM, or GM in this case, into maximum passive-aggressive mode. In 3 sessions, a group of 4 of players lost no less than two dozen characters. And they went out brutally.
Some caught fire, some lost their minds and went rambling into the night, and more than a couple shot themselves after taking out an ally or semi-important NPC. Needless to say, we had lost a lot of hope for playing a full campaign with a single character.
And then I created Bonzy, the sad clown.
Bonzy was my way of trying to apologize to the GM, a way to appease him if you will. After all, what better way to show heartbreak than with a symbol of joy and fun shattered into a broken and unloved shell?
Bonzy dressed simply. He wore very little makeup, a small red nose, had dark hair, and his clown uniform was covered with an old, worn trench-coat that was not as bad-ass as it implied. He had a slight drinking problem, but managed to maintain sobriety without withdrawal, and never seemed to crack a smile.
He met the other players by chance, having missed his bus and decided to bum it in the town for a few days because hell, it's not like he really had anywhere to be after all. The first character to find me thought I was a traveling clown, and tried to strike up a chat about his chosen career.
“Hey, Bonzy, know any good jokes?”
“... Why did little Suzy fall of the swings?”
“I don't know, why?”
“Because little Suzy lost her arms to cancer years ago.”
Bonzy sighed, slowly reached up, and honked his nose.
The table was dead quiet, save for the player I just spoke to. He wore a priceless expression of “sweet god you're serious” and quietly giggled.
“Do, uh, you know any others?”
“Knock knock.”
“Who's there?”
“Not Suzy.”
Honk
The game proceeded rather organically from there, with the occasional interjection from Bonzy on why the town was fucked up and we should leave. When they encountered a librarian who just so 'happened' to be the local cult leader, Bonzy was the first to know. After all, who else would know when someone was faking anything?
The trap we set was simple, but if anyone here has played Call of Cthulhu, then you know simple doesn't mean jack. We entered the library, two of us moving to the roof, the third sneaking behind the building. Leading the charge? The only one who didn't care what happened; Bonzy. The sad clown ever so quietly knocked on the door, watching the librarian fish for his keys as rain gently drizzled in the night outside the windows. Bonzy entered, took off his coat, and draped it over his arm with only a few words of greetings.
As we talked, our third guy suddenly found himself at the business end of a shotgun, and as if he was a machine, pulled out another character sheet and started generating a new character. The other two were just as unlucky, knocked down and grappled by other cultists who were on the stairwell. Everyone was already pulling out sheets, muttering how they made a mistake and were going to do better next time.
But they forgot Bonzy.
After all, nobody cares about Bonzy.
The librarian, still unaware of the ruse, pretends to act nice, talking about the books and how he hopes that the fire was going to be enough to dry off. And then, Bonzy hearing the clattering, decides to act. The librarian also decides to ask the obvious question of Bonzy.
“So, since you're a clown, I'm sure you know plenty of jokes. Got any about books?”
“Sure. What did the one book say to the other?”
“What?”
“I was just checking to see if we were on the same page.”
HONK
BLAM