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| The Weapons of Fate. |
How fare thee, ye latte-swilling travelers? Have ye done well since last we met? I wish I could say my fortunes were high, but of late I fear that the thoughts of sovereignty are weighing upon my crowned head, as lately I’ve been more gigantic melancholy than mirth. What is the meaning of it all? Are we just dust in the wind? Are we just dragon dung to be trodden beneath some scaly feet?
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| King Mike-Noh the Ambivalent |
Allow me to explain my somber mood. Some weeks ago, my nephew, Prince Vivanious, was in a battle with, at best, an acolyte wizard. The bearded freak knew maybe three or four spells off the top of his head, the rest he had to pull from scrolls. Vivanious should have been able to clobber him with a single swipe of the trusty Mace of Maganar in one hand while he munched on some banged grains with the other.
But a seeming fluke occurred. Vivanious swung that mace and missed in spectacular fashion. He not only missed the hobbyist magician, he missed BIG. He wound up in a humiliating heap of armor on the castle floor. Then the wizard cast his most formidable spell, the Frozen Fire. This “formidablility” is extremely relative. With Vivanious’s experience and stamina, he should have easily withstood that mediocre spell with little more than goosebumps. But again, the Lady of Fortune rooster-blocked Vivanious, and he threw his save most poorly. A spell that should have done little more than refreshed his drink instead froze him solid. The milquetoast magician then pushed my frozen nephew off the top of his castle precipice and into the haunted caverns beneath. Alas!
I have always held the belief that Destiny guided our footsteps. At least, the footsteps of us noblemen and the Ancient Bloodlines. But Vivanious…ye gods, that was embarrassing. Are our lives truly subject to the whims of divine dice? Do our steps founder because chance decided it would be hilarious to let a mighty warrior, hundreds of feet in the belly of the earth hunting lich kings in haunted caverns, slip on a banana peel? Is that what rules our lives?!
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| Continent of Faerun, home of empires and Natural 20s |
Sorry, my foreign, Seinfeld-quoting friends. I’m just going through a rough patch, you know? Most of the time, the heroes win and the dragons lose and the low-level mages are cast aside with ease. I’ll be back to the regular, high-spirited king of Zakhara in no time. Perhaps I can take my mind off my woes by hurling axes at targets in my courtyard.
Yes, that’s it. I am quite skilled in these arts. I’ll just hurl the axe and… OH CEPHUT YOU BLOODY KNIFE AND FORK ARTIST, THE AXE STUCK THROUGH MY FOOT!
*sigh*
The Die of the Fates is cruel indeed.