Game Night for Meet_InDreams
I rattled the dice in my hand, hesitating. There was just no way I could win here. I had two DMs and I was the only player. Warren and Jonathan looked at each other and said in unison, "Roll the 20, Andrew."
So I rolled. The dice started off small and, in rolling across the lair's game table, grew bigger and bigger until it tumbled onto the floor the size of a cinder block. I lurched from my chair to check how it landed. It was a 20! I rolled a natural 20! I clapped my hands, but Jonathan glanced at it at the same time I did and said, "Critical fumble."
I sat back down and folded my arms across my chest. Warren glowered at me and repeated what Jonathan had just said: "Critical fumble. Roll for damage."
See what I mean? I couldn't win. This was the worst D&D game ever. I had two DMs that I couldn't please, no fellow adventurers, all the snacks were gone and I didn't have any pants on. Warren and Jonathan, however, were in matching orange jumpsuits. They were buddies, and so they got to wear matching jumpsuits. I was the outsider, so: no pants. At least this time I had boxers on... sometimes I'm not wearing anything, and those are the worst nights of all.
Reluctantly, I picked another 20-sided die out of the fishbowl that rested in the middle of the battle map. Rolling for damage after a critical fumble was normally kind of stressful, but in this circumstance, it was excruciating. I wanted to roll low, so there would be less points doled out to Erlichda, my Half-Elven Mage. He was already pretty much just a torso after the last battle, and he'd just critically fumbled with his remaining right arm. This could be the end of Erli, as he only had three hit points left. Come on '1', come on '1', I mumbled. And then, I rolled.
It was a one! Dear god in heaven, that's rare. I'd just rolled a natural twenty and, then, a natural one. Erli was safe. Hallelujah and a hearty boo-yeah. I'd beat Warren and Jonathan at their own game! At least, until the next round of combat. I grinned and looked at my dead friends happily.
"Maximum damage," they said, together, smirking and giving each other high fives. I slumped down into my seat and watched as Jonathan collected my character sheet and tore it in half. Goodbye, Erlichda. I'm sorry that you lost all your limbs just by walking into town.
"But it was a one, you guys. That's no fair. It was a one and there are no editions -- not to mention no universes -- in which rolling a one means that you'd get maximum damage on a fumble, even after fumbling on a natural 20," I complained. It was useless, though. They weren't listening to me. We'd already played this game four times this week. Every game, a new character, then the same result. Erli lasted the longest, but ... yeah. He was all torso-guy.
Warren shrugged and assembled his papers. Eventually, he continued speaking without Jonathan, "Your character falls on his own weapon and cuts his own head off. His corpse lays unmolested in the woods until an evil witch skins him alive and his former best friend stabs him in the gut. Game over. Please begin rolling stats for a new character."
I resigned myself to creating another character. I rolled and jotted notes and rolled and jotted notes, as Warren and Jonathan discussed afterworldly gossip that I didn't care about, about people that didn't exist. They always did this, and I hate it. I hate being shut out. I still didn't understand why we couldn't just hang out and enjoy each others' company like we used to. Play some D&D, eat some chips, drink some soda.
Suddenly, something moved to my left and I gasped and turned to look. Oh. It was just Anya. Not that surprising, as I'd been thinking about her non-stop for three weeks. She looked different, though, than she did in my daydreams. I glanced at Warren and Jonathan, who had also noticed her blinky approach. I hastily got up and pointed at my chair, "Hey, Anya. You can sit there. You're probably tired."
She looked at me, confusedly. Oh! I'd forgotten to ask the guys if it was okay if she sat in for me. "Hey, um, Warren and Jonathan? Can Anya play with us? I'm kind of tired of being the only player. Maybe I could DM for a while and she could play with you guys? That'd be fun, right?"
In perfect synchronization, Warren and Jonathan looked at Anya and then shook their heads at me, "No way, bitch. Girls aren't allowed. This is the lair and you know that it's for boys only."
I looked sadly back to Anya, who was still gaping at me, and shrugged. Warren was the boss, along with Jonathan, and I had no choice other than to follow their lead. "I'm really sorry, Anya. Warren doesn't have skin on under his jumpsuit and it makes him grouchy. And Jonathan can't seem to get past when I stabbed him and opened up the Seal. They're mad at me all the time. So you can't play. But you could watch! It's easy to learn. I mean, normally it is. This game is kind of screwy, though. It's up to you. I'm glad you could drop by though... do you want a Mr. Pibb? Because, um, we're out."
