“Kyle. Kyle!”
“What?”
“It’s your turn.”
“Oh. What do I do again?”
“Roll the dice. The same as the past 8 turns.”
“OK.”
Kyle rolled the oddly shaped dice. He had no idea why he’d accepted the invite to this eccentric meet-up, but here he sat in a poorly lit basement, slugging down high alcohol beer in hopes his drunken stupor would lead to some fun.
“Are you kidding me? This guy has to be the luckiest player I’ve ever seen.”
Apparently Kyle’s roll was good. He had no idea what was going on. The leader of the group, who was sitting behind a piece of elaborately decorated cardboard, began to speak.
“A half-giant approaches from the north. He smells like filth and goats. Seeing you on his territory sends him into a rage!”
“Uh oh.”
Kyle didn’t know if this was bad or good. At least half-giant didn’t sound as drastic as full giant.
“I have a pet or something right? A bear?”
“Yes, a bear.”
“I want my bear to fiercely maul the half-giant.” Kyle took a large swig of his IPA. It was hoppy enough to remind him of a cool summer night, far away from small, stuffy subterranean hovels.
“Your bear can’t just fight it alone. It’s a half-giant for christ sake. You have to help!”
“Why? It’s a bear. I think he knows what he’s doing.”
Kyle poured more delicious beer down his throat. It was a shame; a brew this fine should be savored. The gaze of the players around him were piercing, burning, seethingly angry. He had tread on sacred ground. He had defiled their haven. To make matters worse, he was too drunk to drive home at this point.
“OK, then I shoot the half-giant with my bow. Can I do that?”
The Dungeon Master looked at him and sighed.
“Roll.”
The dice fell clumsily on the foldable card table.
“No way! He has to be cheating.”
“Critical hit!”
Two of the party members cheered. Another scowled, checking the character sheet to make sure Kyle wasn’t cheating. Kyle decided he was going to sleep in his car, and chugged the remainder of his current beer.
The DM broke character and told the group to take a break. The largest member, a halfling illusionist of some note, labored to rise from his chair, grunting as he waddled over to the fridge for another Pepsi Max. The DM asked Kyle to step into the next room.
“Have you played before? We invited you here for a beginners game, but you’re ruining it for everyone else. It seems pretty clear you’ve played the Ranger class before.”
The pock-marked face was fuzzy, like Kyle was speaking to him through a waterfall. He felt dizzy, but happy.
“This is my first time. I’m just doing what you tell me to. Shit, I don’t even know what a Ranger is.”
Kyle felt a burp slowly creeping from his stomach, up his throat. There was a chance he could throw up on this kid.
“I only picked it because it had the same name as my beer.”
9 out of 10.
+3 against thirst (and ogres)
