You Are The Worst!

You have no business being here.

I want to make that clear before we begin.

You have never played Dungeons & Dragons before. You don’t know what an armor class is. You think initiative is something employers look for during job interviews. Twenty minutes ago, you asked if your character could carry a gun.

He cannot.

Nevertheless, you have joined an adventuring party consisting of a wizard, a paladin, a rogue, and—because you thought it sounded funny—a half-naked barbarian named Kevin.

Kevin has an Intelligence score of six.

Somehow, this is still higher than yours.

Your party has spent three hours navigating the ancient Caverns of Mor’Drak. You’ve survived traps, solved riddles, defeated goblins, and recovered the Crystal Key of Aranthor.

To be more precise, they did those things.

You accidentally set a bridge on fire, tried to seduce a skeleton, and ate a mushroom everyone specifically told you not to eat.

Yet somehow, you’re still alive.

And now you’ve wandered away from the party.

You enter a chamber you are very clearly not supposed to enter.

The stone doors slam shut behind you.

Before you lies an enormous cavern filled with mountains of gold. Ancient weapons and jeweled crowns disappear beneath thousands upon thousands of coins.

And sleeping on top of them is a dragon.

Not just any dragon.

Mor’Drak the Eternal.

The final boss.

The creature your entire party has spent the evening preparing to fight.

You are alone.

Mor’Drak is nearly sixty feet long. Smoke curls from his nostrils with every breath. His claws are the size of swords. His scales have deflected the weapons of a thousand warriors.

Fortunately, he is asleep.

If you remain quiet, you might be able to sneak back through—

You want to do what?

No.

You cannot pull out one of the dragon’s nose hairs.

Well, technically, yes, you can attempt it.

But you shouldn’t.

Why?

Because he’s a dragon.

Fine.

You creep toward Mor’Drak.

Roll for stealth.

…Twenty.

Of course.

You somehow cross an entire cavern filled with loose gold coins without making a sound.

You climb onto the dragon’s face.

There is now absolutely no reason for you to be here.

You peer into one enormous nostril and find a single black hair protruding from it.

You’re going to pull it?

Really?

Are you sure?

Fine.

Roll Dexterity.

Twelve.

You perfectly pluck the dragon’s nose hair.

Mor’Drak’s eyes open.

The cavern shakes.

“WHO DARES DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF MOR’DRAK THE ETERNAL?”

You wave.

You actually wave.

Mor’Drak roars and lunges forward to eat you.

I roll for the dragon.

…

Two.

The dragon slips on his own treasure.

His jaw slams into the cavern floor.

One of his enormous teeth chips in half.

And somehow—somehow—you fall directly into the gap where the tooth used to be, tumble through his mouth, bounce off his tongue, and shoot out the other side.

How are you doing this?

Mor’Drak spins around.

You announce that you’re going to punch him.

No.

You have a sword.

A magical sword.

You found it twenty minutes ago.

You don’t want to use it because punching him would be “funnier.”

Fine.

Roll to attack.

Natural twenty.

Of course it is.

Your fist strikes the dragon directly on the chipped tooth.

Mor’Drak screams.

Apparently, dragons have exposed nerves.

I did not know this.

You didn’t know this.

Nobody knew this.

But here we are.

Mor’Drak recoils, crashes into a stone pillar, and brings half the ceiling down on himself.

I roll a saving throw.

One.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

The legendary Mor’Drak the Eternal disappears beneath several hundred tons of rock.

Silence fills the cavern.

Then the doors burst open.

Your companions rush inside.

The wizard freezes.

The paladin lowers his sword.

The rogue stares at the mountain of rubble.

They look at you.

You are standing alone in the middle of the dragon’s treasure hoard wearing nothing but boots and a loincloth.

Your fist is bleeding.

You’re holding a dragon nose hair.

Behind you lies the crushed body of the most feared creature in the known world.

The wizard finally asks the only reasonable question.

“What happened?”

You shrug.

“I punched him.”

And that’s when I close the Dungeon Master’s Guide.

We’re done for tonight.

Because you have defeated the final boss six hours ahead of schedule, destroyed forty pages of campaign notes, and somehow reached level five without understanding what any of the numbers on your character sheet mean.

Everyone starts packing up.

You look confused.

Then you ask the question I have been dreading all night.

“So… when are we playing again?”

You have absolutely no business playing Dungeons & Dragons.

See you next Saturday.