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How The DM Tricked Death Into Playing DnD
For His Soul (Death & A D20 Part 1)
This is part 1 of a published short story
by our Writer and Editor which is available
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Click the link in the description below!
Andrew sat at the kitchen table with the contents
of a now empty cardboard box spread out in
front of him.
He could not suppress a smile as he flipped
through some of his loose notes from earlier
campaigns, or a character that had met an
untimely demise.
The best times of his life were in front of
him, and they fit in a single cardboard box.
He sighed, picked up the papers and metal
figures and began to place them reverently
back into the box.
"Andrew.
It is time."
A raspy voice croaked out behind him.
He spun in his chair, nearly falling out when
he saw the creature that stood behind him.
A nearly seven foot tall, black robed apparition
stood in his kitchen.
Shadows danced inside the depths of the hood,
obscuring any face that may have been hiding
in the darkness.
"I . . . don't think I am ready," Andrew said
softly.
"Oh?
I have a proposition for you then," Death
hissed.
"We will play a game of your choosing.
If you beat me you get to live.
But if you lose… well, there are things
worse than death.
Choose carefully."
Death's whisper sounded like bone grinding
against stone.
"If that is the case," he thought for a long
moment.
"I choose Dungeons and Dragons."
He gestured to the table full of character
sheets and campaign notes.
"What is a Dungeons and Dragons?"
Death asked, bewildered.
Even under the circumstances, Andrew could
not hide his excitement.
It had been too long since he had gotten to
run a game of Dungeons and Dragons.
He thought back to the first time he was explaining
the rules to his friends.
So many years ago now.
"What?
You have never played Dungeons and Dragons?
Oh it is fantastic, you are going to love
it!
I will help you create your character.
Just pick something you think will be fun."
"I choose to be the incarnation of destruction,
the reaper of souls, the finality that all
men must face," Death said from beneath the
shadows of his hood.
"That's great, but you have to pick from this
list here.
You know what, let's pick a bard.
You seem to like attention."
"Does the bard harvest souls?"
"No, he uh, plays music and stuff."
Andrew did not actually know what bards did.
No one ever played one in his group.
"I do play a mean bone harp," Death said wistfully.
"It's settled then, let's play!"
"Well, now you need to roll dice for stats.
Real easy, just pick those up and roll them
for each of these," he said, pointing to the
stats on the character sheet.
Death clutched the dice in his skeletal hands
and rolled them across the dining room table.
"That's a six, a six, and another six.
Wow, that’s really good,” Andrew said,
fairly impressed with the roll.
"Okay, just do that a few more times."
Death rolled triple sixes five more times.
"That seems a little suspect . . . you wouldn't
be cheating, would you?"
"You would accuse me of cheating?"
Death's voice rose in anger.
"Nope.
You’re just very lucky.
Eighteens across the board!
Great job."
Death hissed in response.
"Okay, Death, the game is starting."
Andrew took a deep breath and imagined a small
town with a bustling tavern full of adventurers.
Busty barmaids hustled from the kitchen to
tables with trays of ale and thick stew.
"Death, you are sitting in a tavern sipping
your ale.
Patrons are sitting around tables talking,
but too quietly for you to hear.
What would you like to do?"
"I want to kill everyone," Death said, leaning
forward over the table.
It may have been Andrew's imagination, but
he thought he saw a glimmer of excitement
in the depths of the hood.
"Uh.
These are seasoned veterans of the Second
Carthian War.
They will kill you pretty easily."
"Oh."
Death's shoulders slumped a little.
"But, the man at the table next to you starts
speaking a little louder.
He mentions a secret tomb he had found in
the woods recently.
But he could not find a way to open the door."
"A secret tomb?
Intriguing!
I will force him to tell me where the location
of this place is."
"Alright, some action!
Roll that dice there, the one with the twenty
sides, to see if you can over power him."
Death snatched the die off the table and gave
it a roll.
It slid to a stop on the number one, then
after a long second, hopped and landed on
twenty.
"Is that good?"
Death asked.
"Very good!
That's a natural twenty!
You pick the man up by his collar and threaten
his life.
He gets a map out of his pouch and hands it
over to you.
It is fairly crude but it outlines the location
of the tomb."
