“Gentlemen, I give you Ruins & Rogues, 1st edition,” said Matt. “The Old Testament. Fire and brimstone. Death around every corner.” With a flourish, he opened his bag and took put a stack of books with brightly colored if crudely drawn covers.
“Wow, is that a 1st edition Adventurer’s Guidebook?” cried Chris.
“With the rare first printing inclusion of copyrighted characters from the Tolkien estate,” Matt said proudly. “Bought them at an estate sale on Dounton Street East.”
“What’s this?” Jeff, the third member of Matt’s erstwhile Ruins & Rogues group took up a sheaf of papers between the Ruins & Rogues Creature Compendium and the Ruins & Rogues Interverse Manual.
“Oh, it’s the campaign that whoever owned this stuff before was playing,” Matt said. “It’s MS3TK-worthy, you’ve got to see this.”
“Got to see this is right,” Chris chortled, taking up a character sheet with a 1984 date. “Drake Midnight: level five barbarian of Clan War Bear. Nineteen strength, nineteen agility, four intelligence.” He held up a crude illustration of a Viking in a horny helmet wielding two axes bug enough for their own Congressmen. “Look, it’s straight out of Napoleon Dynamite’s sketchbook. Hope those straps are velcro. Hilarious!”
“Hilarious is this map right here,” countered Jeff. “Titcave Mound, home of the Priestesses of Lost Memory. Or is that lost mammary? Look at these booby statues they drew!”
“It’s a wonder they got in there at all considering their healer was Chastity Witchmourner,” Matt added. “Her character sheet includes her measurements and a nice little doodle of what I can only assume is a 12-year-old smuggling beach balls. Looks like the player–one ‘Steve’–was pretty into it. I hope this stain is from the fried chicken they were eating!”
All three had a good laugh before settling down to the business of filling out their new character sheets, with Mat promising that the old campaign would be incorporated into their new one for kicks and giggles. Before the playing got started in earnest, though, Matt excused himself to fetch more snacks.
The basement door opened onto a vast and red-skied vista illuminating a temple carved into the living rock of the mountainside with impossibly busty caryatids supporting it. A flamingly redheaded woman of similar proportions, and wearing what must have been about three cubic inches of chainmail, was rushing toward him.
“Drake had gone berserk with War Bear battle lust!” she cried. “You must help me!”
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