I’ve always felt that naming my character in D&D is as almost as serious a matter as naming a child.
It’s true, you will not have to listen to your player character come home from school in tears after his first day in middle school because someone discovered a vicious new insult based on his name, but a paladin will never be taken seriously if he saunters into town with a moniker like Benedict the Virtuous. Sure, he’ll try to impress the elf princesses by telling them his name is really Dirk, but word will get out soon enough and he’ll be run out of the woods to taunts of “Benny the Brown-Noser” in no time.
The source materials back when I was a teen always seemed to have amazing examples of names like Fang Ironwolf, or Lisbon the Dauntless. I tried strategies like spelling things backward, and got memorable losers like “Retcarahc” and “Nrael Divad.”
I found that my friend Chris Adomoshick’s last name, once reversed, worked quite well for a Yazirian when we played “Star Frontiers,” with a little extra tinkering. Thirty-five years later, and I still like the name Kismodé. (If TSR ever greenlights the line of Star Frontiers novels I pitched when I was 14 years old, I’m definitely having a space-monkey name Kismode traveling around the galaxy.)
The king of memorable names was Anthony Gazzillo, whom I played D&D with about 10 years ago. Anthony had a knack for finding names that stood out by violating standard Western naming conventions. Sure, he had characters with easy names like Tovarth and Inquill, but Inquill worshiped a god named Chemlochnibutentagen and had a drinking buddy named Cha-bing-cha-bing-cha-bing-a-whiz
As a dungeonmaster Anthony independently had discovered the technique of spelling words backward to get good names, and took it to new levels. As the campaign ran on, our party of adventurers got help from people named Allerazzom, Raddehc and Eladyelsnew.
My favorite was Eseehc’eot.