Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
bennet
I glanced at the door for the millionth time, then forced my gaze back to the living room.
The fire crackled in the fireplace, and the round table was placed near it.
We had three kinds of snacks in bowls around the table, custom-designed dice packed inside a satin pouch, loads of paperwork regarding our characters, and a large map I’d made for this session.
I was the resident mapmaker around here, thanks to a crash course I’d taken in high school when I was bored with geography.
I’d been sure I could ace the thing without studying, which turned out to be true.
The print shop on campus had a huge range of options for quality printing and large sizes, and the Thinkers’ House was proud of its large, glossy maps.
I was proud of them. Sue me.
Rowan was the DM, as usual, and he had several scripts printed out as well as a dog-eared notebook with pages falling out. He took notes during each game to better reference all that happened while we played.
It was a lot of work, but if you’re not getting it by now, we took Dungeons and Dragons seriously.
My gaze darted to the door again, and I nearly cursed at myself aloud. Why was I still anticipating something to happen? I’d known all along that Jason would flake tonight. He’d invited himself, but he’d had no intentions of going through with it.
I’d told him that I would let Rowan know, and I’d meant it. I’d meant it until I opened my mouth to tell Rowan we might have a guest from the Bel House joining us, then I heard how ridiculous that sounded, and I shut my mouth. And good thing I did because I would look like a fool now.
Jason was popular, attractive, mostly shirtless, and not like us. Hanging out with my crowd was beneath him, no matter how many times he said these stereotypes were outdated. Case in point, he didn’t show up.
I didn’t even hold it against him. He was a party-type, constantly texting people throughout our sessions, arranging dates, chuckling at messages, and plotting a war against the Kappa Gamma Beta house with his blond, blue-eyed friend and housemate.
The fact that I still felt this tug at my heart, this simmering, frustrating heat inside my chest, was entirely my fault and my fault alone. Not every guy who wore a smile so lightly and brushed his hand against mine so carelessly had a secret plan. In fact, nearly none of them did.
I wiped my hands against my pants and got busy with the last couple of bowls of snacks. I carried them to the gaming table and made sure everything was set up correctly.
We had our usual four chairs set, but there were more chairs around the long dining table by the windows. I chided myself for running that mental check. We didn’t need more chairs.
“That door’s really speaking to you tonight,” Rowan said.
I frowned and realized I thought I had seen a shadow move in the small glass piece in the front door. It was nothing. “It’s telling me you should mind your own business.”
Rowan snorted. “Less telepathy and more get-into-your-character, Paladin,” he said.
I blinked and pulled the usual chair for myself, facing away from the door.
Better. It would be tougher to keep looking over my shoulder in stupid anticipation.
I might even forget all about Jason once Rowan started doing voices and accents of various magical and sentient objects.
His clinking voice for a bag of golden coins that developed a sarcastic sense of humor was one of the group’s favorites.
Jake and Andrew flanked me, and Rowan sat across from me, his back to the fireplace, warm light dancing behind his mop of red hair.
He sorted the papers before him and reached into the bowl of salted nuts, taking a fistful.
“Alright, boys,” he said, picking up nuts one by one from his palm and tossing them into the air to catch with his mouth.
“We’re nearing the Grieving Tower of a Thousand Skulls.
” He narrowed his eyes at the map, tilting his head as his imagination began to do its magic.
“Black clouds are gathering, thickening oppressively low in a lightless sky. The Grieving Tower looms tall before you as you stand on the cracked earth and jagged rocks. A sound. You think you can hear it. Is it…a doorbell?” The last word, he sighed as his concentration broke, and we all turned to the door.
“Come in,” yelled Rowan, the de facto boss of everything tonight.
The front door opened to let in the towering figure of my unfortunate stats mentee. His cheeks were a little red from the cold outside, jacket zipped up all the way to his chin, hands balled into fists, and bags hanging low.
“Um…yes?” Rowan said.
“Dud’s here to crack some skulls,” Jason said in a low rumble.
I could feel the tension in Andrew and Jake. They’d probably spent a few hours in lockers in their high school lives. I didn’t blame them for bristling.
“Guys,” I said, clearing my throat. “This is Jason. He’s, uh, joining us.”
“Right,” Andrew said skeptically next to me.
“And we agreed on this…when?” Rowan asked.
When I didn’t think he’d actually show up, I thought. “It slipped my mind,” I said.
