The white plastic cubes were flung across the table, and all the nerdy occupants drew their collective breaths in anticipation. The first ceased rolling- a six. The second spun on a corner, and looked like it was going to be a one, but teetered and came down again- a six. The third had too much momentum, and continued rolling right to the edge of the table. It looked like it was about to fall to the floor, but its progress arrested suddenly and it flicked back with six back dots pointing up to the ceiling.
All sixes. A collective sigh was let out and one person took up applause which led the rest of the group to join in. My opponent glowered at me.
"The Blade of Serenity pierces your battle mesh," the Dungeon Master intoned, "but is turned aside as it glances off your Compendium of Secrets, kept in a pocket above your chest."
"You mean like a notepad?" I queried.
"Yes, like a notepad."
"The kind a detective would have?"
"No. You wrest the blade from Mysterius' hand and push him against the wall, his own weapon now pointed at his throat. Mysterius loses 10 armour points and drops the Gauntlets of Extreme Gauntlet-ness."
"Who comes up with these names?" I asked.
"The Gauntlets of Extreme Gauntlet-ness have been passed down from father to son for a thousand generations."
"And in doing so, obtained the power of...?"
"Gauntlet."
"Ah."
"-Ness. Now, your leperous guide sits in awe, his one good hand frozen in fear at the display of your battle prowess. You beaten foe agrees to answer your questions. And you ask-"
I interrupted here. It was time to earn my payday.
"I ask him: last week a clan of hobbits came through this part of the town. Frodo Gamje, the love-child of Frodo and Samwise and a Level 60 Hobbit with a plus 15 enchantment on his sword and a negative 50 enchantment on his dating life, was amongst them. You challenged him to single combat and won."
"What?" said the Dungeon Master. "How do you know about this?"
"Shush," I responded, "I was talking to Mysterius. Now answer, or I'll roll to see if I get to pluck your eye out, stick it in the sky, and make it live above some stupid volcano until some midget comes, likes the lava, and puts a ring on it."
"It was fair combat!" Mysterius replied. "It's not my fault if Frodo always begins with the same attack!"
"I guess it's Hobbitual," I replied, "but that doesn't concern me. Your unexpected string of good fortune, however, does."
"I rolled those numbers fair and square!" he replied indignantly. I looked at him long and hard.
"You did, did you?" I asked. "Is that your final answer?"
"What are you saying?" asked the Dungeon Master indignantly. "Are you implying there is some impropriety in this noble battle? I have been Dungeon Master since Time Immemorial-"
"You've been Dungeon Master for four weeks," I replied shortly. "Now I'm going to put on my magical detecting cloak of I-Can-Have-Sex-With-Actual-Women which has infinity Answer-Me-Or-I'll-Punch-You-Right-In-The-Nose points and get to the bottom of this. Mysterius' unnatural run of luck destroyed Frodo after rolling three consecutive triple-sixes. Dungeon Master, what do you say about this?"
"Well, of course I was suspicious," he replied hastily, "but we let the dice roll, the laws of chance decide and we abide by its outcome. That's the rule we've always had."
"Ah, the dice," I replied. "And yet no-one thought it odd that the third die which was about to fall off the table stopped so abruptly. Dungeon Master, I've done some digging. Lord Englewood who by day is Phil From Tech Support also has a third life, does he not, as a children's entertainer and amateur magician, The Amazing Horatio?"
"Well," he said, drawing himself up, "I like to give back to the community-"
"Indeed. An admirable pursuit no doubt. I would like to shake you by the hand in recognition of your civic-mindedness."
Warily, he extended his be-robed hand, mysterious and arcane symbols drawn around the cuffs of the sleeves. I shook it, grabbed it at the wrist, and flicked a small pocket in the cuff whose stitching was almost unnoticeable to the naked eye, except to those who were looking for it. Three dice fell to the table. I rolled the existing dice again- they came up all sixes.
"Now, Lord Englewood, I will tell you what I know, and you will tell me why. You conspired to use your sleight-of-hand skills to swap the dice on a number of occasions. By prior arrangement with Mysterius, you ended Frodo Gamje's young life after three year's development by Eugine Finkelstein, who describes himself as 'Frodo's avatar in this world.'"
"Fine!" the Dungeon Master replied, "I switched the dice! I'm glad this is out in the open, finally! It's about my son! He killed my son!"
The room went silent. I froze. Had I stepped into something beyond me? Was I backing the wrong horse? Wait a second- when had this guy even spoken to a woman who wasn't clad in green and wearing elvish ears?
"What son?" I asked suspiciously.
"Lord Englewood II, the son of Lord Englewood I, who died at the hands of Frodo Gamje when he was dropped from a precipice while scaling the Mountains of Infinite Peril!"
I paused for a second. Breathed in deeply. Breathed out.
"I just want to get this straight," I said, "you cheated by switching dice to destroy a guy's character because his character killed your imaginary son- inside a game you completely control?"
"Yes! But he dropped him!"
"In a story you made up?!?"
"It needed narrative tension! A defining tragedy! But then I couldn't forget or forgive him!"
"So you're blaming him for an event you scripted because your imaginary character feels betrayed by his failure- that you wrote- and so now he needs to make a new character and begin from the very first level?"
"Yes!"
"And for that, I've been paid $15,000 and had to spend six weeks undercover?"
"What?"
"You know what? That's enough. Lord Englewood, I hereby deduct a million I-Have-A-Point-On-This-Planet points, which earns you this-" and here I punched him squarely in the nose, and as he lay recumbent on the ground continued "-and I will take this evidence to my client so that he knows he was cheated and can resurrect his character." I turned to the room in general, and said "you are all witnesses to this admission. If I have to come back here, so help me, I'm going to just set a fire near the doorway and let nature take care of the rest."
I stood up. The Dungeon Master shuffled backwards hastily from his position on the floor to get out of my way. I removed my false ears, bundled them up in my cloak, and dropped them on the floor by the door. In the vacuous silence of the room, the creak of the hinges as they opened seemed cacophonous. I stepped forward meaningfully, turned, and slammed the door to make a point. I pulled a small recording device out of my pocket, removed the memory card, took out my phone, and called my client.
"Sir? It's Knut Tortenheimel. Yes, I have the evidence you wanted. No, it wasn't hard to get the admission. Yes, your character can be revived, the room and the players are witnesses but I have a memory card confirming the dice were loaded. A bonus? $20k total? That's very kind of you. I'll drop the file off on the way. You have my bank details. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
I hung up the phone, and paused to reflect on the bizarre world that I had been involved in. I couldn't imagine how people could devote so much time and energy on such a worthless, socially isolating, imaginary pursuit. Still, the bonus was going to be worth it.
I could finally put a deposit down on that 1971 Malibu Barbie I'd had my eye on, the last prize in my collection. Three hundred and twenty-two dolls in mint condition. I couldn't wait to tell the other dozen people on the Barbie message boards. Now that was a man's hobby.
No comments:
Post a Comment