This one has to go to Brother Maynard during our mini-campaign at Lost Pines Scout Camp during the summer of 1989-90. Our DM was our scoutmaster's son, Tim Goorley. Our scoutmasters were often frustrated with us for spending so much time playing D&D while scouting, so they forced all of us who had not yet made the rank of First Class to go into this program which would gain us everything but the time in grade requirement for First Class over the course of the Lost Pines trip. I don't particularly recall anything about the trip being that much fun save the D&D, the sailing merit badge classes, and a counselor named John who was awesome, into Lita Ford and G&R, and got bit by a spider.
Every night we played D&D. Every night. Until the scoutmasters forced us to turn in. We had this epic campaign going where we were defending a town from undead, the Golden Grimoire was somehow involved, and the Big Bad we had to fight the night before we went home was some sort of demon. Well, Br. Maynard was nowhere near powerful enough to do much to a full-on demon straight from AD&D (we were playing BECMI.) None of us had magic weapons that would do much to it. We were in trouble.
Br. Maynard quaffed a Haste potion and beat feet back to town to score as much holy water as he could carry from the church, since the only thing we'd thrown at this thing that even tickled it a bit was holy water, and we didn't have much of that. So off Br. Maynard went at double speed, running for his life and the rest of the party's...
...and then a lucky crit with a +1 blade apparently saved the day before Br. Maynard could make it back to town. So... battle over. Day saved. Game broke up, we packed up the next morning and went home.
On the next regularly scheduled scout campout, we of course played D&D. Someone jokingly asked "Hey, did Maynard ever stop running?"
And that's where this story REALLY starts.
For the next twenty damn years, in any D&D game involving anyone who was there, and some folks who just heard the story later, at random moments a Cleric would run through a scene at roughly double speed. No explanation, just a REALLY fast guy with a warhammer wearing plate.
Then somehow it became a streaking Cleric. NO IDEA how the armor came off. Or the arming coat. Or the underclothes. And anyway, if he's naked, how the hell does anyone know he's a Cleric?
Time and again, through different groups and different DMs as the Legend of the Streaking Cleric proliferated, poor, cold and exposed Brother Maynard continues to beat feet through Mystara still trying to get that holy water back to his comrades to defeat the demon that was defeated sometime in June of 1989...
<Jack Palance>BELIEVE IT... OR NOT </Jack Palance>