Five minutes earlier…

The d20 rolled across the hard-cover book, over its spine, onto the book laying open next to it and settled in the gutter between two open pages. The die, canted to one side, showed the number 9.

“Cocked!” the boy who rolled the die called, reaching for it.

“No, you failed your saving throw, Andy,” said another, peering over a cardboard screen decorated with a scene of armed adventurers fighting a dragon atop a pile of gold coins. “You lose four intelligence, which means you can no longer cast 5th level spells.”

“What?” complained the first. “Stuart, you’re an asshole! Gerry didn’t lose any stats when the Warbler King hit him!”

Gerry swallowed a mouthful of Cheez Crunchitz. “I’m wearing an Amulet of Resistance.”

“Yeah, that you got right before the fight,” Andy snapped. “Fuck you and your berserker/illusionist. You fucking min-max’er.”

“Screw you, Andy,” Gerry laughed. “You and your 12 intelligence.”

Andy’s fist didn’t make a sound as it whistled through the air.