The assassin Bern Sandros was panting, quite exhausted. The undead just kept coming. The ground would open up every minute or so and a few more of them would scramble out. And they did so quickly. You couldn’t keep them from coming out. He’d tried.

About him it was all chaos. The bard was breathing hard and bleeding harder, having scrambled out of a ripping and tearing hoard by just the skin of his teeth. He had gotten struck, again and again, by sharp and bony fingers. But the man had come a long way from where he had started. His rapier had schicked out from its scabbard ‘Momma’s Little Dumpling’ in an instant and he was fending them off with thrusts, dodges, and clangs. His lack of an edge, though, posed little threat to his fleshless adversaries. Still, the charismatic music man had reserves of magic at his call and Bern had a feeling those were going to come into play at any moment now.

Yenrab had lost his great axe in the scuffle and dropped into a battle crouch. A hand axe gleamed in each hand as he chopped and punched about himself. Cracked and broken bones littered the ground about the behemoth, his face pinched into anger and his body sweating fiercely as the sun dipped and darkened towards sunset.

Wex was weaving somewhere to the right, kicking and chopping at a gaggle of zombies that seemed to grow in number more often than it lost. Still he had turned them and a few had run off to the gods knew where.

And Tracy was doing Tracy stuff. That damn Freemeetian ducked here and dodged there, chaotic in nature and spirit. Bern couldn’t grasp what tactics were in play, but the sorcerer seemed to know what he was doing. He’d disappear around a building and show up somewhere unexpected, blasting with magic or crossbow at whatever enemy was in range. It was an impressive display to watch - it would have been more so were Bern himself not busy slashing, hacking and dodging skeletons and zombies himself. But he himself was bleeding more than a little, and his immediate prognosis of the battle was not good.

“Retreat!” the human gasped. “Now now! We need to get out of here.”

“To the gate!” Yenrab agreed, shouting commands. “Carric open up a lane with some of that thunderwave blast of yours. Everyone get ready to run through.”

That’s gonna be a lot of attacks of opportunity the Gamers moaned in their heads. Dice clattered, rolled, and fell. Destinies were determined. And the sound of a door opening clanked through their heads. Nick they yelled, in grateful appreciation. What’s up guys? How’s it going?

A red-scaled reptilian humanoid, its eyes alien and strange, popped out groggily from the rotted and sagging stables and surveyed the scene. Char Man Dar Bern exclaimed within his head, realizing that at least one of the Some Other Guy party had survived. He looked quite cut up and weak, but his eyes looked vengeful, though as a reptile perhaps they always looked that way.

“I’m quite knackered, mates,” he growled, his tone forboding, “but this ruckus has got to end!” He opened his maw and sprayed flame over the zombies congregated about Wex, earning a smile of appreciation.

“Thanks bro,” he threw out, a bit out of breath.

The zombies about him burned and dropped quite quickly, and Char Man Dar moved out into the combat, a solid chest plate in place, and a long sword and shield at the ready. He was the Reptile of the Reaches, the Drinker within Dungeons, and apparently, the sole survivor of his party.

“Guys I’m gonna need some help here,” he mentioned, quite loudly, as he cut down a skeleton and then was knocked to the ground from behind.

Yenrab looked over at Wex, whose foes had been vanquished, and then he looked at the reptilian dragonborn, whose skin color well meant danger. The chromatic dragons, and their humanoid mixed kin, were generally very selfish and hateful. But so we think. So are the orcs and half-orcs, often enough. Maybe I need to think about this right.

Rising from his battle crouch, Yenrab barreled through his enemies in a straight charge, knocking undead this way and that with his tremendously muscular frame. Then he dropped down and rolled taking a few hits as he did so, but grabbing the man up in his grasp.

“Ya know, us folk heroes gotta stick together,” he mentioned as he rolled Char Man Dar out of harm’s way.

Why do I have to start the game with low hps? the New Gamer complained.

Because it fits the story. Just roll with it!