"Oh, oh, okay," Death's voice changed a bit
as he began to speak as his character.
"Thanks for doing business with Dante the
Bard!
You shall all remember his name!"
"Everyone in the bar is stunned into silence
by your proclamation!
These veterans of a hundred battles cower
in fear at your ferocity."
"Excellent!"
Death steepled his fingers together.
"Let's go find this tomb!"
He could not hide the excitement in his voice.
Andrew watched the seconds tick away on the
clock.
Death was so engrossed in his adventure that
he had not realized just how much time had
passed.
It was already eleven thirty.
"Okay, Death, you find the narrow trail marked
on the map that leads up the mountain to the
tomb.
Birds are calling from branches above.
and you spot a deer leap away over a small
creek."
"There is no time to waste!
This tomb will not explore itself.
Onward!"
"The trail is overgrown with roots and they
try to snag at your boots.
Loose rocks try to trip you but you have such
natural grace that you almost dance down the
trail."
The hands on the clock spun and spun as Andrew
talked.
"The woods give way to a cliff.
The ancient door is easy to see as it is outlined
in runes carved into the cliff face.
There are four lines of runes carved into
the door itself.
Would you like to try to decipher them?"
"Yes, of course!"
Death picked up his dice and rolled.
Another natural twenty.
"It's a riddle."
Andrew cleared his voice and spoke in a lower
tone.
"Until I am measured
I am not known,
Yet how you miss me
When I have flown."
Death placed a bony finger underneath where
his chin would be.
"Interesting . . . and so simple!"
Death said triumphantly.
"The answer is time!"
"The door glows blue as you speak the command
word!
In a flash the stone door vanishes, revealing
a dark stone corridor!"
"But, it is also time to call it a night,"
Andrew said with a slight grin.
"We can't stop now!"
Death moaned.
"Or have you forgotten our arrangement?
If I win the game, terrible things happen."
"Well, it is after midnight and no one has
lost or won yet.
We can play again if you want to find out
what’s inside the tomb," Andrew said hopefully.
"You have a deal.
Next time I'll bring some beers," Death said
as he rose from the table then vanished in
a burst of shadows.
Death knocked politely on the kitchen door
and held up the six pack of beer excitedly
in front of himself.
Andrew waved him in as he finished setting
up the kitchen table.
He was more prepared this session: he had
a large grid map laid out, as well as his
old Dungeon Master shield standing upright.
“Do you want one before I put them in the
fridge?
I kept them cold on the way over with my icy
grip,” Death said -- his bony feet clicked
over the floor.
“That sounds great!
Thank you,” Andrew said, putting the final
touch on the table.
A small pewter figurine holding a harp and
a dagger.
“Ohhh, is that me?”
Death asked, sitting down at the table.
“Dante, in the flesh!
Well, metal.”
Death gingerly picked the figure up and turned
it over.
“Did you paint him yourself?”
“I did.
We can’t have an epic adventure with just
a plain figurine.”
Death held his beer bottle up for Andrew;
they clinked them together then took a long
drink.
“This is really good,” Andrew said, wiping
a bit of foam off of his lip.
“It’s brewed from the essence of the forsaken,”
Death said hauntingly.
“Really?”
Andrew felt the beer start to rise in his
throat.
“Hah!
No, it’s from this microbrewery up in Seattle.”
Andrew laughed and took another sip before
setting it down on the table.
“Where were we?”
“I had just spoken the command word and
the door to the tomb opened!”
Death said eagerly.
Andrew picked up a dry erase marker and began
to draw out the entrance to the tomb.
“As you stand at the entrance of the tomb,
your eyes can barely penetrate the darkness
within.
You get a sense that this place has not been
graced by light in a thousand years.
A bitterly cold wind blows out of the doorway,
carrying with it the stench of death and sorrow.”
Death lifted an arm and smelled his robed
armpit.
“I don’t stink,” then snickered at his
own joke.
Andrew smiled and took another drink of beer.
“Okay, what would you like to do?”
“There’s no point in standing outside!
I’m going in.
Do I have a torch?”
“I forgot to tell you what gear you have!
Every adventurer needs a pack, so you have
one.
Inside is a length of rope, five wooden torches,
and a bag of rocks.”
“A bag of rocks?”
Death asked curiously.
