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The End
by Drew Boyd
(Special thanks to Will Judy, the Gunpoint Muse)
I played a lot of D&D in my youth. I suppose I'm going to hell for that. What really bothered me about that game, was not all the whiny technicality gimps complaining about encumbrance rules or all the monty haulers with their +5 GodSwords of Instant Death and Destruction. What bothered me was the incessant amounts of really bad fantasy novels that the genre inspired.
I mean, really, how many times can you take six outcasts from society
with a lust for adventuring and have them save humanity? Wouldn't at least
one group fail? I'd really like to see some elaborate badly-written pulp
novel end up with everyone dead, crippled, or broke. The furry ringbearer
with his fingers cut off in stocks marching to his doom behind orc armies.
The guy with the Secret Crafty Cure for all of Humanity's Ills forgets it
in his other Cloak of Holding. Everyone meets in a tavern, drinks a lot of
bad ale, gets an epic case of the Brewer's Farts, and stays home out of
utter embarrassment.
Maybe there's some unknown reason behind all of this. Maybe some sinister
force is at work, trying to choke us to death with bad pulp fantasy. Maybe me
and six of my close personal friends should all meet together at a tavern and
raid the fortress of Tor press in a valiant quest in the defense of humanity.
However, my friends are a pack of humorless drunken cripples and I don't think
I could live with myself if that worked. There would probably be a sequel.
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