Carric clanged and stabbed, then let out a blast from his mouth flute, a clever little instrument of his designed and then made for combat. It was a harmonica wired to a helm that could be slapped shut over his face, leaving his hands free for other things. From it came the majestic sound claps of his thunderwave attack, throwing zombies and skeletons out of the way, and clearing a good path for the desperate adventurers.

“I found a secret entrance,” the half-elf bard joked from around his harmonica, one eye swollen and a bloody gash upon his cheek. “But seriously, come on guys, let’s get out of here.”

The party all nodded to each other in agreement. There was no time like the present to get a move on. Yenrab staggered under the weight of the hefty, red-scaled Char Man Dar, but his legs pumped powerfully, keeping pace with the masked cleric Wex and the rainbow-robed sorcerer Tracy. Bern Sandros swung arcs about the rear, back and forth, facing outward to fight anything that dared to come too close to them. His dual blades gleamed deadly in the setting sun.

“So what’s the plan, Yenrab?” Tracy asked as they moved.

“Well, ya know, not dying I guess,” he huffed back. The dragonborn were very heavy beings as the half-orcs muscles could now well attest to.

“So not, maybe, blasting those plants at the entrance and turning the gate into a makeshift fort?” Tracy asked?

“I guess?” Yenrab answered. He looked at the sorcerer with a bit of hope.

“And then we could set up a nice little fort there and rest up and maybe get healed and I can get my fireball back?” Tracy continued.

“Uh, yeah?” Yenrab said, starting to smile.

“Great plan, Captain,” Tracy winked, “I guess that’s why we put you in charge.”

Yenrab’s sweaty face broke into a broad smile. Sweat tribbled down into it, tasting like so many snozzberries.

“I guess so. Alright everybody, here’s what we’re gonna do . . .”

***

The plants had been a quick fight - they burned easily and gave some welcome light to those without night sight. And throwing together a makeshift rampart from the debris of the gates wasn’t difficult either. Especially with Char Man Dar back on his feet. He was heavy for good reason, and his large muscles worked well alongside Yenrab’s making the task quick and efficient.

From atop the fort of rubble the fight slid well into their favor, with Carric even breaking into song, a drinking chanty that the others soon gleefully joined in with. “Ninety-nine zombies and skeletons in all,” they all sand, “Ninety-nine zombies and skeletons! We smash one down, hack all around, Eighty-nine zombies and skeletons in all.”

“Brah, that was amazing,” Wex spoke to them all, reliving the glory turning the tables on the keep’s denizens. “We were all going to die, and then we weren’t. And we got ourselves a pet dragonborn.”

“Ha!” the new man, Char Man Dar said. He was applying some sort of ointment to his red scaled flesh and wincing, but seemed to be in good humor.

“Great tunes, mate,” Bern told Carric, punching him in the shoulder. The bard smiled back at him.

“Yeah, it seemed the right thing to do at the time. I still have a bit of magic left in me so that we can heal a little, but I’m going to have to get some rest if you all want to be bumped up to max hp.”

You can’t say that! Complained a voice in their heads. That’s gotta be metagaming!

I dunno man. It’s not really a big deal. Just pretend he said it in some way that makes sense in the game universe.

“So, as I was saying, I’m going to have to get some sleep if you all want to get completely healed,” Carric said, shaking away the strange sense of deja vu that suddenly came over his body. They all looked at each other a little uncomfortably.

“What in the Seven Hells was that?” Char Man Dar demanded, his grin gone from his face.

“The Gamers,” Yenrab shrugged. “There used to be just one of them and now there’s a whole clan. They’re like gods maybe? Ya know I don’t know but I think I’m like their door to the world. And so are the rest of you in some way. Anyways they actually seem helpful and, ya know, they’ve steered us right so far, I think. If you stick around with us you’ll get used to it.”

“Right? Bugger it, whose got some booze eh?” the dragon man asked around, letting the incident fly far and away to a place where it wouldn’t weigh upon his mind.

Wex took his mask off, beaming. “I love the accent, bro. Ghanizitkaro?”

