Los Tiburon
This is a story by BROther Laughing Man !!6Ltud83uedY.
Playing half-orc monk. Decided to play something beyond weeaboo 'i am master of martial arts.' Spent 100gp on an inlaid mask with intricate tribal designs sewn on the sides with a 'fin' on top. Thus I became LOS TIBURON, THE SHARK OF THE LAND, MASKED WRESTLER. I took all my feats revolving around grappling. Grappled EVERYTHING. EVERY. FUCKING. THING. including, but not limited to, a bear.
Final part of the campaign: OH SHIT DRAGON. Dragon acts like a faggot, ducking into the water and popping out for breath weapon. Fuck that; I'mma charging its ass. My brother was playing a warforged fighter and assists my MIGHTY LEAP into the air, where I pose mid-air and shout about the HONOR OF THE MASK. That's how I TACKLED A FUCKING DRAGON. Dealt unarmed damage, latched on, and took a deep breath to prepare for the underwater struggle.
Dragon goes up. I forgot they can fly. DM gives me the option to let go before dragon takes off. Fuck that! I'm still wrestling! 200 FEET IN THE AIR, STILL WRESTLING A DRAGON AND DEALING UNARMED DAMAGE! Dragon actually starts hurting me; I need a plan. That's when brilliance strikes me:
"I roll to pin."
The entire table fell silent. I roll to 'pin' the dragon's wings behind its back, so it can't fly anymore. THE ENTIRE TABLE LEANS FORWARD TO WATCH THIS ROLL OF DESTINY. NATURAL. FUCKING. TWENTY. I pin the dragon's wings, sending it and me hurtling into the ground. I have one combat round left to make my final statement.
"I AM LOS TIBURON! AND I... AM... A LUCHA!!!"
Dragon's neck snaps on impact. Through sheer luck or GM fiat -- possibly both -- I survive at -4 HP. The party cleric brings me back up to 1 HP, picks me up, and holds one arm into the air. My brother the fighter immediately bangs his shield twice, making the bell noise. Party's bard/diplomancer announces "And the winner is... Los Tiburon!"
And that's how I made it to level four.