Flash – Nobody Understands a Dungeon Master
Nobody Understands a Dungeon Master
Amy was very concerned about noses. Shape, width, nostril size, subnasion, and whatnot. She said her nose, while not perfect, was spectacular. “Just right,” she said, “like Goldilocks.” As her twin, she had told me, that my nose should be a reflection of hers. That strangers would judge her nose on the quality of my nose, flat and undistinguished as it was. Amy rated Beatty’s nose, our older sister, as the worst. Long and crooked and in proximity of a ladybug mole, definitely minus 20 HP.
Amy didn’t know Figwit, but if she did she would gasp. Figwit had a wonder nose, carved from Italian marble. Romanesque but in a feminine way. Of course, he’s a half-elf with 17 Charisma Points, so such was to be expected. Was he a charmer? Just ask the wenches of Wendigo Manor.
Figwit the Daring. Fidwit the Brave. Might? Naturally. Figwit with his Bag of Infinite Holding, his Cloak of Invisibility, a Vest of Dolemite, and, of course, the dagger of Lynnette (+2 damage). Lynnette sliced easily through Zackinator’s chain mail, scored to the gut and loosened his intestines on the lunch table. I swear there was a tear, a twinkle at least, in Zack’s eye. I sat back and drank my juice box, and basked in the accolades. “Cold blooded,” said Dustin Chen. Amy was unimpressed two tables over. She rolled her eyes and turned up her nose as the 20 sided die clackity-clacked.
Instead she drank a Diet Pepsi next to Doug Reinhold who looked vaguely like an overfed ogre. Doug had a pug nose, but it fit perfectly on an ogre face. Amy swam in his letter man jacket and puckered up on a bendy straw. She whispered something to Lynne Wilson, who laughed in turn and smiled with her overly large and lovely teeth. I crapped out on a dexterity check and took a battle axe to the shoulder. “Motherfucker,” I yelled. Mrs. Feldmen gave me a stern look and I buried my head in my character sheets.
Like all good characters, Figwit would eventually meet a grizzly death. There is no retirement for the weary adventurer. At home, I fiddled with a new character, a Ranger with a long slender nose that lined up perfectly with his bow. string Beat stormed into the Family Room huffing and puffing. I ignored her, but she paced.
“What’s up, Beatty?”
“Amy.”
“Ok.”
“She’s dating Doug Rhinoceros.”
“Ok.”
Beat screamed, “Why am I even bothering! You don’t get it, you don’t get anything! Nose in a Virgin’s Master Guide. Get real!”
I turned back to my character sheet and wrote in the margin, “Here lies Figwit. A gentleman, kept his nose to himself. Still so much left to learn.”
