Scareville

Modernist Scarophagi

Based off Dungeons and Dragons :)
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'You die, Clovis. You're dead. Doomed. Deceased. Off the mortal coil, asitwere. Game over.' The last of our group raised his head to the heavens and screamed a mighty warcry as the Baronial soldiers divvied up his loot. Our mighty group had fallen, and only the gods could say when we would meet next.

Clovis - real name, Shen Lott - had been playing a barbarian, the kind that lasts forever even with my druid having long since eaten several truesteel javelins through the face. Shen wasn't the sort of guy who put a lot of stock into winning or losing, but he was a pretty good player, and usually tried to flesh out his characters. I'm not quite as interested in the plot, I just want to get power, at any and all costs - together, we kind of kept each other in check. One of us alone would probably be a bit too much to handle...

Miles was already haggling for another game - he'd really wanted to play something about crusading knights and the Baltic coastline, and it sounded pretty good, but our storyteller (or DM, or whatever system you're familiar with) was dead set on another high-fantasy hackfest. Not that any of us minded - really, just playing a good game was enough, and we were lucky enough to have a near limitless supply of snacks and drinks. And if you've got enough geeks in one room, there will be gaming, right? We had plenty of time to kill - like this, I imagined we might stretch the session on another month.

Our storyteller was staring at the line of DVD's on the wall aimlessly, obviously wanting to bring up a terrifying comprehensive knowledge of cinema history and slot one in - but that wasn't going to happen, given the circumstances. There were games to be played, and our team was still fired up. Shen was poking me and asking why I'd gone and died so early. I responded that he was a tool, trying to catch the eye of the storyteller.

Though I don't remember what I was going to ask, come to think of it. Maybe it was when Violet or Ray might join the group again, maybe not.

With a snap of the fingers that instantly quieted us - except for the sound of Miles sipping a lukewarm soda through a curly straw - the Storytelling Screen went up, and we braced ourselves. Another round of exciting adventures was upon us, and my fingers itched with excitement. Amaranth the Druid would be avenged! All hail Amaretto the Demidruid!..

'... You have awakened in a dark room. The faint sound of water dripping from the ceiling brings to mind only that the three of you are alone, possibly abandoned. The cell holding you has long since seen the bars rot away, yet none of you can remember how long you have been here.'

'I'm gonna play a DARK ELF.'

Instanty, the quiet reverie created by the fledgling narration of our storyteller shattered with a wrinkled brow and a look of connsternation as Miles smiled smugly. Sputtering a rebuke, the storyteller spoke.

'No, dude, you are not. Dark elves are stupid charactitures, so stupid I don't even know what of. Who the hell thought they were a good idea?'

'Psh, dark elves aren't any more any a charactiture than your standard fantasy cultures. With finely crafted elvish thinblades in hand, dark elves are the apex predators of the subterrane structure! And they're tragic.'

'Absolu- NO! They are *not*! There are like two kinds of dark elf, the creepy ones that like to get whipped or do the whipping and sound like the mix of a really bad cavedwellers idea of what a cavedweller is like, and the ones that have tragic backstories. Tragically stupid, I mean. Absolutely not. You're playing a dwarf or an elf. Or an a orc. Why doesn't anyone ever play an orc? I - '

'I'll play an orc. Orcish expert, even.'

I interjected, hoping to cut the conversation short. Miles made a face as I suggested a suboptimal class but shrugged.