Char Man Dar’s teeth showed sharp as he approximated a human smile. “Yeah mate, Lavaros.”

“Same!” Wex exclaimed. “Horrid place that. I left when I had the money to. Took a decade.”

“I killed a slaver and fled. Anyways, bro, got some brews?” the dragonish warrior asked with a snort and a meaningful stare, “Let’s have a piss-up.”

***

Nights on a rocky and sandy beach in the middle of the largest freshwater lake in the world can be a little frigid at night, with the cool water mists sprayed this way and that, lifted and carried across the sandy embankment often and with effort. But none of the Exterminators of Things that Hurt Us and Are Really Bad minded much because Wex had a surprising amount of potent brew in a surprising number of places. It also helped that the debris from the living plants of previous were well combustible and made for a great campfire. Yenrab slept as the rest partied, diluting the various liquors with water from the lake in order to extend them.

Char Man Dar snorted and hacked, breathing loudly through his mouth.

“I bet Yenrab’s grandmom would have liked you,” Carric laughed, his face blushed pink with knock-off whiskey.

“Brah is that right?,” the big lizard panted, hacking another wad of something into the dirt. “He’s a big fella, isn’t he?”

The sound of chortling laughter echoed off the walls of the keep, coming from the whispering waves of the shore. Bern, Wex and Tracy were having a blast, whatever they were doing.

“Yeah,” Carric Smith agreed, watching the fiery embers rising up and up, trying to become one with the sky. “So are you. It’s a world with big fellows, big beasts, big monsters - and if they aren’t big they’ve got magic!” he laughed a little drunkenly.

“Yeah life isn’t fair, mate.” the dragon man reflected, the flames of the camplight shimmering in his liquid lizard eyes. “I had a party just like this.”

“Yeah, Some Other Guys,” Carric gushed and then awkwardly faltered. “Oh right.”

“Yeah, I was their Yenrab I guess. Every party has got to have a big one. But they all got killed,” Char Man Dar panted out heavily. Then he snorted and hacked again, before tipping back fiery brew into his maw.

“Ya know, bro, we never drank when we were on missions. Some Other Guys, we were just solid. We’d go in, take care of business, then blast the money on booze.”

Carric nodded. “Yeah you guys really had it all put together. There was Aaron Swingshot, the rogue legend who was a crack shot with a bow. There were Rachel Viper and Ross Man, the wizardress and warlock, human and tiefling couple whose magical skills and tactical acumen synergized and made two hold the power of five. And of course there were David and Britni, the odd couple, the Tinker Gnome and his human bardic bride. His steam-powered devices were very very unreliable and could be deadly but he had some sort of lucky streak that had just kept him going. And the lightning guitar he had built for Britni was powerful so long as one had black lumps of coal with which to power it.”

Char Man Dar just stared at him.

“You know all of this. I don’t know why I said it all. Exposition, I guess?” Carric Smith stammered defensively. “That sounds like something the Gamers might make me do. Though I’m not tasting any Mountain Dew, and that is one of the signs.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Char Man Dar said, hacking again. “Maybe there’s some other being up there. Probably bald and a bit fat sitting at the head of some cosmic table and making us do things. Sounds like something the world would have.”

Something splashed into the lake and Tracy, Wex, and Bern laughed sharp and loud, their guffaws bringing a smile to Carric’s own lips. Char Man Dar remained sullen, though the bard had no idea what he would look like happy.

Carric pursed his lips. Something was bothering him about all of this. It had been way too easy, really. Some Other Guys were a powerful band of adventurers and if those were the monsters of the keep, well, how had they been defeated?

“Char, hey, how like,” Carric paused, not sure how to proceed, “how did you all not beat the keep?”

The big red lizard man shook, wheezy, snotty laughs racking through his body. It wasn’t merry, though. It was sad and maybe even a little creepy.

“We did,” he said, looking away whilst tipping more liquor into his maw, “but they just kept respawning and coming back.”

***

“Guys! Guys!” The alcoholic fog that pleasantly warmed his brain had blasted away, falling into the extreme clarity of terror. “Guys!” Carric shouted again for good measure.