Jason closed the door when a gust of wind reached me, then walked all the way across the open space to the table. “Ooh, Bennet, you didn’t tell them, did you?” He wore that confident smile nonetheless.
This was pure torment. “No. I forgot.”
“Gotcha,” Jason said, not believing it one bit. “Well, I bring snacks. Am I allowed to join?”
“Bet you scrapped a whole lot of plans for this,” Jake said under his breath.
“In fact, I did,” Jason said lightly. “But since Bennet wouldn’t come to our party, I had to revive my old Cave Troll for you guys. Better brace yourselves because my luck is maxed out.”
Something happened then. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the frost receded, the air warmed up, and some of the tension left the table like a sigh. Rowan leaned back in his chair, his narrow eyes relaxing a little. “Cave Troll, you say?”
Jason put bags of snacks on the floor and unzipped his jacket, producing a small stack of ancient, dog-eared papers.
“He’s slept at the bottom of a shoebox for a few years, but he lives,” he said in a voice far too dramatic for the circumstances.
The papers dropped on the table, and the familiar pine scent reached my nostrils as Jason positioned himself between Andrew and me. Cold air still radiated off his jacket.
Rowan looked at the papers, eyes glimmering with opportunities he recognized. “Alright. I’ll write you in for one session, and we’ll see how it goes from there.”
“It’s all I ask,” Jason said humbly. Then he bent down and lifted the snacks. “Let’s get this open.”
True enough, one was a plate of cheese wrapped in plastic. Jake scoffed at it. “Cheese?”
“Be happy it’s not Kevin’s famous chili,” Jason said casually and unloaded all sorts of sweets. “Can I squeeze in here?” he asked no one in particular.
“Yeah, that’s good,” I said, getting up to fetch a chair.
Jason felt at home already, so he waved me off and walked over to the dining table, picking up a chair with one hand and lifting it high. He placed it between Andrew and me, his arm rubbing against mine in passing.
He was too confident, too comfortable, and was entirely sending mixed messages. “Dud ready. Speak, Dungeon Master. Speak.”
Rowan allowed himself a small smile. “You’re an odd one,” he murmured before drawing a deep breath of air.
“As you, the old gang, stand on the cracked earth and jagged rocks, you hear a sound. It’s a scratching, dragging noise of dirt.
You all look to your left, to where the sound is coming from, and you see it.
A big, ugly, smelly thing, he is. Clearly, he is not the smartest, even among his own kind, and you now know that you had been smelling him from a mile away. ”
Jason chuckled, taking it like a champ.
Rowan flicked his gaze to him, seeming almost vengeful but still having good fun. “He notices you noticing him,” Rowan continued. “He goes stiff, nervous. Farts and burps, then scratched his big, bald, warty head.”
“Alright, we got it,” Jason said under his breath.
“Is he hostile? Is he friendly? Nobody knows. Archer, what do you do?” Rowan asks.
Jake leaned in. “I shoot an arrow toward his foot,” he said, still not warming up to Jason.
Jake rolled for accuracy because we were playing the most elaborate version of the game that was a product of years of playing and personal grievances that needed to be sorted through various gaming methods.
Picking up on it, Jason leaned in and demanded to roll for his luck.
His stats were low. Even his strength sucked compared to the attribution points assigned to his luck. There was little he couldn’t escape.
Rowan sighed. “The arrow is precise. Nice shot, Archer. Alas, there was a worm in the ground, wriggling, and a strange, bony, undead bird swept down to eat it, taking the show inches before it struck the Cave Troll.”
Jake grumbled something impolite while Jason laughed, shoulders shaking against mine.
“Careful, Archer,” Jason said. “Dud is very sensitive about his feet.”
“Dud should try soap,” Jake muttered.
Rowan steepled his fingers. “The Cave Troll blinks at the arrow. Dirt rains down his shoulders as he peers at you. There is a moment of silence. He opens his mouth. What does he say, Dud?”
Jason sat back like he was about to give a TED Talk. He thought for a full three seconds. “Dud say… hello,” he rumbled. “Dud like your shiny bow. Dud also like worm. Dud will remember his sacrifice.”
Andrew snorted into his hand. I tried not to smile and immediately failed.
Rowan nodded gravely. “Remarkable. The Cave Troll speaks Common. Paladin, what do you do?”
I cleared my throat and pushed up my glasses. “I step between the Archer and the Cave Troll,” I said. “Shield raised. Just in case.”
Jake frowned at his sheet. “I do not need a babysitter,” he said.