The Cheater

Why didn’t I write down everything in my notes? I could have meticulously recorded every bit of information I heard, and then I wouldn’t be in this situation at all. I peered upon golden rays of knowledge, brighter even then the sun itself, only to have them lost to me now.

I looked at the GM’s notes. I knew it shouldn’t be done, everyone frowned upon it, but deep down they pleaded with sad eyes that I continue my intrusion. They knew we wouldn’t last the night, he was going to slay us with reckless abandon once again. It must be fun for him, tossing our hopes and dreams about like a child tosses its first solid meal. I knew every step of the game, I danced through the plot with stunning dexterity. I finished the NPC’s sentences for them, I showed the party around traps and ambushes, I even jabbed my way to the tavern maid’s heart and gathered ships full of loot while I was at it. I was the King of this tiny world, King of it all!

Then the DM went on vacation, the game on hiatus. We returned weeks later to the same world, but something was oddly different. I gaped in horror at the leather-bound notebook. “Those aren’t your notes…”, I pleaded with him to realise his error, “They’re in the spiral-book, the red one!” He shook his head sadly at me, “I got this while I was away, now IT is my notebook…” What treason had occured here? What devils lay dormant within this animal-skinned book from satan?

He began the game, and to my dismay the townsfolk had changed. They no longer looked upon me with stunned admiration, 100 ft. monuments to my greatness were not being erected on a daily basis. My pack seemed surprisingly lite, all of my utterly over-powered items were disintigrated by a freak dust-storm. I knew this wasn’t right. “How can my pack remain, while everything in it was destroyed by this freak, out of season dust dervish?” He shook his head, “The storm took them out of the pack first, of course.” I was petrified with rage, fists clenched into even whiter balls. How could he do this to me, here I had supped upon the devine fruit of the gods when no sooner had he plucked me, spasming, from my perch and dashed me against the terracotta tile watering hole floor. I would have my revenge.

Struggling, I attempted to recall what his previous tome of infinite enlightenment had revealed to me. Alas, every town person only had a witty retort, the women laughed in my face, the dragons chewed upon my meaty mid-section. This was the price I had to pay for my insolence. This was judgement, my life had ascended to utter-bliss only to be cut down by the jagged blade of tyranny. I sought a direction for my anger, in the one place I could, that cursed leather book of damnation. Upon its cragged surface I found the name of mine enemy, I found the outlet for my eternal wrath. Barnes and Noble, THINE FATE IS AT HAND!

– Danny