“Yeah, you can throw them to trigger traps.”
“Are there traps in this tomb?”
Death leaned forward.
“Maybe,” Andrew said with a wide grin.
“I tie the bag of rocks around my belt and
light a torch.
I hold it high and walk into the tomb!”
Death said, and drummed his fingers against
the kitchen table.
“Your torch pushes back the darkness as
if it is scared of your flickering light.
Your boots kick up dirt that tickles your
nose and threatens a sneeze.
The walls appear to have been carved by crude
tools that left them rough and uneven.
Whoever built this tomb was not going for
beauty, but what you can guess was practicality.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up,
you get an uneasy feeling.
Roll a D20.”
“Interesting,” Death said under his breath.
He snapped up the dice and gave it a toss.
Fourteen.
“Alright, add that to your perception,”
Andrew said, pointing to the number on the
character sheet.
“Perfect.
Your eyes pierce the gloom, and you notice
a few of the stones in front of you are slightly
elevated.”
“I take out a rock and skip it across the
ground in front of me.”
Death rolled again and threw a stone.
“The rock skips over the ground and lands
squarely on one of the elevated flagstones.
You hear a quiet click.
A large blade slices out of a hidden crevice
in the wall.
If you had stepped on the trap it would have
cut you in half.”
“Snap!”
Death shouted.
“A voice drifts on the cold wind as it blows
from the depths of the tomb.”
Andrew put on his spookiest voice, “If you
venture further, the only thing you will discover
is that this will become YOUR tomb . . .”
“Dante fears nothing!
I draw my harp and play a heroic tune!”
“Music drifts down the hall, striking fear
into the heart of any creature that hears
it.”
“Excellent,” Death hissed.
“I walk deeper into the tomb, keeping my
eyes out for any more traps.”
“As you delve deeper and deeper you get
the feeling that you are not alone.
Roll for perception.”
The dice clattered across the table, bouncing
off of an empty beer bottle.
“You hear the familiar sound of bone scraping
against stone and the clattering jaws of the
undead.”
“Skeletons!”
Death roared, “I draw my dagger and advance
on them.
They will know the fury of my blade and song!”
“A skeleton makes a clumsy swing at you
as you deftly avoid it -- roll to hit.”
Dice danced over the table as Death rolled
his attacks.
“Your dagger shatters the skull of the first
skeleton, spraying shards of bone across the
hall.
The other skeletons are not smart enough to
flee.”
“They shall pay for their arrogance!”
Death said, rolling again.
“You dance between the clumsy skeletons,
slashing with your dagger, shearing off bone
and limb.
With a final flourish, the skeletons collapse
into a pile at your feet.”
“Whoa, I can do that?”
Death asked.
“You just did,” Andrew said then took
a drink.
“With the skeletons defeated, you have gained
some experience.
They didn’t have any gear worth salvaging,
but you do notice a small stone jutting out
of the wall.”
“Is it a trap?”
Death asked.
“Only one way to find out.”
“Okay, I press the stone,” Death said
eagerly.
“The stone wall pushes back and slides to
the side, revealing a small room with an open
treasure chest.
Gold coins glitter in your torchlight and
there is a small glowing dagger among the
coins.”
“I rush over and take the dagger!”
Death nearly shouted.
“As your fingers wrap around the worn leather
hilt, you feel a surge of power run up your
arm.
But I need to take a break, all of this beer
is running straight through me!”
Andrew said, stepping away from the table
and making his way to the bathroom.
Andrew flushed the toilet and retrieved another
beer from the fridge.
Death sat at the table, fidgeting with impatience.
“What kind of magic does the dagger do?”
he asked before Andrew could sit down.
“You do not know.
You will need to find someone that can identify
it.
Or just play around with it and see what happens.”
“Oh, many souls will perish against the
edge of . . . Bite!”
Death made a slashing motion with his hand.
Andrew picked up the marker and drew out the
dungeon that had been discovered and also
drew an unexplored hallway outside of the
secret room.
He took a drink to wet his throat: “You’ve
found some hidden treasure and a magical dagger,
but there is nothing else in this room.
What would you like to do now?”
“I hold my dagger at the ready and exit
the hidden room.
I have come this far; there is no turning
back now!”
“You walk forward, your glowing dagger pushing
back the gloom.
