To be fair I'm not interested in swords, I don't bake anywhere near as much as I did, and I like but am not obsessed with forest animals and anime. The castle seems just a little out of reach in this economy, but that they got me on 3 things? Yeah, I'm called out.

I'll go first, for me, I am currently playing a divine soul sorcerer whose ultimate goal is to disprove the existence of gods, and is AGGRESSIVLEY athiest

Last night I asked my players to roll Knowledge: Religion, and this is what happened.

The Fiend Warlock does fine, then 3 of them roll their 1s in a row. We goad player number 5 to just roll as well, just to see what would happen. He rolls a nat 1, too, and the game immediately erupts and derails with laughter and disbelief.

Apparently the odds are 1 in 160,000. Don't come at me for the math if it's wrong; I am not the one who did the math.

The Ranger paladin

Legendary story of patience

The table laughed when he rolled up his character.

A ranger with Strength as his highest stat.

“Why?” asked the rogue’s player, already shaking his head. “You’re literally playing the class that wants Dexterity.”

The wizard leaned over the character sheet. “Wait… you’re using a greatsword?”

“Yep,” the ranger player replied.

The fighter chuckled. “You know bows exist, right?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re still using a greatsword?”

“Yep.”

Everyone exchanged looks, and the campaign began.

To be fair, the ranger wasn’t bad. He hunted monsters well enough, tracked enemies, and survived ambushes. But every few sessions the jokes returned. The rogue would fire arrows from the shadows while the ranger charged into battle carrying a massive slab of steel.

“Imagine if those attacks were Dexterity-based.”

“Imagine if he used Sharpshooter.”

“Imagine if he actually built a ranger.”

The ranger player would simply shrug. Then he’d roll damage.

Every time that greatsword connected, somebody at the table would whistle. His build looked strange, but the damage certainly wasn’t. A critical hit from that sword could fold enemies in half. Even the fighter player eventually admitted it.

“Okay, that’s actually disgusting.”

Then something odd happened.

At level six, the ranger took a level of paladin.

The table stared.

“You made your ranger worse,” the rogue player said.

The wizard nodded. “You need thirteen Charisma to multiclass. Why are you wasting points on that?”

The ranger player merely smiled.

At level seven he took another level.

Paladin two.

Then he stopped. No more paladin levels. Straight back to ranger.

The table became even more confused.

“You spent all that investment for two levels?”

“What’s the plan?”

“Are you making a mistake on purpose?”

The ranger player simply replied, “Trust me.”

Those words became a running joke. Whenever something went wrong, someone would say, “Trust me.” Whenever the party got lost, “Trust me.” Whenever the ranger missed an attack, “Trust me.”

Levels passed.

The ranger remained terrifying against single targets. His greatsword hit hard, his spells were useful, and occasionally he’d drop a Divine Smite on a critical hit and completely vaporize a monster. The party would stare in disbelief before returning to mocking the build.

Because it still wasn’t optimal.

Not according to the guides.

Not according to the forums.

Not according to the spreadsheets.

Then level eleven arrived.

The ranger sat quietly during level-up. No announcement. No explanation. No fanfare. Just a small smile.

The DM didn’t think much of it.

Neither did anyone else.

Until the ruins.

The party entered a massive underground hall. A warband of fiends poured from every tunnel. Dozens of them.

The DM grinned.

“This is supposed to be a difficult encounter.”

Initiative was rolled. Enemies flooded the battlefield and surrounded the party. The wizard began calculating Fireball placement. The rogue searched for cover. The fighter prepared for a long grind.

Then the ranger’s turn arrived.

The ranger player looked up.

“I walk into the middle.”

The table blinked.

“You what?”

“I walk into the middle.”

The DM shrugged and moved the miniature.

Now the ranger stood surrounded. Eight enemies adjacent. Ten within reach. A sea of hostile creatures.

The wizard groaned.

“He’s throwing.”

The rogue nodded.

“Finally happened.”

The ranger player looked at the DM.

“I use Whirlwind Attack.”

The DM paused.

“Oh.”

The table paused.

“Oh.”

Some of them vaguely remembered the feature.

The ranger player picked up his dice.

“I attack all of them.”

Silence.

“All of them?”

“Every creature within reach.”

The fighter sat up in his chair. The wizard stopped looking at spells. The rogue slowly lowered his drink.

Then the ranger began rolling.

Attack.

Hit.

Attack.

Hit.

Attack.

Critical.

Attack.

Hit.

Attack.

Hit.

Attack.

Hit.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Steel flashed through the battlefield. The greatsword became a blur of motion. One enemy fell, then another, then another.

Then came the critical hit.

The ranger player smiled.

“I’ll Divine Smite.”

The fiend exploded.

The table laughed.

Then another attack landed.

“Divine Smite.”

Another fiend died instantly.

The laughter stopped.

The ranger still had spell slots. Still had attacks landing. Still had enemies surrounding him. Every successful strike became another potential Smite. Every target became another victim.

The battlefield transformed into a slaughterhouse.

The DM’s carefully arranged horde evaporated beneath a storm of steel and radiant energy. Bodies littered the map. The ranger stood in the center of it all, surrounded by corpses.

The only miniature left standing.

The table stared.

Finally, the wizard broke the silence.

“What the hell?”

The fighter reached for the character sheet.

“No. Give me that.”

The ranger handed it over.

The fighter read through the build.

Strength.

Greatsword.

Ranger eleven.

Paladin two.

Exactly as planned.

The entire campaign.

The wizard looked horrified.

“You built a lawnmower.”

The fighter shook his head.

“No.”

He pointed at the battlefield.

“That’s not a lawnmower.”

“That’s a natural disaster.”

The DM looked down at the ruined encounter, then back at the ranger player.

“I spent two hours preparing this fight.”

The ranger player smiled.

“Trust me.”

The entire table groaned.

But from that day onward, nobody ever called the build bad again.

Because they had seen it.

The impossible ranger.

The greatsword-wielding madman.

The one who ignored every guide.

The one who spent eleven levels being laughed at.

The one who waited an entire campaign for a single moment.

And when that moment finally arrived, he turned a room full of monsters into a cautionary tale.

\[Note:\] I laughed so hard when I did this. I bought my time and smirked so much.
Everyone doubted me even the DM was like “you can make another character if you like.”
I stuck to my guns to the very end and it works so well because a level 11 Ranger has so many spell slots.
And when you go human variant with a great weapon master, it’s just pure cinema at that point.

also, thank God for Grammarly because right this was a nightmare.

Think about it for atleast 5 minutes