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Dungeon Master

It’s Wednesday night,

everything is in order.

Pencils are sharpened, the mountain dew chilled, Funyuns and Cheetoes at the ready,

and Pizza on it’s way.

The rogue is the first to arrive , her cloak not quite concealing her horns, she says hello in a raspy voice with a hint of European accent, is that Russian? No,it’s Hungarian, definitely.

Then in strides the Fighter, his massive frame, and great bull horns, force him to duck as he enters the game room, and sets his chainmail dice bag at the table.

Our bard enters, already in song, she brushes aside her long silver hair, and then removes her earbuds and takes her place at the table.

The last to enter is the Wizard, absent minded scholar that he is, he explains he left his character sheet and had to go back for it.

I motion for him to hurry up and be seated.

Who am I?

Foolish mortal,

I am,

The Dungeon Master.

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Categories: Poetry
  1. May 31, 2010 at 3:48 am

    Haha…another fun one. Nice job, Nate!

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