“Okay, tell me what you want me to do.”
“Come on… come on… come on… GODDAMNIT!” Glenn jumped up so hard that his knee knocked the table, spilling a bag of chips that had been resting on the edge. “How does she keep hitting me?”
“You’re wearing robes for armor, she’s a barbarian, and the dice are working against you,” Russell said. “You were at three Health Points, and she does nine damage, meaning your character is knocked out, bleeding, and almost dead.”
“Someone get me a potion!”
“We got our own trouble to deal with,” Mitch replied. “This fucking gnome keeps pinging me with daggers, meanwhile, I can’t roll shit.” He tossed his D20, which proved his point excellently by landing on a three. “Another fucking miss?”
“The dice really are against you guys in this fight,” Russell said. He checked the order and found Tim was up next. It was a shame; if anyone in the party didn’t deserve to wipe, it was Tim. But the dice were the dice, and a game without risk wasn’t really worth playing.
“Tim, you’re up.”
“Come heal me,” Glenn begged.
“I can’t, remember?” Tim stared across the table with unmasked exasperation. “I’m just a knight. I wanted to roll a paladin again, but none of you would let me, so now, we don’t have any healing in the party besides a few weak potions.” He turned away from Glenn and looked at the map. “I guess I’ll go after the half-orc.”
“Roll it up,” Russell said.
The tall, blond man in the shining armor took a swing at Grumph, but stumbled at the last moment, sending his blow wide. Grumph didn’t miss the opportunity, stabbing him cleanly through a gap in his dented breastplate with the bone-sword. Grumph’s opponent let out a light whimper and fell to the ground.
Grumph turned back to the smaller man on his left, probably a rogue by the look of him. He ran toward Grumph, daggers at the ready, only to trip on a rock in his path and fall down. No sooner had he landed than blood began pouring out from under his torso. Judging by the amount and the angle, it appeared to Grumph that the man had fallen on his daggers and seriously injured himself. Just to be sure, Grumph drove his own blade through the man’s skull. There would be no getting up from that blow.
With a slight twist, he moved to check on the downed knight’s status and found Eric already perched over him.
“Go help the others,” he called. “I’m supposed to be here.”
Grumph noticed the glowing artifact clutched in Eric’s hand but said nothing. He’d been under its thrall briefly; he understood the clarity it could provide. If Eric felt he should deal with the knight, then Grumph would trust him. Besides, the last of their enemies, a barbarian with an axe even bigger than Gabrielle’s, was proving a real bastard to put down.
On his way over, Grumph paused by the form of the unconscious wizard. It was weak, but the body was still breathing. With a quick chop of his sword, the wizard’s head went rolling past Grumph’s feet, and that breathing came to a halt.
“Why won’t any of them die?” Mitch threw his D20 again, unsurprised to find another low number staring up at him. No one had rolled higher than a five in this entire battle. Nothing worked: not changing dice, not blowing on them for luck, nothing. He couldn’t even accuse Russell of using overpowered enemies; most of the damage the party had taken was self-inflicted.
“At least you’re still alive to try,” Terry grumbled. “Glenn and I are already dead, and Tim’s not far behind.”
“He’s not dead yet,” Russell said. “But Tim, when the paladin and barbarian are done attacking Mitch, be ready for a roll. The sword already nearly killed you outright, and it also has a blood-poisoning effect. If you don’t save against it, your character will die.”
“I understand.” Tim held the blue D20 in his sweaty hand, staring into its swirl-patterned depths. As much as he hadn’t cared for the way his party did things, Tim didn’t want his character to die. He liked Timuscor the knight, he liked the game, and he didn’t really want it to end. Tim suspected that if the party wiped again, no one would want to play anymore, and finding another group was a prospect he had no idea how to tackle. When he rolled, it wouldn’t just be for Timuscor: it would be for his whole future of gaming.
Eric stood over the unconscious knight, aware of a growing warmth coming from The Bridge. As it heated, the knight’s eyes fluttered halfway open. He stared at Eric in confusion, as though he were drunk, gaze flitting from the glowing artifact to Eric and back again.
“Whroo… yu…” The knight’s words were slurred and only halfway intelligible.
Eric gave him what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile and pressed The Bridge to the dying man’s chest. “I have no idea what’s supposed to happen now; I’m only following orders. Let’s just hope it isn’t boring.”
The Bridge did not disappoint.
As the enemy barbarian’s death cry echoed across the field, The Bridge’s glow intensified. It seemed to envelop the knight, seeping over him like spilled jelly. The air around them began to ripple, first lightly, and then with such intensity that it was all Eric could do to hold on. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the ripple, feel it rattling his very bones. It grew stronger still, and just when Eric was certain he could hold on no longer, the energy seemed to snap.
It surged outward, inward, and all over at once. Eric felt like everything had been burned away and rebuilt thousands of times, all before he could draw a single breath. Then, just as suddenly, it was over.
He carefully opened his eyes, uncertain of what would lay before him.
“With Mitch dead, Tim is the last one still breathing,” Russell said. “Roll the dice, and see if you survive another round.”
Tim nodded, touched the D20 for luck, and then sent it tumbling across the map. Usually, it would roll for a few seconds before unceremoniously stopping on a number. Sometimes, it would strike an object, and very occasionally, it would be rolled too hard and would tumble off the table, necessitating a re-roll.
None of those things happened this time.
The D20 rolled twice then stopped in an impossible position, resting on one of its corners. Before the players could comment on the strangeness of such an event, it was overshadowed. The D20 began to spin in place, moving with such fierce speed that a whistling sound filled the air. Small wisps of smoke began to rise from the map below it, and the die’s blue facade seemed to throb with light. Then, without any slowing down as warning, the D20 stopped spinning. It shook once, the barest of shivers running through it, and crumbled into countless pieces.
Everyone in the room stared at the now-destroyed die, dumbfounded into silence at what they’d just seen. It was Tim who finally spoke. Tim the rookie, Tim the newbie, Tim who was willing to turn to his GM and ask a question, inane or insane as it may seem.
“So… what does that mean?”
The knight’s eyes opened slowly, the stabbing pain in his head making exposure to all but the faintest bits of light an unbearable pain. He found four people standing over him: a gnome in shining armor, a woman with an axe, a half-orc in robes, and a smiling human male clutching an object that shone with a fading glow.
“Who are you people?” He tried to sit up but found his body stiff as a dragon’s talon. The throbbing ache from his stomach made him brave the discomfort to check it; thankfully, there was no wound that he could see.
“We were going to ask you the same thing,” the gnome replied.