“The Ricitill knocks politely at the door,” said Sean.

“What the hell, man?” Jerry cried, his eyes–inflamed by passion and pizza–visible over Sean’s dungeon master screen. “Since when does a monster knock? And even given the remote possibility it does knock, what are the chances it does so politely?”

“And what kind of name is ‘Ricitill?'” Frank said from the left, waving his pewter token. “It sounds like they were trying to make it all menacing with flavors of ‘rictus’ and ‘kill’ but it sounds like a ‘sit down and shut the hell up’ prescription medicine to me!”

“Guys, guys,” Sean said, making the ‘cool it’ gesture they’d agreed upon before the game started. “It’s a real monster, from the ‘Chitin and Claws’ sourcebook. You want me to get it out?”

“Better do it,” sighed Matt, on the right. “Otherwise we’ll be arguing in the inn all night.”

Sean produced the book, opened to a two-page spread beginning on p. 65. “See? Monster always knocks politely since it can’t attack with its acid claws until properly invited inside.”

“Stupid,” Frank said. “All the monsters in the book and you pick that mishmash? It’s like they took half the entry on vampires and half the entry on rust monsters and pasted them together to pad the thing out!”

About to respond–whether through logical and cogent argument or smacking Frank with the rolled-up manual, he hadn’t decided–Sean was interrupted by a soft knock at the basement door.

“W-who is it?”