He was sprinting, his rapier in hand. Behind him a drowsy Yenrab lurched to his feet, fast alert to the sounds of danger. Char Man Dar just sat, though, shaking his head with his face in his hands.

It was too late. Of course it was too late. The ground shook a bit as fissures opened. How the timing had worked out so well was a mystery, but Carric bet that the Chief Gamer might well have had a hand with it.

“Hey it’s Carric!” Tracy yelled in happiness, well into hir cups. The change had come upon hir again, maybe due to all of the merriment. Carric wasn’t sure how it all worked. Behind hir, Bern and Wex cheered.

“Come out for a bit of fun mate?”

“No,” he yelled in a hard pant, “the undead! They come back.”

The zombies and skeletons scrambled out of the ground, disjointed in their rapidity. They clicked and rasped in their movements but otherwise made no sound.

“Damn the Gods,” Bern cursed. He looked powerless standing there stripped to his undergarments and soaked in lake water. Tracy and Wex were in a similar situation. And all of them were weaponless.

“Of all the bloody times this could be happening,” Wex agreed.

Shoot. Shoot! Carric checked himself as he ran and realized both his harmonica and lute were back at the fire. This was not going to be easy.

“Raaagh!” Yenrab bellowed from down the beach. He wielded two battle axes for this fight, and used his bare feet for extra damage. Carric watched just long enough to see him smash down two zombies and then punt a skeleton in the surf.

Ahead of him stood a rotted party of undead. Three skeletons and two zombies. The enemies focused on him for some reason, though Bern, Wex and Tracy were still there and closer, out in the lake water surf.

Something itched in his head. That wasn’t right, he noted, trying to figure things through. One of the skeletons moved in on him, throwing a punch. He dodged the ragged bony figure, ineffectively stabbing its zombie comrade through behind it. Some random lurch, though, knocked the rapier out of his grasp and threw him to the ground. Crap.

“You shambling creatures. You rotten beasts. You garbage beings! To the Abyss, all of you,” he ranted, awkwardly scrambling in the sodden sand. He had to get to his feet. But they were right there. A zombie dropped down upon him, its teeth gnashing.

“You get off of him,” squealed a drunken Tracy, throwing a rounded stone that ze had retrieved from the lake floor. Whether it was by skill or by accident Carric would never know. Part of the zombie’s head caved, its head popping out of its skull and spilling out gooey ichor all of Carric’s face.

The bard retched even as he took back to his feet and blindly ran. Bones clicked and clacked behind him. Everything was chaotic about him, he felt woozy with dots before his eyes. He was aware that Yenrab was storming down the beach, kicking chopping and smashing all enemies in his path. He was also aware that an unenthusiastic Char Man Dar was up and armed as well, a blade slashing and a shield bashing while a gout of flame blazed through the darkness. He ran, seeing it all through swimming vision and not really understanding it.

I just gotta get moving, he thought in panic. It was behind him now and then the powerful chill of the pre-morning surf splashed and foamed about his feet, then his ankles, and then his knees. Bern Sandros caught him up in his arms and steadied him.

“You doing alright mate?” he asked, his eyes dulled with alcohol but alive with real concern.

“He’s ‘right,” Wex said, slapping him on the back. “Put up a heck of a fight too. Well done bard man.”

Water splashed hard nearby him, and Tracy surfaced, stones in each hand.

“They can’t go in the water,” Tracy gasped, lake water sluicing over his face from strands of long and sodden hair. “So let’s just rock them until they go away.”

The rest stared at him, then looked at each other, then stared at him again.

The Monster’s Manual says nothing about zombies and skeletons not being able to enter water, a high-pitched whiny voice exclaimed, presumably whilst pushing his glasses back up his nose with a finger.

Who says this has to do with what kind of monster they are? The Chief Gamer boomed back, a smile evident in his voice. The voices faded.

“Right,” Wex said, pointing at the sky. “The Gamers are onboard. Let’s do this!”