At a recent gaming session we were surprised to be joined by an unannounced player. He refused to give us his name, saying that he wished only to be known by his character’s name of “Njiel Stronginthearm”, a dwarven fighter. A method player, it seemed. He was accompanied by a pair of muscular men in sunglasses and mustaches. At first we had told him that we were playing a closed session, but his ingratiating manner was such a pleasant change from the usual griping and gas-letting encountered at the table that we decided to let him have a chair. (Did I mention the big men?) Little did we know.

Our visitor after slaying several “republic dogs” early in the night.
(I think they were trolls)

Everything was going smoothly until one of us mentioned his Spanish accent and asked him if he was visiting from another country. At this point he became rather truculent. He insisted that he was a dwarf from the Eternal Mine of the Black Marshes (who ever heard of dwarves living in marshlands?) and that his accent was indeed dwarven. We all started to get a little worried at this point (big men) but we decided to press on. He looked positively horrified when Mike informed him that there was no smoking in the house, but acquiesced when we alleged that dwarves don’t smoke (mine gasses and all that). Things got ugly, however, when we encountered a rather large group of ogre-mages.

The ogres caught us by surprise. Our visiting friend got caught in the overlapping fields of several nasty spells and expired before even being able to clear his axe from it’s holder. In an enraged fury he began to shout in Spanish. I know a little Spanish and what he said wasn’t very nice (and I don’t think he’s ever met any of our mothers). When he accused the game master of malfeasance, we pointed out that Mike’s character, Rish, had also died in the onslaught (a bad habit he’s picked up). This did nothing to mollify him. He then demanded that Njiel be not only restored to life, but given a +3 axe of giant slaying as recompense, or he would take his battle-mat and go home. When we then pointed out that the battle-mat was, indeed, ours, he began to whirl his dice-bag about his head in a threatening manner and resumed his shouting.

Andy tried to approach the man, keeping safe distance from the swinging bag, but the man leapt forward and clobbered him in the head. They must make cheap dice bags where he comes from because the bag split open, showering the room with dice. I noticed that there were several good rolls as a result, but kept my peace as I didn’t know if they should be attributed to the man or Andy. Dan seemed to notice the same, so we began a consultation. We came to the agreement that the rolls would be attributed to Njiel, but since there was no need for a roll at the moment, they would be considered “practice.” But I digress.

The big men (remember them?) now began to move. Nick kicked Andy’s now empty chair into the path of the nearest. He must of scored a critical hit as we heard a sick little pop and the man went down clutching his knee. Andy took this as an opportune time to try out a body slam on the man. One down. Very down. As the other man began fiddling with something in his jacket, John bull-rushed him into the closet. After we wedged the door closed, we ran a rubber hose through the crack at the bottom and took turns power-belching into it. Deprived of oxygen, the man collapsed. Yeah! Two down. I would like to point out that I managed to keep the salsa from spilling through all this.

Our visitor was very quiet at this point. We dragged the man’s companions out to his car, and after we returned, found him rolling up the battle-mat. We had to remind him again that the battle-mat was, indeed, ours, and that he could not take it with him. He could, however, take the half-empty bag of stale Cheetos. He quietly nodded and let us lead him to the car after he clutched the bag to his chest.

Opening the trunk, he revealed a large case that he said we should take as an apology for all the trouble. We thanked him and waved as he pulled onto the street and drove away. I noticed that he did not seem comfortable with the idea of driving for himself. With excitement we opened the case. Cigars?! The case was loaded with cigar boxes. The air was thick with disappointment. None of us smoked cigars. Ew. So as Mike went off to get something to clean up the new oil splotch on his driveway (they must not make very good cars in the marshlands), the rest of us dragged the crate down to the street for the refuse collectors to pick up in the morning. We returned to the table to dispatch the ogre-mages and to find a temple where Rish could be raised back to life. Rish remembered to get his card stamped; two more resurections and he’ll get the next one free! All-in-all a very exciting night.