So I rolled. The dice started off small and, in rolling across the lair's game table, grew bigger and bigger until it tumbled onto the floor the size of a cinder block. I lurched from my chair to check how it landed. It was a 20! I rolled a natural 20! I clapped my hands, but Jonathan glanced at it at the same time I did and said, "Critical fumble."
I sat back down and folded my arms across my chest. Warren glowered at me and repeated what Jonathan had just said: "Critical fumble. Roll for damage."
See what I mean? I couldn't win. This was the worst D&D game ever. I had two DMs that I couldn't please, no fellow adventurers, all the snacks were gone and I didn't have any pants on. Warren and Jonathan, however, were in matching orange jumpsuits. They were buddies, and so they got to wear matching jumpsuits. I was the outsider, so: no pants. At least this time I had boxers on... sometimes I'm not wearing anything, and those are the worst nights of all.
Reluctantly, I picked another 20-sided die out of the fishbowl that rested in the middle of the battle map. Rolling for damage after a critical fumble was normally kind of stressful, but in this circumstance, it was excruciating. I wanted to roll low, so there would be less points doled out to Erlichda, my Half-Elven Mage. He was already pretty much just a torso after the last battle, and he'd just critically fumbled with his remaining right arm. This could be the end of Erli, as he only had three hit points left. Come on '1', come on '1', I mumbled. And then, I rolled.
It was a one! Dear god in heaven, that's rare. I'd just rolled a natural twenty and, then, a natural one. Erli was safe. Hallelujah and a hearty boo-yeah. I'd beat Warren and Jonathan at their own game! At least, until the next round of combat. I grinned and looked at my dead friends happily.
"Maximum damage," they said, together, smirking and giving each other high fives. I slumped down into my seat and watched as Jonathan collected my character sheet and tore it in half. Goodbye, Erlichda. I'm sorry that you lost all your limbs just by walking into town.
"But it was a one, you guys. That's no fair. It was a one and there are no editions -- not to mention no universes -- in which rolling a one means that you'd get maximum damage on a fumble, even after fumbling on a natural 20," I complained. It was useless, though. They weren't listening to me. We'd already played this game four times this week. Every game, a new character, then the same result. Erli lasted the longest, but ... yeah. He was all torso-guy.
Warren shrugged and assembled his papers. Eventually, he continued speaking without Jonathan, "Your character falls on his own weapon and cuts his own head off. His corpse lays unmolested in the woods until an evil witch skins him alive and his former best friend stabs him in the gut. Game over. Please begin rolling stats for a new character."
I resigned myself to creating another character. I rolled and jotted notes and rolled and jotted notes, as Warren and Jonathan discussed afterworldly gossip that I didn't care about, about people that didn't exist. They always did this, and I hate it. I hate being shut out. I still didn't understand why we couldn't just hang out and enjoy each others' company like we used to. Play some D&D, eat some chips, drink some soda.
Suddenly, something moved to my left and I gasped and turned to look. Oh. It was just Anya. Not that surprising, as I'd been thinking about her non-stop for three weeks. She looked different, though, than she did in my daydreams. I glanced at Warren and Jonathan, who had also noticed her blinky approach. I hastily got up and pointed at my chair, "Hey, Anya. You can sit there. You're probably tired."
She looked at me, confusedly. Oh! I'd forgotten to ask the guys if it was okay if she sat in for me. "Hey, um, Warren and Jonathan? Can Anya play with us? I'm kind of tired of being the only player. Maybe I could DM for a while and she could play with you guys? That'd be fun, right?"
In perfect synchronization, Warren and Jonathan looked at Anya and then shook their heads at me, "No way, bitch. Girls aren't allowed. This is the lair and you know that it's for boys only."
I looked sadly back to Anya, who was still gaping at me, and shrugged. Warren was the boss, along with Jonathan, and I had no choice other than to follow their lead. "I'm really sorry, Anya. Warren doesn't have skin on under his jumpsuit and it makes him grouchy. And Jonathan can't seem to get past when I stabbed him and opened up the Seal. They're mad at me all the time. So you can't play. But you could watch! It's easy to learn. I mean, normally it is. This game is kind of screwy, though. It's up to you. I'm glad you could drop by though... do you want a Mr. Pibb? Because, um, we're out."