A small doorway leading to a winding stairwell
is at the end of the hall.
It is the only place you can go.”
Death nodded rapidly, encouraging Andrew to
continue.
“The stairs are rough and uneven.
The footing is precarious, and you have to
place your hand on the wall a few times to
keep your balance.
You notice that with each step, you feel the
temperature is dropping.
With each exhale, you see your breath misting
in front of you.
Frost lines the wall.”
“A woman’s laughter echoes off the frost
limned walls.
It beckons you forward.
You reach the bottom of the stairwell which
opens up into a large chamber covered in ice.
Icicles dangle dangerously from the ceiling;
the floors are covered in a slick sheet of
ice.
At the end of the room is a large throne:
a slight skeleton sits there, its hands frozen
to the arms of the throne.”
“No creature laughs at Dante.
I shall kill this creature again.
I drop my torch and draw my other dagger.”
Andrew’s eyes lit up.
“The torch falls to the frozen floor with
a clatter, bits of flame scattering across
the ground.”
“FOOL!” Andrew bellowed in a feminine
voice.
“The ice begins to melt around the torch
at an impossible rate.
Torches lining the wall burst to life with
vibrant blue flame one by one.”
Andrew resumed his female voice, “I have
been locked away in this prison for a thousand
years waiting for one such as you!”
The jaw of the skeleton creaked as it began
to move, “I don’t know if I should reward
you or kill you.”
The hands tore away from the throne’s arms,
leaving bits of decayed flesh behind.
“The world will know my wrath once more.
All shall perish.
Thanks to you.”
“Never,” Death said with a harshness that
took Andrew off guard.
“I attack her before she can completely
free herself from the throne!”
“You sprint forward, daggers held at the
ready.
She tries to pull her back off of the throne,
but she is struggling.
You get an attack of opportunity!”
Death rolled the dice, a nineteen.
“Direct hit!
Your daggers plunge into her desiccated chest,
shattering ribs into dust.
You can attack again!”
Dice clattered across the table again -- a
six.
“You stab forward but she grabs your wrist;
her grip is like a vice.
You can feel your bones threatening to break.”
“I headbutt her!”
Death roared, rolling the dice.
“Sixteen!
You slam your head into her skull, sending
a large crack up her forehead.
She bellows in pain and pushes herself free
off the throne.
She slams a fist into your stomach and tosses
you across the room.
You land hard on your back, knocking the wind
out of you.
You take five damage.”
“I push myself off the ground and shake
off the pain.
She will pay for that,” Death growled.
“She begins chanting; small blue flames
dance in her eye sockets.”
“Can I get to her before she finishes her
spell?”
Death asked.
“It will be close . . .”
“I want to throw my magical dagger right
between her eyes.”
Andrew inhaled sharply.
“That is a tough target to hit.
You will need a twenty.”
Death nodded.
Picked up his dice, shook it, and let it roll.
He leaned close watching the dice bounce and
turn.
It narrowly avoided colliding with his figure.
Andrew’s eyes were locked on the dice: the
way it spun he knew it was a real throw.
Death was not cheating for this.
The dice spun and rolled one final time.
Twenty.
Death leapt out of his chair, pumping his
fist in the air.
“The point of the dagger drives into the
crack that you created when you headbutted
her.
Blue flames shoot out of the crack.
The heat causes you to flinch.
Her entire body bursts into blue flame.
She howls in pain as she falls to her knees.
With her final breath, she curses the name
Dante.
Her body becomes a pillar of blue flame that
shoots nearly to the ceiling, then dies out,
leaving a pile of ash and your dagger.”
Death was breathing heavy and his fists were
clenched, “I did it!
I DID IT!” he shouted, rising from his chair.
His heavy robes swished around his legs as
he did a small dance.
He stopped mid dance and turned to Andrew.
“Wait.
What does Dante do now?”
Andrew smiled.
He already knew the answer to that question.
“Now he gets to meet the rest of the party
Friday night!”
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This is part 1 of 3 of this video, Death and
a D20.
Please let us know what you think of the favorite
of the dice gods, Death.
And also what about Andrew?
Do you think he will survive in the end?
Perhaps Death will love DnD too much to kill
Andrew?
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The next part of the video will be posted
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