Alright, the set up: The players were pretty far apart, and one of them (a shapeshifter) was flying back to them in crow form. He was pretty far out, and was looking for a place to sleep for the night, so he could continue the next day.
Three (count 'em) nat 1's later, he finds statistically the worst place ever to sleep. He is clubbed over the head in bird form while he sleeps by a local cult (which the party is hunting), and taken back to their camp for food tied upside-down by his feet for transport, presumed dead.
The party is heading for the camp anyway, and while there the shapeshifter feigns death. He sees the cultists preparing human sacrifices with silvered knives to open up some kind of hell-portal. He counts about sixty of their number, and notes they're all armed.
Anyway, party busts in, he shapeshifts out of his bonds, and they reunite. He decides it's time for some vengeance, and charges the cultists, still sixty strong, as he shifts into his war form.
His war form, incidentally, was a werewolf.
The cultists see the lycanthrope charging them, look at each other, shrug, and all pull their silvered weapons.
About thirty stabs later, he was dead as a doornail, and genuinely astonished that happened.