GENRE: YA Fantasy
“I cast Elliot's Greatest Missile Storm.” Derek crossed his arms. He glared past the dungeon map littered with miniature statues representing his fallen comrades, daring Randall Hampton to argue.
Randall took the bait. “That's fine, but it's going to take several seconds to prepare the spell. I'll cross my fingers that you dodge the incoming dragon wing, two claws, and tail.” One corner of his lips twitched up. He took a sickening amount of pleasure in screwing his players over to see how they'd get out of it. While Derek and his three companions had done well up to this point, it looked like their dungeon master might have thrown them a curveball they couldn't hit.
Unless, that is, the barbarian had done enough damage to the dragon before getting ransacked by its poisonous claws of death. Derek could only cross his fingers.
“I've already prepared Elliot's,” Derek said. “I did it before the barbarian kicked the bucket.”
The other three players, the barbarian, their bard, and their cleric, flipped their heads back and forth between the drama.
Randall lifted an eyebrow. “Okay, fine. What's the save?”
Whoops of excitement filled the room. Randall held out his hand for Derek's calculations.
Derek passed his worksheet over. He could do this. He had to. If Ianen Hollysword, elfen sorcerer extraordinaire, died, then he'd have to roll another character. Which would really suck.