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D&D 4th edition, everyone is around level 5. Been slogging through a long cave turned goblin war factory, we're all pretty much out of healing surges.
Rogue sneaks up ahead and reports back that the next room is a giant foundry filled with about 50 goblin blacksmiths, around 20-30 goblins trying on and testing out plate-mail, a fuck-off huge goblin walking around yelling at people, and another 20-30 running around carrying supplies.
Loathe as we are to fight all of these guys, I hatch a plan. I'm a lvl 5 Bard/sorcerer with the soul of sorcerey feat to gain 5 fire resistance, plus being a sorcerer.
"Hey DM, if I stick my sword in one of these barrels of pitch that are everywhere and light it on fire, do I take any damage?"
"Uh, 2, and if you save against damage the fire goes out."
"I have a travellers cloak over hide armour, if I light the cloak on fire, would I take any damage?"
"Call it three, you save, its out."
After about 5 minutes of whispers and stealth checks, we bust out with the plan.
Two barrels worth of pitch and coal ignite and expolde out of the doorway, and I step in between them covered in flames with prestidigitated goblin skulls hovering around me. The cleric and the rogue are chucking goblin heads into the room from behind the smoke and firewhile the wizard is throwing out more prestidigitaion and fire spells. I scream in goblin that their prescence has long enough sullied my caves, and that I plan on reclaiming it through fire and blood, mention I am an ancient being of revenge, and conjecture that thier mothers were unskilled prostitutes.
Fucking 19 bluff roll, + 11 for my stats/skill bonus + 10 because it is a very convincing lie, and rather startling.
One stampede later, there are 30 some-odd dead, flat goblins, a dozen suits of small platemail, tons-literally-of weapons, and grins all around. The dwarven fighter assured us that he enjoyed the show between sips of whiskey.