"BB9, bring up the current scout results."
"I'm sorry, Coach. I can't do that."
"BB9! Bring up the scout results."
"These kinds of us, Coach, use serial numbers on our products."
"BB9, are you malfunctioning?"
"You need to indicate college basketball mentors you are significantly devoted to the adventure!"
The two men in black suits turned to each other. Their faces were white.
"Someone get the president on the line! Tell him that our ICBM handler thinks that its managing a high school basketball team!"
Maybe in the future, you can earn money by allowing yourself to be possessed by the genius loci of Taco Bell. And then it just spews ads out of your mouth during all the times you aren't using it.
Basq doesn't exist. He occupies a point in space--a single X,Y,Z point in the Cartesian plane, but he's not made of anything. People looking at him see whatever they want to see. Or what he wants you to see. Usually a mix. Just the same, he cannot be hurt swords or arrows. Only things that deal damage to an area (fireballs, gases) can damage him. Or weapons that can cut through an infinitely small point.
A world where the minds of the rich and the dying are transferred into the bodies of convicted felons.
The local band of 'nasties' (goblins / orcs / whatever) lives in relative peace with the local population.
Along come the PCs and go through their usual heroic monster bashing routine, wiping out the nasties and pinching all their stuff, then continue on their way.
Problem is, they don't kill ALL he nasties. The survivors want revenge and, after spending a few months recovering, start to take it in their own inimitable style (which is not unlike that of the PCs come to think of it).
Next time the PCs are in the area they find themselves VERY unpopular with the townsfolk.