Warren Dander

Agathor was in trouble. Standing before him was a massive orc warlord, a brutal axe in one hand and the head of Rodrick the Healer in his other. Their wizard was being kicked to death by a horde of hobgoblins, and Patterpoot the rogue was being chased through the foothills by a dragon. All seemed lost, but with dedication and strength, Agathor could still win the day. He hefted his mighty broadsword over one shoulder and swung at the orc warlord's chest. 0-4-2. Critical failure. The sword flew out of his sweaty palms and straight into the back of their wizard.

“Thanks a lot, Warren!” Matt slammed his dice to the floor and then stormed out of their dorm room. Looks like it was just Agathor and Patterpoot left. If they won this battle, then they could hire a cleric to bring Matt's wizard back to life. Even Rodrick could return, though they'd need to retrieve his head first. That shouldn't be too hard, since Agathor now wielded the Holy Blade Skullcrusher.

Greg rolled some dice, and then looked up at Warren grimly. “The orc warlord strikes you for twenty three damage.”

Agathor grit his teeth as the orc's axe sunk into his chest. A blow like that would kill a normal mortal, but Agathor was Agathor! Roaring, he tore the axe free from his chest and then snapped it in half. The orc warlord's eyes grew wide in disbelief. Yes, fear the Agony of Agathor! The battle had turned squarely in Agathor's favor, but then the orc warlord drew his might broadsword from the dead wizard's back. Gleaming in the fiery sunlight, the Holy Blade Skullcrusher was now being used against Agathor! He growled in outrage.

“The dragon swats you with its twenty-foot tail.” Greg rolled his dice. “Twelve damage.”

Biting his lip, Chris calculated the damage. To a mighty warrior like Agathor, twelve damage was negligible. For a little thief like Patterpoot, though. . . . Finally, Chris shook his head. “Looks like it's up to you, Warren.”

The dragon's mighty tail swung through Patterpoot, tearing the thief in half. It was the goriest death yet, and Agathor bent his head back, keening for his lost comrade. “Patterpoot! No!” The force was his cry sent a shock-wave through the battlefield, scattering the hobgoblins and knocking the orc warlord over. In a blinding red rage, he charged his fallen opponent, tearing the Holy Blade Skullcrusher out of the vile creature's hands. It was now over for his foes.

Warren and Greg stared each other down. Between them was a tile floor littered with Lisa's cosmetics. (Greg's girlfriend let the boys use them for the game.) Agathor was 'Strawberry Sundae,' the only tube of lipstick still standing. At his feet was 'Lollipop Lush'--e.g. a soon-to-be-slain orc warlord. Warren counted out his dice and quietly shook them, his eyes never leaving Greg's face. With a single, deft motion he scattered them across the floor. 18-3-20. Success.

The Holy Blade Skullcrusher sank deep into the orc warlord's chest. Vile, black blood bubbled up from the wound. The orc warlord reached a hand towards his killer, his twisted lips producing a gnarled facsimile of human speech. “Agathor. . . .” Agathor stared down at the monstrosity, twisting the blade to hasten it's death. “Agathor, I am your father. . . .”

“What?”

There was a pause, and then both Greg and Chris started cracking up. After a moment, Warren joined in, though the joke didn't really seem all that funny. After an epic battle like that, humor was just in bad taste. Finally, Chris clapped his hands and stood up. “Awesome job, Warren! You'll have to bring Patterpoot back and then we can do this all over again.”

Meanwhile, Greg swept the cosmetics into a small black handbag. When the floor was clear, he also got up. “See you next week!”

Even after the others were gone, Warren stayed seated, his palms on his knees, sweat trickling down his armpit. In his mind, he was reliving every swing, every parry, every glorious line of their combat. These are the stories legends are made of.